by S. D. Perry
“You are no Vulcan,” one said.
“You are a half-breed, a human,” said another.
“Leave us, human. It is not logical for us to consort with humans.”
Spock willed the memory, the distress felt long ago, to recede. It had been brought to mind by the look on Leila Kalomi’s face, so similar to one his mother had often worn in his childhood upon hearing of such encounters between her son and the other children.
What was that expression meant to convey? Pity? Sadness? Disappointment? For a moment he could not look away from the young woman, she reminded him so of his mother. He was startled when she leaned toward him, her hand slightly extended as if to place it on his face or shoulder. He stiffened, recoiling slightly at the suggestion of her touch, and she seemed to freeze for a half beat before her hand fell to her side.
She said nothing, made no further action. Spock could not untangle the meaning behind what had just taken place or why he should feel such intense discomfort from it. Her deliberate attempt to touch him had been a small thing, and yet he sensed that in that slight movement something intense had been conveyed, accidentally or otherwise.
He stood up, aware that a curt exit would be socially inept but unable to deny his strong impulse to leave.
“I regret that I must depart, Miss Kalomi,” he said, backing slightly away from her.
She stood, hastily moved to the door to open it for him, no longer meeting his gaze. The discomfort, it seemed, was shared. Her muttered good-bye was almost inaudible, and as he turned to thank her once again for the use of the data slate, she allowed the door to close.
Spock did not move for a moment, deep in thought. He found all of it most puzzling—her search for data concerning his heritage, his own reaction to her expression and action. And more puzzling still, the sudden presence of shimmering moisture in her downcast gaze as he had backed out of her apartment. He knew at least what that meant, but what had transpired to make her suddenly experience such profound sorrow? And most perplexing of all, why should he feel such responsibility for it, not even knowing what had occurred?
Such questions served no worthwhile purpose. It was best, he decided, that he would be returning to the Enterprise soon. Humans were an illogical race, and Leila Kalomi a prime specimen thereof.
Seven
Kirk sat back in his chair, puzzled, after Carol blinked off the screen. This was the second time she’d put him off in as many days, hadn’t even wanted to talk. He knew she was busy, but there had been something in her tone that he didn’t think he’d ever heard before, both yesterday and today. A preoccupation.
It’s the experiment, of course, he reassured himself, returning to the report collation he’d been working on before his impulsive decision to call her. After a few hopeless minutes, he pulled himself up from his computer station and changed into his workout clothes. If he was going to think about it, he might as well let off some steam at the same time.
He considered, as he walked down the corridor, that perhaps he was being presumptuous. He couldn’t expect her always to be eager to shuffle her schedule just to see him. But even as occupied as she was, she’d always made time to talk for a while. It was as though something specific had changed, and recently.
Could she have met someone else? He gave the thought up before it had a chance to take hold. Besides his confidence in her character, he knew that she hardly had time for one romance, let alone two. His only competition was her work. In his heart, he believed he knew what the problem was, he just wasn’t sure if he was ready to address it.
“Maybe I should just marry her,” he murmured aloud.
“Talking to yourself now, Commander?”
He whirled around, startled. Doc Evans fell in step beside him.
“Some say that’s evidence of an unbalanced mind,” Doc added.
“Others might say it’s a mark of genius,” Kirk said.
Doc smiled. “I’d like to meet these others. I can’t imagine that they have a background in medicine. You’re heading for the rec room, I hope? I could use some fresh blood at the chess table. Haven’t seen you around much lately.”
He had been scarce on the ship’s common areas, preferring to spend his free time in his quarters. Much as he hated to admit it, he’d been waiting for Carol’s calls.
“Sorry, not today,” Kirk said, smiling. “I’m working on my strategy.”
Doc laughed, turning down an adjoining corridor. “You can’t hide forever,” he called as he disappeared down the hallway.
Good point. He had to face it, he thought, as he stepped into the empty lift. He’d told her he loved her, and now she wanted what most women wanted—a man she could rely on, a man who was going to be there for her. But could he be there in the way she wanted? Neither of them knew, and thus the cold shoulder.
Marriage ? To Carol.
There were certainly worse fates. On top of all the obvious reasons to fall for her, there was that inexplicable something about Carol that other women just didn’t have. He loved the cadence of their conversations, both romantically and intellectually, loved her touch and smell and shape. What might it be like to wake up to her face every day?
He could see his own blurred reflection in the doors, his eyes appearing as dark, worried hollows. Was it the face of a man thinking of marriage to the woman he loved? He looked anything but overjoyed, and all he felt was confusion.
At the gym, he taped his hands and made a beeline for his favorite punching bag, the one he’d found with just the right amount of give.
Maybe it would make more sense to just end it, he thought as he began battering the bag with rapid-fire punches. He felt a pang of unhappiness as he tried to imagine what he might say. It would be especially painful to break it off with her now, after confessing to her how strong his feelings were. Although with the way she’d been acting, it wouldn’t be a surprise if she broke it off first.
He paused, letting the bag swing back perpendicular on its hook, his hands still clenched in front of him. End it or propose—not much of a selection. It seemed unfair that they couldn’t just keep doing what they’d been doing, indefinitely. In a way, they had the perfect relationship. The anticipation of seeing each other after such long separations worked like a powerful serum on both of them, making their brief trysts sweeter and more intense than anything he’d ever known. If only it was possible to stretch something like that out into the long term ?
He gave the bag a good whack with his left hook. There was no way. He wanted to sign on for a long-term mission once he had a command of his own. A week or two of separation was exciting; a year or two, and they’d be strangers.
He still held out hope that he’d only had the misfortune to catch her at a bad time ? two bad times. But even if she was perfectly happy with him, with their relationship, he knew a change was coming, one way or another. There seemed to be no point in continuing if they weren’t going to take it to the next level, whatever that was.
He gave the bag a few punches, halfhearted at first, and then settled back into the smooth staccato routine, the bag thumping and creaking steadily. Was there any way he could convince her to come along with him? To raise a family on a starship? He tried to imagine the two of them together, out in deep space somewhere, and it wouldn’t come. He couldn’t see it.
Carol would never join Starfleet, anyway. The alternative, if he were to leave service, or look for a stationary post somewhere ?
No. He sped up, belting the bag relentlessly. His arms began to ache, but it only compelled him to move harder, with more precision.
He needed to be realistic, stop his wishful thinking. He had always had a weakness where beautiful women were concerned, but he couldn’t let that stand in the way of what
he truly wanted to do, couldn’t let it derail his future.
And why not? a maddening voice in his head taunted. Which would be harder to lose? You might think it will be easy to forget her and move on, but if you choose Starfleet,
you might live to regret that decision more than any other. Think of all the women you’ve met since becoming involved with Carol. Why is it that not one of them has turned your head? Does that seem like you?
No, he admitted to himself, it didn’t seem much like him. But then, he’d made up his mind to stay true to Carol. Distractions were easy to avoid, once he’d fixed on a course of action. If there was one thing James Kirk was known for, it was his stubbornness.
Maybe he should simply follow her lead, wait to see what her next move would be. At least he shouldn’t do anything until after Mars. If it had to end, at least they could have whatever lay before them on the Red Planet.
It was a romantic thought, but he took little comfort in the notion of Mars being their farewell. With a final flurry of blows, Kirk expended what was left of his energy, tried to let go of the troubling indecision that he knew was destined to haunt him until he found his resolve.
The bag squeaked on its hook as he walked away, mopping perspiration with a towel slung around his neck.
“Boy, that bag must have done something awful to deserve all that,” remarked a young man sitting on a weight machine. Tom Christianson, new on security.
Kirk smiled in response. “Actually, I believe that it and I are destined to become great friends.”
“Well, if that’s how it is, I hope you don’t count me among your friends, sir.”
“Not friends,” Kirk said. “On a starship, it’s more like family.”
The ensign grinned. “Just as long as you’re nicer to your family than you are to that punching bag.”
Kirk couldn’t resist a little good-natured shadowboxing in Christianson’s direction. The young man laughed, the bright sound following Kirk as he headed for the showers.
As he dressed, he realized that the brief conversation with Christianson had helped to dispel some of his doubts. He was destined for command, he could feel it in every conversation, every interaction with the people on the Mizuki—with his people. However things turned out with Carol, he’d chosen his path for a reason. For better or worse, he knew where he belonged.
Leila hurried to the garden entrance from the transporter station, certain that she was already too late. Of course she would be: she had to be at a team meeting in twenty minutes, and he was due back on his ship in just a few hours. The chances of running into him within such a narrow time frame seemed infinitesimal. Life never worked out that way, at least not for her.
The decision to try and see him again was a spontaneous one, borne of embarrassment and ? of hope, although she tried to tell herself there wasn’t any. After their last encounter she doubted very much that he would want to see her, but she couldn’t let him leave without trying to smooth things over. She felt a cold knot in her stomach, remembering the look on his face when she had moved toward him.
Not alarm, exactly, but it had been close, and it had shut her down cold. She should have known better than to try and make physical contact with a Vulcan, but it had been instinctive. She just enjoyed talking with him so much, she had ignored the cultural barriers. And now she owed him an apology.
Yes, of course. And when his parents met, did they too suffer through such misunderstandings?
It was her hope, whispering, and as she scanned the embassy grounds, searched for him, she let it speak. It was the same whisper that had urged her to find him one more time, that had made her choose the flattering dress she now wore. He had confirmed that he was the product of a mixed marriage, that he had human blood in his veins. He must, then, experience some measure of human emotion from time to time, mustn’t he? She had seen it in him, in his eyes, in the tightening of his fine mouth when she’d spoken of his mother.
She wondered if his father was somehow extraordinary among Vulcans to have married a human woman. Perhaps, then, even the Vulcan side of Spock was different. How lonely it must have been for him, for one who was able to feel, lost in a sea of beings who did not. She couldn’t imagine it but felt sure that she understood.
Her breath caught as he walked into sight. He was strolling down the garden path, his arms locked behind his back as he studied a wooded display. The excitement, the fear and anticipation she felt just seeing him again, knowing that they would speak! She clasped her hands together, tight, watched as he moved closer.
He saw her, straightened slightly. His expression remained dispassionate, but Leila smiled, unable to help it ? Until she remembered why she had come, remembered what needed to be said. As he approached, she walked toward him, forcing herself to halt at a respectable distance as the words came tumbling out.
“Please, Mister Spock, I’ve come to apologize,” she said, relieved that she sounded so calm. “I believe that I made you uncomfortable the other day when you came to return the slate, and I have regretted it terribly. I would never dream of doing anything to offend you.”
“You did nothing to offend me,” Spock said, not unkindly. He raised an eyebrow. “In fact, Miss Kalomi, I briefly considered the possibility that it was I who offended you.”
“Of course not, Mister Spock. You’ve never been anything but perfectly polite and kind and helpful ?” She trailed off self-consciously as she heard herself, heard the relief, the girlish admiration, and then laughed, feeling almost giddy in his presence. “I’m sorry, Mister Spock, you must think me an absolute fool.”
“On the contrary, Miss Kalomi. I admire you as a fellow scientist, and I hold your current pursuits in very high regard.”
“It means so much to me to hear that from you,” she said.
“You honor me, Miss Kalomi.” Spock bowed his head.
Leila felt herself blush as she stepped closer to him. It had been silly of her to worry so; Spock was a reasonable, a logical man. “I’m so glad to see you,” she said. “I was afraid you’d already returned to your ship.”
“Was there something else you wished to discuss?” Spock asked.
She fumbled for an answer. “Well, yes ? that is to say ? I mean, I just hoped to ? see you again before you left. To talk with you.”
Spock waited, presumably for an actual response. Leila cleared her throat, tried again. “On Earth, most people, when we enjoy one another’s company, we might ? deliberately seek one another out, to, to ?”
“To discuss topics of common interest?” he finished for her.
Leila relaxed. “Yes, that’s right.”
“It is not uncommon for Vulcans to do the same.”
Leila nodded, felt her throat going dry. She was suddenly near certain that he had come here as she had, on the chance that they might meet again. She looked up at him, and he met her gaze, just as he had done in her apartment, staring searchingly into her face.
It seemed such an intimacy, the intensity of sincerity, of quiet brilliance in his dark eyes. Leila could not let the opportunity pass.
“Mister Spock,” she said, her heart ham mering, “I must know. If you are indeed half human, do you not experience emotion as humans do?”
“Vulcan genetic structure is generally dominant in the case of mixed-heritage individuals, and so I am predominantly Vulcan,” he said, his voice free of feeling of any kind.
Leila regarded him doubtfully. Was this his pat response? Had he learned to deny his heritage? Had it caused him pain, as she believed? She looked into his dark eyes, and he looked back at her with deep scrutiny. She felt weak.
“Was it difficult for you, Mister Spock?” she finally asked.
“May I ask to what you are referring, Miss Kalomi?”
“Being different?”
Spock paused, apparently considering his answer before speaking. “There were adjustments that had to be made, but on the whole, my upbringing was unremarkable.”
“But ? don’t you feel anything at all, Mister Spock? You are, after all, half human. Can’t you ?”
“I chose to be as a Vulcan when I was a child. I do not experience emotions as humans do.”
“You do not, Mister Spock? Or you will n
ot?”
“I am not certain that there is a distinction, Miss Kalomi.”
“There is a distinction,” she said stubbornly.
“Vulcans employ biocontrol techniques to subdue their emotions,” he said. “The process, begun in infancy, does inhibit certain neural pathways. By adulthood, the choice and the capability become almost as one.”
“But you are not just a Vulcan,” Leila insisted, her voice softening. “You are half human. Hasn’t that caused you turmoil, Mister Spock? Haven’t you ever been ? lonely?”