RoH 11

Safe In Our Own Paradise

Stardate 2260.243, 2000 hours, Deck 10, Conference Lounge One

“If you think I don’t know what you’re doing under the table with your PADDs and comm units, think again,” Captain Kirk said, looking vaguely pissed off. Holding up his hand, he ticked off on his fingers: “Angry Klingons. Tetris with tribbles. Glomps vs. Gorn. You won’t beat my high scores anyway, so you can put your hands on top of the table and pay attention to this briefing like good little Starfleet officers now. Or who did you think ‘IWillKickYourAss1701’ is?” He frowned at them. “Of course I can also ask Commander Paul to rethink shore leave for the bridge teams. Up to you, ladies and gentlemen, up to you.”

“What?!” Scotty muttered next to Sulu and shot him an indignant glare. “I thought that was you!”

Hikaru Sulu did the only thing he could. He put his PADD in front of him. Then he rested his forearms on the table left and right of the device and concentrated on not balling his hands into fists. There went his Angry Klingons championship.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Sulu.” Kirk ignored the other PADDs and comm units that were pointedly arranged on top of the conference table. He turned to Commander Paul, who didn’t seem to know if he should laugh or add a stern glare of his own. “They’re all yours.” Kirk sat down.

“Thank you, Captain.” Commander Paul rose to his feet. “Since we’ve made a lot of progress during the last few days, today’s briefing should be comparatively short and painless.”

Chekov muffled a groan of disbelief that was thankfully ignored by the commander.

“To recapitulate: the trade negotiations with the Arrakis Trade Union and the Fremen are well under way. I expect agreement will be reached soon, and that contracts will be signed within a week or two. The smugglers are mostly grandstanding right now, pretending they can screw the Federation over. But they do want our pergium supplies, and they really want that trading license for Federation starbases. It’s much more convenient to conduct what legal trading they do without the danger of being shot or imprisoned on sight.”

Hikaru snorted. He liked Commander Paul’s sarcasm a lot. Paul shot him a quick grin but went on smoothly, “The Fremen are a more difficult case. Basically, their price is breaking Prime Directive.”

Not everyone on the bridge teams kept up with the trade negotiations, so that snag in proceedings caused some muttering. Especially phrased that bluntly. With the nonchalance of more than thirty years in Starfleet service, Paul elaborated, “The Fremen want the Federation to help them radically terraforming parts of the planet. Turn the desert into paradise, that sort of thing – the universal utopia of the disadvantaged. Under normal circumstances that might effectively put an end to negotiations. There’s no immediate risk to the population; the Fremen have survived in those deserts down there for thousands of years. If they want to change their environment, it’s up to them to develop the necessary technology or the technological means to reach others who may help them. Those are the rules. There’s a good reason why we have them.”

“And that reason is not that rules are meant to be broken,” the commander said with a stern look directed at the captain. Sulu almost expected Kirk to object at this point. But although he frowned, the captain remained silent. “However,” Paul added with a wry smile, “reality rarely plays by the book. Arrakis is a contaminated planet. The Fremen are already in the official Starfleet registry of contaminated cultures. That’s our saving grace – or there’d be a lot more bureaucratic hassle. As it is, we expect the all clear without any delay beyond subspace lag. I anticipate that we’ll get orders to stay at least another month for a first evaluation of the planet’s climate, biology, and geology in preparation for the terraforming units.”

Commander Paul permitted himself a slight smile. “Once a preliminary agreement with the smugglers and the Fremen has been reached, I’ll also be able to schedule some real shore leave for everyone.”

“Not just a few hours dirtside, sir?” Leslie asked, hopefully. “A real vacation?”

“Yes,” Paul said. “Though not for you, Mr. Leslie, or for Commander Sulu, I regret to say. This is the last chance to get some of your exams graded and rated directly. Commander Spock has been adamant to make use of the opportunity.”

Hikaru’s good mood evaporated. He agreed with Spock’s reasoning that a fully qualified alternate command team was an advantage for the Enterprise on her five-year mission. He was also willing to concede that his efforts were advantageous for advancing his career. There was only one catch, and he couldn’t seem to get over it. The whole scheme was based on a worst case scenario. On the possibility that both Captain Kirk and Commander Spock were gone. Gone for good. And that … Sulu stared at his PADD. He detested the very idea, and he disliked his sentimentality concerning it. He’d signed up for the five-year mission with Captain Kirk in center chair and Commander Spock at his side. That was how things were supposed to be; how he liked things to be.

Commander Paul didn’t seem to notice. He went on with his agenda for this briefing. Only Nyota met Hikaru’s eyes with a darkly comforting gaze.

“Captain Kirk and Commander Spock will be on an away mission on the planet for the next few days,” Commander Paul went on. “Commander Sulu, as you’ll have the conn in their absence, can you go over the schedule for the next week, please?”

Hikaru stood. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Jim and Spock exchanging a glance. Whatever they were up to, it was important. And … The way they looked at each other … Huh. Really?

He cleared his throat. “All right,” he said and switched on the screen. “Here are the preliminary shift rosters …”

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.244, 0800 hours, The Great Flat, Arrakis

Jim wondered why in hell no one on this damn planet dealt in beaming coordinates. The first time they had to go anywhere on Arrakis, the method of transport was always via the most cumbersome means available. They’d flown that battered, unbalanced shuttlecraft out to the Spice crawler. They’d ridden uncomfortable, restive Kulons – desert donkeys only too happy to take a bite out of your ass if they could reach it – to the Shield Wall. Today, it was hiking through the deep desert to Sietch Jacurutu, the secret Vulcan colony on Dune. (Sadly, his attempts to score a sandworm ride hadn’t been successful so far. But he was working on that.)

Jim didn’t really mind the exercise, though, now that he’d moved beyond the boiled lobster stage and built up a nice tan. Especially since the trip provided ample opportunity to watch Spock in the desert sun. He always liked looking at Spock. That was a simple fact. But to see Spock in the desert … Jim couldn’t quite pinpoint why that was so special. Possibly because the Enterprise was their chosen home, but space wasn’t a natural habitat for anyone. Perhaps because human beings did not enjoy such a special relationship with a certain climate – general factors such as the composition of a planet’s atmosphere and its gravity were more important for Humans to thrive. Maybe Jim was a bit in awe of Spock belonging to an alien planet like that, on such an instinctive level.

Anyway, Jim had been looking forward to this expedition so much that he didn’t even complain about getting up long before Alpha shift started. They set out from Sietch Tabr way before sunrise, Sayyadina T’Luminareth, Naib Stilgar, Spock and Jim. First the pilot of a small helicopter-type shuttlecraft dropped them off on some rocks deep in the desert. From there, they had to proceed on foot.

“It is a pilgrimage,” T’Luminareth told them, Vulcan-solemn. “And the highest honor we can bestow on an offworlder. Few have been invited to see Sietch Jacurutu.”

“Fewer still have been allowed to meet the Lisan al-Gaib,” Stilgar added.

The Fremen taught them the art of walking the sands of Arrakis. Steps and movements had to remain without rhyme or rhythm, or worms would come. So every step had to sound random, purposeless. That method of progress drove Spock crazy. Not very surprising – he was all about control and concentration, focus and efficiency. On Jim, sandwalking had the opposite effect. The randomness of movement got him closer to a meditative state than most anything he’d attempted so far. He slid down a dune, then stopped. After a few heartbeats, he moved again, only to halt once more after another breath or two. He imagined himself as a handful of sand blown on and on and on, scattered over and over and over again. After a few hours, he felt close to the desert. Jim wondered if that was how Spock experienced Arrakis when his gaze turned blank, when he grew inhumanely still, his face turned up to the sky. If Spock became a part of the desert in those moments, soaking in the heat from sand and sun in a primal, profound connection. Throughout their journey, Spock remained right in front of him, too; solid, straight, and just out of reach. Sometimes Jim fancied he could even smell him, which was of course rubbish. But he still imagined the scent. A mixture of skin and sun and sand and … just Spock.

Late in the afternoon they reached a flat stretch of sand. Beyond, they could just make out the beginnings of another rocky formation like the one that housed Sietch Tabr. Jim rubbed his forehead with his sleeve and exhaled with a muffled snort into the nose plugs of his stillsuit.

Finally. Hiking in the desert is no walk in the park. Jim winced. If that’s the best pun I can come up with, it’s really time we’re getting somewhere.

“That’s drumsand ahead of us,” Stilgar said and pointed at the sandy plain ahead. At Spock’s raised eyebrow, he added an explanation, “That kind of sand resonates similar to the membrane of a drum. It amplifies sounds. Sietch Jacurutu is surrounded by it. Ahead of us is the safest, shortest passage. However, our steps will attract a worm. We have to hurry.”

“Cool,” Jim said. “Like a castle moat. Only with sandworms instead of ‘gators or piranhas.” He thought of the worm they’d seen when they’d flown out into the desert to visit that Spice crawler. The giant maw full of man-high tusks burping a cloud of raw Spice at them. Excitement welled up in a rush of adrenaline. He didn’t even need to look at Spock to know his first officer was scowling, making his best turtle face of disapproval over Jim risking life and/or limb for no good reason.

“I’ll stake out a thumper – a device with a rhythmic clapper – on the far edge of the drumsand to divert any worms nearby,” Stilgar went on. “The thumper calls to any worm in the vicinity, but it also distracts them it from the sounds of our steps. At least for a little while.”

“And then?”

Stilgar smiled. “Then we run.”

Twenty minutes later Stilgar had planted the thumper, and they were waiting at the edge of the drumsand. Jim had removed the nose plugs and the mouth-filter of his suit. Those add-ons might be awesome for preserving moisture, but they hindered his breathing. He didn’t think that Stilgar would put them in mortal danger. That kind of thing was bad for trade negotiations; and the Fremen really wanted the Federation to help with their terraforming dreams. But he also didn’t want to end up as worm bait just because he couldn’t catch his breath.

“Start running at the first beat of the clapper,” Stilgar ordered. “Don’t stop until you’ve reached the rocks.”

“Right.” Jim’s heart started pounding before the thumper did. When it did, Jim jumped. Wow, was that thing loud! A Terran drum kit had nothing on it. The beats resonated almost painfully inside his ears, inside his skull.

The Sayyadina was the first on the drumsand. If Jim had thought the thumper was noisy, drumsand took drumming to a new level. A whole-body experience of percussion from the sound of it. Jim hit the sand and took off after the Fremen-Vulcan priestess. Boom, boom, boom! Each step reverberated through his bones. He ran. Boom, boom, boom! Spock remained at his side, while Stilgar took up the rear. Through the barrage of beats, thumper claps and footsteps, a new sound threaded, an abrasive slithering, first a whisper, then a hiss, then a storm unleashed right under their feet …

“Worm!” Stilgar cried. “Faster!”

The dry sand, slipping and sliding under his feet, hampered Jim’s progress. Already he could smell the worm. The tang of raw Spice in the air choked him, made him gag. A renewed surge of adrenaline translated into a desperate dash toward the rocky ledge in front of him. His first step on the hard surface jarred his stride. He lurched and skidded on the pebble-littered slope. Behind them, the worm roared up from the sand. The ground shook beneath their feet. Jim stumbled. He was falling, tumbling toward the desert – but Spock grabbed him at the elbow and dragged him upward with an iron grip, into a narrow cleft, up a steep flight of stairs, into a cave. Behind them, the sand exploded into a Spice-drenched turmoil of darkness and ivory fangs.

The noise of the thumper stopped, but Jim wouldn’t be surprised if his heartbeat was still loud enough to challenge the worm, the way it pounded in his throat. At the small of his back, he could feel Spock’s heart thudding even through the padded stillsuit. Instantly, the adrenaline rushing through his veins translated into arousal. Spock held him as if he’d never let him go. Jim’s dick pulsed inside the too tight stillsuit. When he gasped for breath, it had nothing to do with the exertion of running, and everything with Spock … And Spock let go of him with such a violent jerk that Jim almost lost his footing. Fuck. Heat suffused him. His cheeks burned. Damn touch-telepathy! Obviously not even a Fremen stillsuit could curtail a certain kind of emotional transference. Spock was positively shaking …

Jim took three, four awkward steps back toward the opening of the cave. There, he leaned against the wall and stared outside, trying to catch his breath, doing his level best to will away his erection. Outside, in the wake of the worm, waves of sand flowed into crescent patterns. A few minutes later, the desert lay silent and bare in the brilliant glare of Mu Draconis.

“Welcome to Sietch Jacurutu,” T’Luminareth said, a smile audible in her voice.

At last Jim had himself under control again. “Good to be here,” he replied, turning around. He couldn’t help himself; instinctively, he looked at Spock, not at the priestess. Spock was still flushed, his cheeks tinged green, and he was breathing hard. Jim could make out the rise and fall of his chest even in the dim light of the cave. I want you, Jim thought. Damn, I had no idea I could want someone like that. For the first time since he’d been sixteen or so, he wondered if it was actually possible to die from sexual frustration.

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.244, 1700 hours, Sietch Jacurutu, Arrakis

They met Shiav Sybok, the Voice of the Outer World, in a room that reminded Jim very much of the great hall of Sietch Tabr. Massive round columns hewn into ring-shaped, wormlike segments supported a vaulted ceiling. Their capitals were crowned with carved rows of tusks. Subtle crescent patterns like waves of sand left behind by a worm adorned the yellow stone above their heads. Thick carpets and tapestries with utopian plant patterns in bright hues of blue and green added splashes of color to the cave. The cool moon-like light of glowglobes illuminated the vast room.

Jim already thought Spock was intense (and he rather liked that about Spock). But Spock had nothing on Sybok. Now, Jim knew from experience that there were perfectly ordinary human beings who could dominate a crowd just by entering a room. Khan, for example. Pike, up to a point. Those types didn’t even have to say something. They just had to be there and breathe. You just felt their presence, the force of their personality. And Sybok? Bloody punch in the gut, that guy.

Jim knew Sybok was just six years older than Spock, but it might just as well have been twenty-six. Part of it was all that hair, he guessed. Sybok wore a shaggy beard, and his hair flowed in a lion’s mane down to his shoulders. That kind of style tended to make people look older than they were. It was definitely not the skin. Arrakis climate might turn human skin into leather, but it had little effect on Vulcans. No, what made Sybok look older was the raw openness of his face. Laugh lines crinkled the corners of his eyes. Brackets of bitterness framed his mouth. A worried frown was engraved across the bridge of his nose. And Jim was willing to bet that one look from those piercing, Spice-blue eyes could make a sandworm heel.

“Sa-kai.” Sybok opened his arms. He met Spock in three long strides and pulled him into a tight embrace. “Tushah nash-veh k’du. The death of our people echoes in our hearts. I felt your soul cry out.”

Spock froze. Jim was positive he’d stopped breathing. He was probably mortified by his brother’s emotional outburst. He was very obviously overwhelmed by its physical expression. Jim was not prepared for the growl that emerged from Spock’s throat. “Unhand me. Now.”

Sybok dropped his arms and stepped back. “Sanu-tobeg-tor n’nash-ve,” he said. “I respect your pain.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Then you have changed more than I thought possible, Sybok.”

Sybok, Vulcan outcast and Fremen messiah, sighed audibly. “I was an idiot, brother. Do you want that in writing?”

For a long moment, Spock just stared at Sybok, and Jim wondered what was going on inside his brain. Was he busy controlling the universal, perfectly normal and healthy urge to strangle an older brother? Or going over irregular Klingon verbs for a lark and the soothing effect? At last Spock nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I would appreciate that.”

Sybok laughed. Loud, relieved un-Vulcan laughter. He walked past Spock and held out his hand in greeting. “Captain Kirk, I am pleased to meet you.”

At the touch of Sybok’s hand, a flash of lightning split Jim’s skull. With a scream, Jim found himself on his knees, clutching his head with both hands. “FUCK! What the hell was that?”

“Spock, no!” Jim stumbled to his feet just in time before Spock could hurl himself at his brother. Fratricide was not on their agenda today, and Sybok looked much like Jim felt that moment … chewed up and spit out again, plus pretty horrified. “I don’t think he did that on purpose.”

If Jim hadn’t clung to Spock for support because his knees weren’t quite up to the task of keeping him upright, Spock might not have listened. But given the choice between beating up his brother and helping his captain stay on his feet, he didn’t move and even wrapped a strong arm around Jim’s back instead.

“Emotional transference,” Sybok explained hoarsely. “I am sorry, Captain. That was most – most unusual. It was not my intention to harm you.”

“But you never touched me there …” Jim lifted his hand to the left side of his face, tracing the primary meld points.

“What do you know of emotional transference?” Spock demanded, his voice a tense, pissed-off whisper. “Who melded with you?”

Jim frowned. Not a topic he could discuss in front of Sybok. He shook his head. “Not now, Spock.”

Spock stiffened. He drew back, standing at attention, his hands hidden behind his back. Sybok winced. Then he cleared his throat and beckoned them towards the raised platform at the end of the hall. Pillows and cushions were scattered around a delicately carved stone table. “Please, sit down. You did not provide many details why you requested this meeting, but I expect there is much to discuss …”

A few minutes later, Jim and Spock were seated across from Sybok. T’Saralonde, Sybok’s wife – a delicate Vulcan woman with Spice-blue eyes and a mischievous smile (a smiling, flirty Vulcan! how odd, and how pretty!) – served them tabara and baklava and grapes. She poured Spice coffee for Jim and Sybok and mint tea for Spock. When she was done, she withdrew again into the shadows between the columns.

Jim took a sip of coffee. Then, somewhat belatedly, he remembered his manners. “Thank you for seeing us, Sybok. I have been given to understand it’s a special honor for us to be allowed to visit Sietch Jacurutu and the,” he hesitated before he attempted to pronounce the Fremen term correctly, “Lisan al-Gaib.”

“In Fremen mythology, Jacurutu has always been the home of outcasts and rebels,” Sybok said and raised a slanted eyebrow at his brother. “It seemed a fitting home for a Ktorr Skann.”

“Then I assume the accolade Lisan al-Gaib seemed a fitting substitute for the designation as Shiav of Vulcan?” Spock asked coldly. “Is this, then, Sha Ka Ree?” Although no syllable held even a hint of emotion, Jim rather thought that “this” would not translate as a compliment.

“Ah.” Sybok carefully placed his tiny ivory beaker with Spice coffee on the table. “No.” He laced his fingers in the traditional gesture of Vulcan meditation. “I am not a messiah. There is no Shiav; there is no Lisan al-Gaib.”

He stared into the shadows. “There is no paradise save the one we carry within us.”

For a heartbeat, he met Jim’s eyes, as if he wanted to add something. About that weird emotional transference, perhaps? But when Sybok went on, he addressed Spock again. Primarily, at least. “Messiah myths have been planted on many planets, have been implanted deep in the legends of many species. Humankind knows not just one, but dozens of such stories. The insidious seeds of crusade and jihad can be found in Vulcan, Kyros, Minbari, Thallonian, Bajoran, Fremen, and even Klingon culture – to name but a few.” Sybok shook his head. “I am unable to discern the purpose of this manipulation. But …” Determination hardened his voice. “… I will not be made its instrument.”

“Fascinating.” Spock raised both eyebrows. “Yet the Fremen still call you Lisan al-Gaib.”

“Not when I can hear it,” Sybok said dryly and shrugged. “It takes more than seventeen years of beneficial and somewhat rational influence to undo the effects of centuries-long propaganda on an illogical species.” He quirked an eyebrow of his own. “Does that reassure you sufficiently, brother, to deliver your message? I do know you are not here merely to buy Spice.”

Spock inclined his head. “Indeed not. I am here as a messenger from New Vulcan, to pass on a request from the High Council.”

Jim wasn’t entirely comfortable with witnessing the whole scene. Sure, he was the captain. Definitely, he was curious. And yeah, he cared. A lot, actually. How could he not, after witnessing the end of Vulcan, after meeting old Spock, after … falling in love with his Spock? But he wasn’t sure how he felt about getting involved in Spock’s family issues plus Vulcan myths and politics. Of course, if his relationship with Spock was supposed to go anywhere, he had to get used to that. He frowned.

Spock pulled a data stick from a pocket of his uniform pants and held it out to his brother. “The Vulcan Science Academy has compiled research data for you to review. Many survivors,” Spock explained, “struggle with mental problems that are beyond the skills of the few mind healers left alive. Additionally, there are …” He hesitated. The tension around his eyes tightened into a frown. “… other issues, concerning the – certain times of our life. You know what I am talking about.” He cast a meaningful look at Sybok.

“Disrupted mating cycles?” Sybok asked without hesitation. Spock, however, well, he didn’t wince as obviously as Sybok had before. But he did close his eyes for the fraction of a second. Jim stared, now blatantly curious. Sybok remained unconcerned.

“I’m not surprised,” Sybok said. “It’s a natural biological process to stabilize an endangered population. Impregnation is virtually guaranteed during pon farr. A catastrophe with an existential impact on our species must naturally result in much more frequent mating times. And there are other factors to take into account. The trauma of severed bonds as well as environmental influences. The Cestus system is very different from 40 Eridani A. Seventeen years ago little new research was under way concerning our mating cycles. It would be beneficial if that has changed.”

Sybok regarded Spock expectantly, but Spock shook his head with a not entirely logical jerk. “Up until now, the Time has remained taboo, perhaps to the fatal detriment of our species.”

Jim was thinking fast, adding up the expression “mating cycles”, Spock’s acute discomfort, cultural taboos, and heavily encrypted files about Vulcan biology in the medical database of the Enterprise. So he’d been right to leave that alone. But now he thought that he really needed to talk with Spock. About things. Birds and bees and where baby Vulcans come from – i.e. pon farr.

Sybok’s strange blue eyes softened. He focused his attention on his brother’s distress. “Spock, do not be concerned. New research would have been helpful, but I and my people have made much progress in the last seventeen years. My best healers and I will travel to New Vulcan, and we will do everything in our power to help our people. We will leave as soon as travel arrangements can be made.”

Spock didn’t sigh with relief, but a certain tension melted from his body. “If you will permit us to beam aboard the Enterprise from here, we will inform New Vulcan at once, so that safe means of transportation can be organized.”

“Of course.” Sybok nodded. “Once the trade negotiations are completed, we can travel with Halleck to the next starbase and make our way toward New Vulcan from there, until a rendezvous with a Vulcan ship is possible. I don’t want to lose unnecessary time when lives are at stake.”

“Nemaiyo,” Spock said softly. His relief was palpable, painful in the raw expression in his eyes. “Thank you, brother.”

“But before you leave for tonight, we need to talk about you,” Sybok said, suddenly stern. With narrowed eyes he looked from Spock to Jim and back. “Why are the two of you not Bonded yet?”

Spock … blinked, shocked speechless, or the Vulcan equivalent thereof.

“What?” Jim blurted. In terms of unexpected intimate questions that one would certainly make every top ten list he could think of.

Sybok ignored his brother’s shock and addressed Jim instead. “When we touched hands, Captain, there was a brief moment of telepathic contact between us. Your mind reached out for me. A purely instinctive reaction of a mind seeking its Bondmate. Perhaps triggered by the remains of what familial connections I once shared with Spock. But because I am not Spock, and not even of his House or clan anymore, your mind lashed out against me. That was the pain you experienced. Though it is unusual that you, a human being should experience any of this.”

“Huh.” Oh yeah, he and Spock had things to discuss. The confirmation that he was drawn to Spock in ways far beyond sexual desire or even the most desperate crush was reassuring rather than shocking. He kind of liked the idea that his mind was attracted to Spock’s. And his brain was seriously weird since his reboot, so that might make him more receptive to what Bones liked to call “Vulcan mind voodoo”. “Our doctor keeps telling me that my esper ratings are all messed up. So that makes sense, sort of, I guess.”

Sybok raised his eyebrows. But after a moment’s consideration, he shook his head. “Yes and no. For the moment I’ll disregard the fact that a human mind shouldn’t be able to react that way at all and concentrate on what that phenomenon means for a Vulcan mind.” Sybok focused on Spock again, glaring at him.

“Brother, what logic is this?” Sybok asked. Worry and reproach sharpened his tone. “You are fam-telsu, never-bonded. The mating cycles of our people are out of control. Your prospective Bondmate is human and barely recovered from severe trauma himself, if what I could glean from one short touch is correct. Your unresolved relationship leaves both your minds at risk, vulnerable to injury and incursion. And from his reaction to my words, I must deduce that you have not yet spoken to him of the Time. Spock, this is unacceptable.”

Spock stiffened at the lecture and paled. Jim would have liked to tell Sybok to back off, but he bit his tongue.

“Your reasoning is logical,” Spock admitted after a long moment of silence, his voice flat. “Do we have your permission now to beam up to the Enterprise from here? We should transmit the subspace message regarding transport arrangements to New Vulcan for you and your healers as soon as possible.” Spock rose to his feet. Jim followed suit, pulling out his comm unit.

“Of course,” Sybok said. “Go ahead. And by Grabthar’s hammer: Talk to your captain, Spock.”

Spock met Jim’s gaze. His eyes were completely black and … Scared, Jim thought. He’s scared. Jim had no idea what to say to Sybok, so he concentrated on the next step and hailed the Enterprise. “Kirk here. Two to beam up, if you can get our signal from inside these rocks.”

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.244, 2200 hours, Deck 10, Observation Lounge

Jim sat at his desk in his awesome captain’s office and enjoyed a good sulk.

He hadn’t actually expected Spock to follow Sybok’s demands on the spot. But he had hoped for Spock to say something. They had kissed, for heaven’s sake. They had … cuddled, for fuck’s sake! They had even shared a bed on two occasions, if in a disappointingly platonic fashion. He thought he had made his intentions sufficiently clear since the very beginning of the mission.

So what’s the damn problem now? he wondered. Except of course he kind of knew. Jim grinned wryly. Like the simple fact that we’re both in way over our heads. He tapped his stylus on his desk. I don’t think that Spock is keeping things from me on purpose. He pinched the bridge of his nose. What if Spock’s as lost as I am? Age can’t be converted between species like time zones on a planet. Physical, psychological, and uh, in this case, telepathic maturity is more complex than that. And we’re well, not precisely standard Vulcan mating material.

Jim raked his fingers through his hair. The way he was feeling right now, he figured he had two options. Option one: Get drunk off his ass. Option two: Go talk to someone. Talking was the more mature option. But not to Bones. Bones was no good with relationships. And he needed to spend his evenings with Jo.

That’s how Jim ended up calling Guinan and, following her recorded message, on deck ten, in front of the observation lounge. In front of Spock.

They froze, staring at each other.

If Guinan hadn’t chosen that exact moment to open the door, Jim thought they might have turned on their heels and run off in opposite directions. “Jim, Spock.” She smiled. “Do come in.”

The El-Aurian stepped back to let them pass. Jim didn’t hesitate. Spock still seemed to consider making a run for it.

“I suggest a game,” Guinan said. “Just to pass the time.”

Jim snorted. Yeah, right. As if the term “just” even exists for you, lady. But he did trust her. And he wanted to talk to Spock. Maybe he’d manage that with Guinan’s help? “Sure. I’ve got nothing else to do tonight. You, Spock?”

“If that is your wish, Captain.”

“It’s Jim,” he reminded Spock. “We’re off duty.”

“Isn’t it interesting how we use names and titles to reflect our desire for distance or intimacy – or our fears of the same?” Guinan smiled.

She led them inside. On a table between two couches, she’d already set up a game board. As if she had expected them. Which Jim wouldn’t put past her. “Sit down.”

On the other couch, next to each other. Jim would have grinned, but he didn’t want to make Spock even more uncomfortable than the Vulcan already was.

The game board was interesting. At its most basic, it could be described as a massive board of oiled wood with an exceptionally beautiful grain of meandering textures in purple hues. Many small, regular indentations covered the surface, surrounding one slightly bigger hollow at the center. The edge of the board was lined with bowls carved into the wood and filled with small, colorful, round stones. Gems, perhaps, or marbles.

“This is a very simple game,” Guinan explained and placed a translucent orb at the center of the board. “That is the Listener. The other gems are thoughts, feelings, fears, facts, questions, and answers.” She pointed at the bowls in turn. Thoughts were represented by blue marbles. Turquoise marbles would indicate feelings. Fears were black, but facts were white. Silver marbles symbolized questions, and answers were golden. “The only rule is balance. There must always be balance. A question for a question, a feeling for a feeling, a fear for a fear … and always centered, always addressing the Listener. Not,” she admonished them with a pointed look, “each other.”

Spock raised his left eyebrow. Jim wondered if this rated a “fascinating” and settled for mouthing “interesting” at Guinan. He was rewarded with another set of raised eyebrows and allowed himself to ponder if there was such a thing as an eyebrow kink. Probably. He didn’t really want to know.

Jim took a deep breath and chose a stone. He might as well get on with it.

“What is pon farr?” he asked and placed the silver marble next to the translucent ball of the Listener at the center of the board.

Guinan nodded, as if that was a good question. Somehow Jim wasn’t surprised at her utter lack of surprise. Also, going by Spock’s reaction, who stared at him as if he’d lost all of his metaphorical marbles in one fell swoop, it was not just a good question, it was a damn good question. Guinan, however, didn’t seem to pay any attention to them. Instead she set about preparing tea, an herbal infusion, going by the scent.

Forced to ask a question of his own, Spock picked up one of the small silver balls and weighed it in his hand as if it were a precious gem or a devastating weapon. “What exactly do you want from me?”

Another nod. “Very good,” Guinan said and pointed at Spock. “The last one to place a marble begins the next round.”

After half an eternity (or perhaps a minute or two), Spock predictably chose a white marble. A fact. “Sybok is right.” He aligned the white marble with the translucent crystal at the center of the board.

“The mind meld you wanted to know about?” Jim met Spock’s gaze. “Other you. On Delta Vega.” He carefully placed a white stone on the other side of the Listener.

“So it’s my turn again?” he asked Guinan.

The El-Aurian nodded and held out a mug of tea to him. Jim accepted the cup and focused on the steam drifting up from the surface, on the refreshing scent of mint.

Facts and fears. Thoughts and feelings. Questions and answers. Jim wasn’t sure if this was easier than talking to Spock the normal way. He still picked a black marble. “I’m scared of what’s in my mind. Emotional transference. Other-you mentioned that side-effect of melds. And it’s here,” Jim said, touching his forehead with index and middle finger. “Stuff. Before, it was like … oh, a weight pressing down on my dreams. Since I woke, it’s different. It’s like scabs in my mind. Itching. I know I could scratch them off. I could look at what’s there. And I’m scared.”

Guinan raised her eyebrows but remained silent, concentrating on her tea. Jim thought she maybe just stuck around so they’d play by the rules. Spock looked sick. Well, Jim hadn’t really expected anything else. Strangely, he still felt better for it.

Spock’s eyes were as black as the marble he balanced delicately between index finger and thumb. “I am fearful that I will enjoy losing control.”

Somehow that fear kind of broke Jim’s heart. Being Vulcan was awesome. The logic, the bitchiness, everything. He loved that about Spock, all of it. But Spock was human, too. And that – passion, craziness, letting yourself go – wasn’t that what being human was all about?

It was Spock’s turn, and he took his time. When he picked a blue marble for a thought, his hand was shaking, and Jim was ready to call off the game. “I think of my parents. I know they loved each other. I know they considered their union successful by human and Vulcan standards. But when I consider them, all I can think of is how ill-equipped I am to follow their example.”

That was the moment Jim realized they were talking about getting married. And not just in the Vulcan way (not that there was anything “just” about a Vulcan Bond – Jim wasn’t that ignorant; all the same, a space jump from the Enterprise suddenly sounded like a grand old time … just for the lark of it).

Jim picked up a blue marble of his own and put it opposite of Spock’s. He wasn’t quite sure if it was a thought or a feeling. But he figured that Guinan might let him get away with cheating once. “I think you are the best thing that happened to me in my whole damn life.” He considered his words and added, “In any life.”

All of a sudden, his next move was easy. Jim chose a golden marble. For a moment he rolled it around in his hand. Spock would never ask for everything. He could not. But the question was there, suspended between them. And Jim? Jim could answer. Catching Spock’s worried, dark gaze, he smiled and placed the marble confidently on the board.

“Yes,” Jim said.

♦♦♦

“A soulmate is someone who has locks that fit our keys, and keys to fit our locks. When we feel safe enough to open the locks, our truest selves step out and we can be completely and honestly who we are; we can be loved for who we are and not for who we’re pretending to be. Each unveils the best part of the other. No matter what else goes wrong around us, with that one person we’re safe in our own paradise.”
– Richard Bach, The Bridge Across Forever: A Lovestory

♦♦♦♦♦♦

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Author’s Notes

• “Lisan al-Gaib” is a term for messiah from “Dune” canon, “Shiav” is the canon equivalent on Vulcan and Sybok’s first name.

• The Minbari are actually from “Babylon 5”, but I don’t see why they shouldn’t occur in any parallel and equal universe …

• “Grabthar’s hammer” is from “Galaxy Quest” and was included to make my best friend, alpha-reader, beta-reader, and general partner-in-crime, Aranel Took, squeee.

• Guinan’s game is an original creation; I should probably get it made in real life …

• Richard Bach, the author of this chapter’s quote, is probably best known for the tale of “Jonathan Livingston Seagull”.

• Also, if you have questions about any odd details, please feel free to ask! I’m trying not to overexplain stuffs in A/N, but I’m always happy to chat about bits and bobs in comments.