RoH 5

The Universe in Us

Stardate 2260.132, 0500 hours, Deck 5, Officers’ Mess

Nyota was a morning person. Always had been, always would be. Even on a starship running on a 24/7 schedule where mornings didn’t really exist. When she was on Alpha shift, she got up at 0400 hours so she had time for a good workout and a leisurely breakfast. That was also the reason why she sat ensconced at the back of the officer’s mess behind a thicket of ficus benjamina with her breakfast and her PADD right now. After an hour running through a display of the Serengeti, twenty minutes on an auto-massage couch, and a long sonic shower, she was wide awake and wonderfully relaxed. She comfortably stirred a mug of fragrant Rooibos tea. (Real tea, not replicated, but from her own loose-leafed mixture, thank you very much.) The concoction glowed in a translucent red hue, and the subtle scent of spices swirling upwards in a wisp of steam made her sigh with appreciation. The millet gruel was replicated, but just four days into the mission, the plums were not. Pretty much a perfect breakfast.

She turned to her PADD and scrolled to the last message from John. She enjoyed his arrogant humor and biting sarcasm. His recklessness, not so much. One day he’d get into the kind of trouble not even his superhuman strength (or her timely intervention) would get him out of. Light-years away, she could only be grateful that so far, it hadn’t come to that. Though not for lack of trying, she thought, scanning his report. Somehow a prototype Klingon warbird had ended up on Earth. And now it was being thoroughly tested by John and his crew. She shook her head. Boys and their toys. Bizarre how the fascination of a centuries-old Augment with crashing an alien spaceship basically came down to that impulse. Nevertheless, it was true.

Footsteps made her look up. The captain was making a beeline toward her table. As Jim was not a morning person, she should have been safe at this hour. But apparently not. And while he appeared to be freshly showered, his hair was mussed, and his eyes had a frantic gleam to them. Spock was nowhere in sight.

“Uhura! Fancy meeting you here. Mind if I join you?” He gestured with a token mug of coffee. The scent told her it was from Rand’s special stash, at least. Nyota didn’t think she could have stomached the stink of replicated coffee.

“Captain,” she said, giving in to the inevitable. “Would you like to sit down?”

“Jim,” he reminded her and slid into the bench opposite her chair. “We’re off duty.” He put his mug down and dragged both hands through his hair, messing it up even worse than before. Lowering his gaze, he then proceeded to brood into his coffee. His posture was taut with nervous tension. At the same time his expression was less tightly drawn than it had been in months. “Also, this is kind of … personal.”

Oh, great, Nyota thought. Didn’t expect that. Relief and irritation mingled. The way he and Spock had been acting, she’d steeled herself to endure the vibes of unresolved sexual tension between the two of them for the next five months, if not five years. Good for them if they’d somehow managed to get a move on. She hadn’t enjoyed daily exposure to their UST. At the same time that didn’t mean she was looking forward to living and working with her ex’s new-found bliss right in front of her nose – while she herself was forced to redefine the meaning of “long-distance relationship”. Last but not least, she didn’t want to discuss any of that with Kirk.

“Captain …” she started. But he shook his head.

“Jim,” he reminded her firmly, “even if I’m still not officially allowed to know what your first name is.”

She rolled her eyes. “Relentless” didn’t even remotely capture Kirk’s personality. She sighed. “Jim, then.” His sigh of relief was almost cute. Almost.

“Look, this is awkward,” he pressed on, ignoring her wince. “I get that. And that you think I’m an asshole, and you’re not even wrong. But I’m trying.” He stared at her, his strange new hazel eyes bright with intensity. “This is too important for me to mess up.”

Oh God. What have I done to deserve this? “If you want to tell me about a change in the status of your relationship with Spock, consider the message received.”

Jim jumped so hard that he spilled coffee over his hand and the table. “Damn!” He grabbed a napkin to stem the flooding. Once he’d mopped up the splash, he twisted the stained tissue into a wad. “I’m really sorry, you know? Even though in a very selfish way, I’m not,” he muttered. “I figured you get that, what with ending things between you and Spock when you did.”

Strangely enough, she believed him. Maybe because semantically the first part didn’t make any sense at all, while emotionally … yes. That. She studied Kirk over the rim of her teacup. With a pang she realized how troubled he looked. Older than twenty-seven, and more than exhausted. “Captain …” she started. Suddenly she couldn’t keep up her customary level of annoyance with him. “Jim. I realize how exciting new love is. But just because your new lover is Vulcan, you still require sleep like an ordinary human being. Give it a try sometime. At least every other day or so?”

He snorted into his coffee. “We did, actually,” he said, managing to hide behind his mug. His ears reddened with embarrassment. “And I mean just sleep! Christ, Uhura, did you think I’d – I’d come talk to you right after I had sex with your ex for the first time?” He stared at her. Then he rubbed both hands over his face. “Shit. That’s exactly what you were thinking, right?”

“It’s Nyota,” she muttered. “And yes, I was.”

“Nyota.” He gazed at her like a ten-year old who had been giving a puppy for his birthday.

She rolled her eyes at him. Again. As if he hadn’t known. “If you didn’t, then what happened? Because I hope you didn’t interrupt my breakfast with a topic I don’t want to talk about because nothing happened between the two of you.”

“First off, let me repeat, I’m not that bad a jerk,” Kirk declared. “Honest. Even I am not that insensitive.” Ears still red, he turned his attention back to whatever revelations were lurking inside his mug. “A kiss,” he admitted at last. And the way he said that one word, so soft and surprised, that really hurt, all over again.

“Okay, well, one hell of a kiss,” he went on, in typical male obliviousness. Then he grimaced. “And then I kind of fell asleep. Or he made me. Vulcans. Whatever. When I woke, he wasn’t there, and you know how he is.”

“How?”

“About privacy. Alone time.”

“So instead of searching for Spock you decided to come here, spoil my breakfast, and tell me you’re finally getting somewhere with my ex?” Nyota gave up on her gruel. But there was no way she’d let the plums go to waste.

“Seriously, I’m sorry,” Kirk repeated with a stiff shrug. “It seemed the right thing to do. I’m honestly trying not to be a jerk here.”

Nyota sighed. “I get that, Jim. And I do appreciate it. Now go and find Spock. Try Observation lounge four. Just one thing …”

“What?” Jim, already on his feet, halted and gave her a wary look.

“No making out on the bridge. Remember, I know how Vulcans do it.”

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.132, 0800 hours, Deck 22, Textiles and Fabrics Department

“May your rest have been refreshing and your dreams uplifting, gentle being.”

Jo woke with a start, her heart pounding. For a moment she had no idea where she was. White walls crowded her in; a high mirror reflected her frightened, tired eyes. A stuffy, warmish scent pervaded the air. The door opening was covered by a curtain, and there was someone on the other side, talking to her.

Abruptly, she remembered. She’d hidden in a changing cubicle in the textiles and fabrics replications department at around 2300 the previous evening. She glanced at the clock above the mirror. 0800 hours! She must have slept right through the alarm of her PADD. Or perhaps she had forgotten to set it in the first place. Damn.

To hide in plain sight was at the same time easier and way more exhausting than Jo had expected. Easier because the Enterprise was so big, with more than twenty decks, and because a starship was on a 24/7 schedule. All over the ship people were awake and going about their business twenty-four hours a day, working Alpha, Beta, or Gamma shift. Kids were supposed to be on a regular Terran schedule. But at least for the time being, this first week in space, kids were underfoot the whole time, everywhere. Therefore hiding was more a matter of sneaking into settings where a kid her age was expected to be at any given time, but without ever being present for any kind of roll call. So she showed up for recess at the school to hang out with Gus. She slipped into the spa on Beta shift to play with some other kids and to get a few hours of much needed sleep where it wouldn’t come across too weird. Later she crept into movie theaters. And so on and so forth. At the same time she had to stay on the move more or less all day, and she never dared to stay in any one hiding place for too long. She hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since before they left orbit. Which probably explained her oversleeping in the changing cubicle like that.

Jo sat up. Apprehensive, she peeked around the curtain and stared at the woman who’d discovered her. It was the beautiful white lady she’d encountered at breakfast the first day on the Enterprise. With dread settling in the pit of her stomach, Jo waited for the awkward questions and the demand to contact her parents, which would lead to her discovery. But the woman just smiled at her, sort of serenely. Again Jo experienced a strange, fuzzy kind of sensation in her head. Telepathy, she was sure of it now. But the woman – Gwaloth something or other, Jo remembered her name now – still didn’t ask why she wasn’t at school, why she wasn’t with her parents, or why she’d slept in a changing cubicle.

“Thank you,” Jo said at last, remembering her manners. “I did sleep well.” There was no reason to pretend she hadn’t spent the night here. It was kind of obvious from how she’d been curled up on the floor, using her messenger bag as a pillow, cuddling into a blanket she’d stolen from the spa.

Gwaloth smiled. “Would you honor me with breaking your fast in my company?”

“Breakfast with you?” Jo stared. Slowly she got it through her head that no difficult questions might be happening, and that her secret was, perhaps, still safe.

“Yes,” the woman said patiently. “For is it not customary for Humans to consume sustenance in company at regular intervals?”

“Yeah,” Jo said and nodded, “it is. And sure, can do.” She was almost dizzy with relief now. And quite hungry, too. Her stomach growled. “Can we eat down here? And can I ask you about your work? I’ve looked at some of those costumes on display here last night. They are fabulous. Awesome fabrics. And the clothes don’t look replicated at all …”

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.132, 1400 hours, Deck 7, Sickbay

Bones was a hands-on doctor and always would be, a healer instead of a medical technician.

Sure, like any good surgeon he loved his high-tech sickbay with its top-notch diagnostic devices. He adored his tricorders as the miracles of 23^rd century medical progress they were. He valued every single gadget that could help him save a life, from machinery that allowed bone and tissue and even organ regeneration within hours to hypos that eradicated even the most stubborn virus within minutes. Jim knew from painful experience that hypos were perhaps Bones’s favorite toys.

But Bones would always trust his instincts above and beyond technology.

Therefore, Jim’s first physical of the mission consisted not just of scans and blood tests, but of poking and prodding, of inspection, palpation, percussion, and auscultation, starting with his head and ending with his little toes, not leaving out anything embarrassing in the middle.

“Stop fidgeting, for heaven’s sake,” Bones growled. “Nothing there I haven’t seen before.”

Jim just groaned. There was any number of things he’d rather not be reminded of. Just how intimately acquainted Bones was with his body and all his bodily functions definitely made the top ten of the list. The reboot had reduced Jim’s physical capacities to that of a newborn baby at first. He’d been damn lucky that it had taken him just a few months to relearn how to walk, talk, eat, and yeah, use the toilet.

At last they were done, and Jim sprawled in the visitor’s chair on the other side of Bones’s big desk. With his best slouch he pretended not to be keyed up to the point of a panic attack.

“Stop freaking out already, will ya?” Bones sat down at his desk and called up Jim’s file on the screen of his computer, then swiveled it around so Jim could take a look for himself. “You’re not turning into Frankenstein, a homicidal lunatic, or anything else besides what you already are – a damn moron.”

“Gee, thanks, Bones. I love you, too.” But he couldn’t suppress a sigh of relief, as a good deal of tension drained out of him.

“See, here, and here, and here?” Bones pointed at the screen. “All those parameters have stabilized. In fact, they haven’t changed in any statistically relevant way for three months now.” Bones leaned back before he went on, going over the details. “Your life expectancy – provided you don’t do something stupid and get yourself killed – may not quite match that of a full Augment, but it’s probably right up there with Spock’s. If you watch your diet and keep in shape, you should end up a very spry two-hundred year old, at least.”

For a moment Jim was strangely aware of his heartbeats. Thud. Thud-thud. Thud. He hadn’t even thought of that before – how, without Marcus, his natural life span would have been around half of Spock’s. Always assuming, of course, he didn’t do something stupid and got himself killed long before old age could off him.

“Your physical strength has also increased,” Bones indicated the relevant results on the screen, “but not beyond the readings we got at the last four exams. So please keep in mind that you still can’t take on Spock or your average Klingon in your sleep. However, a guy like Cupcake shouldn’t be a problem any longer.”

“He wasn’t before,” Jim muttered. “And why do you keep mentioning Spock in every other sentence?”

“Perhaps because the two of you have been joined at the hip ever since you woke up at Starfleet Medical a year ago? Possibly because he’s keeping my best nurse from work with his warped version of ‘human small talk’ out there right now – while in reality he’s just plain hovering, anxious like a mother-hen whose chick has been invited for tea by the fox?” Bones smirked, but the warmth in his eyes gave him away. Jim finally got the message. That was Bones’s way of saying that he knew, and that he was good with it. Somewhat abashed, Jim fidgeted and pretended to focus on the data displayed on the screen.

“Well, that’s the good stuff,” Bones went on. “Now to the less pleasant results.”

“I knew it,” Jim groaned, warm and fuzzy feelings dissolving into trepidation. “What? If I’m not turning into Frankenstein, what is happening to me?”

“Jesus, Jim.” Bones shook his head. “I’m beginning to believe it’s a stroke of genius that Starfleet Command has sent those psychologists along on this trip, because you definitely need that counseling. Okay, now listen closely, will ya?” He leaned forward, speaking slowly and clearly, as if Jim was about five years old and a bit dim to boot. “It’s perfectly normal that you still experience physical and psychological after-effects. During the restoration procedure every single cell in your damn body was rebuilt from scratch. But that doesn’t mean you are turning into anything. You use the transporter all the time, and you never worry about how your molecules get rearranged in the process! How often have I’ve put you into decontamination to repair minor radiation damage without you turning into Godzilla? The fact that it was possible to patch up irreparable damage with Khan’s DNA on a cellular level doesn’t change who you are. Think of it as a special kind of stem cell therapy. That’s not much more than a 21^st century version of chicken soup. Jim, nothing is happening to you. Your body and your mind are all yours. Got it?”

“If you say so.” Jim wanted to believe that. He truly did. But …

“I do say so, and I’m actually qualified to, believe it or not.” Bones sighed. “What I wanted to point out are a few things we need to keep an eye on at the moment. First of all, your stress levels are way too high, and you’re not sleeping enough. At this point I’m willing to chalk that up to the launch of the mission. But I want to see you again in a week, and if it’s not better in two, we’ll have to think of something beyond a couple of sleeping pills, which you only take on random nights when you decide not to be a stubborn son of a gun to start with. Is that clear?”

“Crystal.” Jim recognized when Bones wouldn’t be budged.

“Next – and that one should make you happy: You need to eat more. You lost another pound, and I’m not perfectly satisfied with your lab results. I’m going to put together some supplements for you that you will take as prescribed, and I’ve updated your dietary requirements. Also, your body chemistry is even more sensitive than it was before, so watch out for new allergies cropping up. I want you down here ASAP at the first hint of a rash, and not only when you’ve already reached the joyful state of anaphylactic shock. Additionally, I want you to use the heliotherapy settings of your bed lights for one hour per day. I don’t care when you do that or how or with whom – and that is not an invitation to tell me, either – as long as you’re doing it. And I will know if you’re not following orders.”

“Yessir.” Jim flipped off a mock salute. He didn’t mind the light thing, actually, and he wondered if his new diet would include a steak or a burger sometimes. Or perhaps even ice cream. He didn’t dare to get his hopes up in terms of chocolate. But a man could dream, right?

“Last but not least,” Bones paused and frowned. “The changes of your psionic potential. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask Spock to join us now.”

“What? Why?” Jim stared at Bones. “What happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?”

“Nothing happened to that,” Bones replied testily. “Which is why I suggested to ask Spock to come in and didn’t just call him in. But he’s one of three telepaths on board, and your reaction to allowing Dr. Elbrun to assess—”

“No,” Jim cut in. “No. No way, never, not happening.”

“Case in point,” Bones cried, slapping his hand on his desk with a solid smack. “Dammit, Jim. You gotta trust us.”

Jim leaned forward, propping his elbows on his thighs, face in his palms. “I do, Bones, I really do.” His voice sounded muffled and tired. “I just don’t want random people fucking with my mind.”

Bones sighed. “I get that, Jim. I understand. Which is why I would very much like to talk about this with Spock. You do trust Spock.”

Jim raised his head. And there were those palpitations again, of feeling just too much, too deeply. “Yeah,” he said, “yeah, sure.”

“So may I ask Spock to join us now?” Bones asked patiently, and Jim kind of hated how much sympathy there was in his friend’s and doctor’s eyes.

“Yes. Of course. Sorry for making your job more difficult than necessary.”

“That’s all right.” Bones got up and went to the door. “Mr. Spock, stop scaring Nurse Oli with your weird Vulcan ways and get in here.”

“Of course, Doctor. Though I can assure you that I have not, in fact, scared the nurse. We have merely discussed a science experiment concerning herbal remedies that is of professional interest to her.”

Bones rolled his eyes and returned to his seat. “Sit, Mr. Spock, and take a good look at the captain’s latest brain scan and his esper ratings, aperception quotient, and Duke-Heidelberg quotient.”

Spock settled down next to Jim and focused on the display. He didn’t say anything, but the way his left eyebrow jerked upwards sharply was rather telling.

“Don’t even say it,” Jim grumbled. “My brain’s fascinating, right?”

Spock met his eyes, and there was just enough of a suggestion of warmth in his gaze to make Jim stop freaking out. “Indeed.”

“Jim’s psionic potential is off the charts for a human being,” Bones said. Stabbing his index finger in Spock’s direction, he went on, “Not active, of course, or at least not yet, as far as I can tell. And nowhere close to yours. But then your ratings are way beyond what passes for normal even among Vulcans.”

“They are?” Jim stared at Spock. “Although you’re Half-Human?”

“Perhaps rather because he is Half-Human,” Bones suggested, when Spock didn’t seem to know how to react to Jim’s overt curiosity. “As Humans aren’t normally active telepaths or empaths, our expertise concerning extra-sensory perception is somewhat limited. So I wouldn’t know for sure. But let’s get back to the brain at hand.” He switched off the screen. “So far this development doesn’t seem to mess with Jim. The insomnia might have something to do with it, but not necessarily. I’m pretty sure the episodes of claustrophobia are only comparatively mild symptoms of PTSD. However, fact remains, his brain’s doing stuff it’s never done before, and in ways it wasn’t meant to originally. We need to be prepared for problems, and since Jim has decided to refuse working with Dr. Elbrun, there’s just one … logical alternative.”

Spock frowned at Jim, who shrugged and gave him a rather pointed look. Nice to meet you, Mr. Pot. Remember how you practically told me to go to hell when I suggested allowing Dr. Elbrun anywhere near your brain?

“So what do you want me to do, Doctor?” Spock asked.

“Be aware of the situation. Keep an eye on the captain.” Bones ran his fingers through his hair. “I wouldn’t say no if you were to suggest some of your Vulcan voodoo. But since there’s no medical reason for it just yet, I won’t order you to attempt that. Yet.”

“An exploratory meld might be of merit,” Spock agreed. “Captain?”

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew a bit about Vulcan mind melds by now. When the thing with the psi-ratings first had come up on scans at Starfleet Medical, he’d done his homework. He’d researched human psionic potential as well as Vulcan mind melds and touch-telepathy, and assorted other kinds of extra-sensory talents. His first conclusion had been that he didn’t want that kind of mental contact with a random stranger, no matter if he was a therapist or not. And sure, not every meld would be as intimate and overwhelming an experience as the one he had shared with Spock Prime on Delta Vega. He got that. But if he was honest with himself, he wanted it to be – if his Spock ever melded with him. He wanted all that he’d shared with the older Spock and more, so much more, and he sure as hell didn’t want to be in the position of a patient for it.

“Not thrilled with the idea, Spock,” he said at last. He took a deep breath. “Not opposed to it, either. But if it’s not necessary right now, I’d rather not. If that’s all right with you, Bones.”

Bones nodded, and that was good enough. But Spock’s expression rather hinted at an upcoming discussion of the matter in private. Yay, a relationship talk, and they hadn’t even had sex yet or anything.

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.132, 1600 hours, Deck 10, Observation Lounge

Jim slumped back on one of the couches of the smallest Observation lounge of the Enterprise, wrung out, a headache pounding in his temples. Of course he could have scheduled the psych talk for another day, but he wanted to get it over with. He was just so tired of it all, the scans and the blood tests and the examinations and the discussions of results and ratings.

At least Guinan didn’t poke and prod, and she’d agreed to meet up here, instead of in her small office adjacent to sickbay. She glanced at the pretty colors of his latest brain scan, scrolled down the lab results and scanned Bones’s report. Now she put the PADD away, leaning back in the swivel chair.

She didn’t even ask, “How are you?”

Boy, how he appreciated that. He’d endured enough “helpful” therapy-type questions after Tarsus to last him for three lifetimes. They both knew why he was here now, right? And that he was doing his level best to get with the program. Not that he was sure how well this counseling thing was working out, but … he was at least not trying to mess with her or sabotage the set-up on purpose.

“I kissed Spock last night,” he blurted out.

As soon as he heard himself saying those words out loud, he wanted to take them back. He hunched over, balling his hands into fists, waiting for the blow to strike, ready to jump – run – whatever—

When nothing happened, when Guinan still didn’t say anything, he looked up. She didn’t smile or frown. She appeared relaxed, her expression neutral.

“Aren’t you supposed to say something?” he asked.

“Do you need me to?”

Interesting question. Jim got to his feet. He just couldn’t sit any longer. He had to move. So he paced the room in silence. After measuring the distance from wall to wall with his feet for the fifth time, he went to the window that took up the whole front of the lounge, ground to ceiling. There he stood and stared at the streaming ribbons of starlight that now and again lit up against the expanse of empty black space, as the Enterprise sped toward her destination at warp speed.

There, right outside the window, waited death – cold, silent, fast, everything over in seconds. But also: opportunity, adventure. And … eternity. He gazed outside, at light and darkness. That, right there, was what he’d always, always craved, as the best destiny he could imagine for himself. Not because of the Kelvin. Not in spite of the Kelvin. But because …

“Because … we are part of this universe, we are in this universe, but perhaps more important than both of those facts … because the universe is in us,” he murmured.

Beneath his feet Jim could feel the Enterprise, a humming, soothing vibration, like the pulse of a living creature. Breathing deeply, he watched stars and space mingle and melt away. As he observed the galaxy rushing past him, some of the pressure lifted, some of the tension drained away. A minute, two minutes, perhaps three, slipped past.

Jim turned around and went back to the couch.

“Neil deGrasse Tyson,” Guinan said.

“Yeah.” Somehow he wasn’t surprised that she had recognized the quote. “And no,” he said slowly, “I actually don’t think I need you to say anything.”

For a moment he sat there, feeling strangely Zen, or C’thia, or something.

“I’m good,” he said, somewhat astonished.

“Well,” he amended, thinking of sleepless nights and closed doors and psi-ratings, “maybe not completely. Or all the time. But, mostly.”

He looked at Guinan. “I’m good. Spock’s good. And I think we’ll be even better together.”

The El-Aurian smiled.

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.133, 2000 hours, Deck 7, Sickbay

At the end of Beta shift, the fifth day of their journey, Leonard had skipped dinner and was still locked up in his office, poring over Jim’s files (what else?). He told himself he’d get around to grabbing a bite before turning in for the day.

“Bridge to Dr. McCoy.” The purring voice of M’Ress, the Kzinti communications officer on Beta One shift, poured out of the comm. “A subspace message from Earth for you, marked ‘private’ and ‘urgent’. The captain has been copied. Shall I reroute the message to sickbay for you?”

The kind of message no one ever wanted to receive. The kind of message that would change your life forever in an instant, and not because you won the Intergalactic Lottery.

Somehow Leonard rasped a reply. “Affirmative.”

“We regret to inform you …”

Eventually he had to stop yelling at the comm unit. That bastard of a police officer simply cut off the connection. His helpless, furious questions, screamed at the top of his lungs – about how in hell a Starfleet appointed chaperone could lose his daughter and how the supposedly best police force of the Federation was unable to locate an eleven year old girl on the allegedly safest planet of the known galaxy – were met with a black screen. His attempts to call back, to get another subspace connection with the police of San Francisco yielded no result. The red light of the sickbay comm unit kept flickering in the relentless rhythm of connection failure, of defeat. A subspace connection with Earth is temporarily not available.

Then Jim was there, with Spock and Dr. Chapel hovering in the background. Reality condensed to the glass of bourbon in his shaking hands.

“Jo—”

“She’ll be okay, Bones,” Jim insisted. “They’ll find her. She’s a smart kid. She’ll be fine. They’ll find her. Kids do the darndest things.”

He wanted to ask Jim to turn around the ship. He wanted to beg Jim to forget about their mission. He wanted to plead with Jim to put his little girl above their orders, above everything. But he of course couldn’t. He clutched the glass of whiskey so hard that he thought it should break into a thousand pieces right there in his hands. But it didn’t.

“Jo …”

♦♦♦♦♦♦

“The most astounding fact is the knowledge that the atoms that comprise life on Earth, the atoms that make up the human body, are traceable to the crucibles that cooked light elements into heavy elements in their core under extreme temperatures and pressures. These stars … the ingredients for life itself. So that when I look up at the night sky and I know that yes, we are part of this universe, we are in this universe, but perhaps more important than both of those facts is that the Universe is in us. When I reflect on that fact, I look up – many people feel small because they’re small and the Universe is big – but I feel big, because my atoms came from those stars. There’s a level of connectivity. That’s really what you want in life, you want to feel connected, you want to feel relevant you want to feel like a participant in the goings on of activities and events around you That’s precisely what we are, just by being alive…”
– Neil deGrasse Tyson