The Fire and the Rose

by David R. George III

  T’Vora sensed no resentment, no disappointment. The recollection came without ego, without color. She detected remembrance and fact, but no feeling.

  She probed further.

  There, to the Enterprise, to the Kobayashi Maru test, sacrificing the needs of the one for the needs of the many.

  Spock slumped, and then died.

  And then lived, in schism-

  His body, revived by the Genesis Wave… growing unnaturally, at an accelerated pace. His mind… wiped clean, birthed again… with no training… with no conscious decision to control his emotions… felt fear and sadness, loneliness and longing and anger.

  T’Vora immersed herself in the emotions, and found them extant in name only. Spock remembered what he’d felt as a function of intellect, but no more than that. Death came as detail, and rebirth as well, the first a logical choice, the second a logical consequence.

  She probed deeper.

  There, in the house in Shi’Kahr, as a boy, Spock hurting his mother, unwilling to tell her that he loved her… even though he did. Striving to be Vulcan and denying his human heritage, struggling to show that he belonged.

  There, on the Forge, even before the kahs-wan, seeking to prove himself through his own test of maturity and survival. I-Chaya dying in the desert, but the boy Spock rescued by the adult Spock.

  There, by the glowing, organic form of the Guardian of Forever, knowing that he had altered the timeline to save himself, to save his mother. The soft, milky features of Edith Keeler, whom Jim had loved, who’d had to die, and Spock had never even considered looking for another way.

  There, in the courtyard of the Federation embassy on Alonis, McCoy arriving to tell him of Jim’s death. The sadness, compounded by the regret of having failed his friend.

  T’Vora swept along the chain of sentiment, from one to the next. Where before she had unearthed substance, now she found only shadow. Everywhere, understanding replaced feeling, reason replaced response.

  She probed on.

  Spock kneeled on the ancient stonework, fashioned so long ago that its origins could not be traced in even the oldest Vulcan legends. His vestments bore the same inscriptions as those carved all around him, though he could not read them. Only the masters understood the meanings of the arcane symbols.

  As the day faded above him and the heat began ever so slightly to recede, Spock collected himself. The three successive mind melds had left him tired, though not exhausted, uneven, but not unsteady. Now, he took the time he needed to order his mind, to return his thoughts and memories to their normal, protected state.

  Spock had arrived here early this morning, before dawn, as directed by Master T’Vora. As the sun had risen, he had reflected on his experiences since entering into the Kolinahr. He had survived the demanding disciplines, as well as the harsh trials that had taken him to those levels of consciousness beyond the reach of confusion, fatigue, and pain. He had learned emotional control in a way he never before had, not even during his first Kolinahr all those years ago. Beyond that, he had found the path through his feelings, extracting from them their factual essence, and then stripping them away.

  As dawn had risen, Spock had slipped effortlessly into the mind-cleansing meditation he had also perfected in his time studying with Master T’Vora. He knew as surely as he could that, after he faced her and the elders today, the master would call on him to join them in the world of pure reason. He felt no pride in the impending accomplishment, nor would he when its moment arrived. But reaching the end of this trek satisfied him.

  Throughout the day, the heat of Gol had risen, the only lull during the time when the shadow of the massive statue above the steps had crept across his location. Now, in the dwindling light of dusk, the temperature ebbing, Spock peered upward, not at the sky, but at the face of the great sculpture. Beneath it, Master T’Vora and Elders Rekan and Sokel waited. They had each come forward and melded with him, then returned to their places on the stairs. With the individual links, he knew, each of them had concluded their long evaluation of his fitness for the Kolinahr.

  Now, Spock’s own personal time of awakening had come. Or it had not. He would soon find out.

  He lifted himself to his feet. Across inscriptions out of antiquity, he walked forward, climbing the low steps when he came to them. At last, he stood before the master.

  T’Vora raised her right hand in the traditional Vulcan greeting, and Spock responded in kind. In her other hand, he saw, the master held a token, a set of colored geometric shapes fitted together to form the Vulcan symbol that denoted an existence of pure logic. Spock knew that it would either be given to him or discarded. T’Vora wore such an icon on a chain around her own neck.

  Spock sensed the echo of events. The setting and situation closely matched his experiences of more than two decades ago, when he had first endeavored to attain the Kolinahr under the guidance of Master T’sai. Back then, though, he had reached this point only to find himself affected by the consciousness of V’Ger. He expected nothing of that sort to occur again, but even if it did, he deemed himself more capable now of withstanding it. The route he had taken this time in order to reach this point had proven more arduous, his labors more thorough.

  The master stepped forward, as did Sokel beside her. “Our ancestors cast out their animal passions here on these sands,” she said in the Old Vulcan tongue. “Our race was saved by the attainment of Kolinahr.”

  “Kolinahr,” Sokel droned, “through which all emotion is finally shed.”

  “You have labored long, Spock,” T’Vora said. “Now receive from us this symbol of total logic.”

  After ten seasons—more than three Standard years—of effort and a lifetime of striving to live up to some measure of the Vulcan ideal, Spock had finally achieved success in this exemplar of his culture’s rites. He felt-

  Nothing.

  Spock lowered himself to his knees. Master T’Vora moved closer, then draped around his neck the chain holding the Kolinahr emblem. “We welcome you into our world, Spock,” she said.

  Spock stood up. He peered to either side of T’Vora at the two elders who had accompanied him on this path, then back at the master. “I recognize the contributions all of you have made to this accomplishment.” He did not offer his gratitude. T’Vora and Rekan and Sokel had chosen to be guides for aspirants seeking the Kolinahr, and after his petition had been accepted—as it clearly should have been—they had simply and logically performed their duties. One did not thank logic.

  “Come share a repast with us,” T’Vora said. “We will mark the transition of this leg of your individual journey to the next.” She turned and started up the steps toward the entrance to the caverns. Rekan and Sokel went after her, and Spock followed behind.

  In the morning, considering himself more a part of Vulcan society than ever before, Spock departed the Akrelt Refuge to began his new life.

  Twenty-Four

  2297

  Sarek sat at the table in the dining room and regarded his son with equal measures of appraisal and curiosity. Just yesterday, Spock had returned from Gol, where he had for the past ten seasons pursued and ultimately achieved the Kolinahr. During his time away, Sarek and Amanda had not heard from their son, a consequence of the isolation required for his training. Spock had arrived unannounced late last evening, and he had spent most of today out of the house, but in the short amount of time Sarek had been able to observe him, he had noted the changes in his demeanor with ease.

  So too had Amanda. Last night, as she and Sarek had prepared for sleep, she had commented on how distant Spock now seemed. He had been unable to disagree, but had also suggested that it might take their son some time to become completely acclimated to his new mind-set.

  Now, as the three of them sat down to the evening meal—Sarek and Amanda opposite each other at the small, square table and Spock between them—Sarek detected a definite tension in his wife. Spock, quiet and impassive, displayed no signs of having recognized this himself yet
. No matter Spock’s emotional control, though, Sarek expected that his son would perceive and understand Amanda’s anxiety and act accordingly.

  As Sarek took a bite of the pok tar he had prepared, Amanda peered over at Spock. “So what was it like living at the Akrelt Refuge all this time?” she asked.

  “Austere,” Spock responded without looking up from his meal.

  “’Austere,’” Amanda repeated, and Sarek could see that the response had not satisfied her. He decided to intervene.

  “How did you find the experience of training with Master T’Vora?” he asked his son.

  Spock looked up for a moment, as though considering his reply, but then he simply said, “Instructive.”

  “Spock,” Amanda rebuked him. “Just because you’ve got complete mastery of your emotions doesn’t mean you have to answer us with single words.”

  “I intended no offense,” Spock said. “I merely sought to respond with concision.”

  “Concision is not required in these circumstances,” Sarek said. “Indeed, since your mother and I are interested in learning about your life and your recent experiences, concision might prove a hindrance to that aim.”

  Spock appeared to think about this, and then he turned to his mother. “I lived a simple, uncomplicated life at the Akrelt Refuge,” he said. “I took morning and evening meals, often began and ended my days in meditation, and spent most of the rest of my waking hours training with Master T’Vora and Elders Rekan and Sokel.”

  “How did you find your training now as compared with your first Kolinahr?” Sarek asked. The experiences of Kolinahr aspirants had always intrigued him.

  “I found my training this time both more extensive and more intensive,” Spock said.

  “Necessarily, I would assume,” Sarek said, “since you had another twenty years of personal experiences with which to deal.”

  “That is one reason,” Spock said. “Another was the rigor with which Master T’Vora conducted the training, and a third, the strength of my own need for it.”

  “I see,” Sarek said. Over the years, he had occasionally heard mention of T’Vora’s severity.

  “Well, I’m glad it’s over for you,” Amanda said, a comment to which Spock did not react.

  The three ate quietly for a few minutes, until Amanda said that she would bring out the second course and left the dining room. She returned shortly with a tureen of v’spora, a chilled dish comprising a mixture of fruits and tubers. She set it down in the center of the table, and after Spock and Sarek had served themselves, she did the same.

  As they ate, Sarek asked, “Were you able to speak with Doctor Nivol today?” This morning, before Amanda had risen, Spock had spoken of his intention to seek a meeting with the director.

  “Doctor Nivol?” Amanda said, obviously surprised. “Of the Vulcan Science Academy? Are you thinking of taking a position there?” She sounded pleased by the prospect of Spock remaining on Vulcan. Sarek thought that she had probably expected him to return either to Starfleet or to the Bureau of Interplanetary Affairs.

  Spock addressed his mother first. “I am thinking of pursuing a position at the Vulcan Science Academy, yes,” he told Amanda. Then, to Sarek, he said, “I did visit the academy today, but Doctor Nivol was unavailable to meet with me. I did, however, speak with her assistant, and I was able to schedule a meeting with the director for the day after tomorrow.”

  “Did the assistant provide any information about what positions might be open to you?” Sarek asked.

  “He mentioned only that there would be several teaching vacancies once the current session ends,” Spock said.

  “Oh, you’re looking to teach?” Amanda asked, a gleam of delight in her eyes. She had been an educator herself when Sarek had first met her, and she obviously took pleasure in the notion of her son pursuing the same vocation. Spock had previously trained young officers at Starfleet, but Sarek suspected that Amanda had not viewed that in the same way she would a teaching post at an institution such as the VSA.

  “I am not,” Spock said. “The director’s assistant simply cited that those positions would be open. When I speak with Doctor Nivol, I will inquire about the possibility of my doing research at the academy.”

  “Do you have a particular area of study in mind?” Sarek asked.

  “I do have an interest in temporal physics,” Spock said.

  “I do not believe that the academy has a department devoted to that field,” Sarek said, “nor much expertise among its faculty.”

  “You are correct,” Spock said. “For which reasons I will also contact the Physics Institute on Tiburon and the Ristoche Foundation for Scientific Research on Epsilon Hydra Seven.”

  “Really, Spock?” Amanda said. “You were awarded the Zee-Magnees Prize in quantum physics for your work on time particles, for goodness sake. I’m sure the academy will take you on.”

  “Mother,” Spock said, “just because the University of Alpha Centauri chose to recognize the work that Doctor McCoy and I did does not mean that the Vulcan Science Academy will or should create a position for me if one is not available, or if my field of study does not serve the institution.”

  “Well it should mean that,” Amanda maintained. “With all the research you’ve done and all your experiences in Starfleet, you’d be an asset to them.”

  “Not if there was no institutional interest in that field,” Spock insisted.

  “I disagree,” Sarek said. “It is in the best interests of the Vulcan Science Academy to engage successful, high-profile researchers such as yourself. In addition to the strong possibility that such individuals will continue to do important work, it also draws attention to the academy itself, perhaps attracting other skilled scientists and instructors to it.”

  “While that may be true,” Spock said, “it is also no guarantee that Doctor Nivol will offer me a position.”

  “Spock,” Amanda said, clearly trying to be supportive, “I’m sure you’ll be able to find something at the VSA that you’ll like.”

  Sarek watched as Spock coolly raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think so, Mother,” he said.

  “You wait and see,” she said. “You’re father’s right. If there’s nothing for you when you meet with Doctor Nivol, they’ll create something for you.”

  “I meant that, if I take a position at the Vulcan Science Academy,” Spock said, “I will not ‘like’ it.” Amanda reacted as though she’d been slapped.

  “It is not necessary to correct your mother,” Sarek said, recognizing that Spock’s disrespect had been unintentional, but nonetheless disapproving of it. “If she speaks imprecisely, it does not follow that you cannot understand her meaning.”

  “I’m not convinced I spoke imprecisely,” Amanda argued, and Sarek could sense her pain. He thought that she did not hurt because of what Spock had said, but because of his Kolinahr, his new manner, and all that implied. “If you don’t think you’ll like doing research at the academy, why would you want to do it?” Her voice rose as she spoke.

  “I have learned through experience that I am gratified by performing research within areas of interest to me,” Spock said.

  “Gratify, like,” Amanda said. “It’s semantics. You’re talking about something that fulfills your needs. It’s the same thing.”

  “I am an individual with certain intellectual tendencies and strengths,” Spock said, neither his calm expression nor his even tone changing. “One of those strengths is a scientific mind with an ability to perform research in various fields. By doing so, I can add to the body of knowledge of Vulcan and of the Federation.”

  “Yes, and that gratifies you, but you don’t like it,” Amanda said, but then she quieted and looked away. Sarek saw her take a breath before she continued. “I’m sorry, Spock,” she said. “Obviously I would never deny you doing what you wish to do….” Her words trailed off, and Sarek thought that she had stopped speaking because she’d realized that, if she could have, she would have denied Spock something tha
t he had wished to do: attain the Kolinahr.

  “Mother, I did not intend to upset you,” Spock said, clearly attempting to defuse the situation, though his reserve did not alter in the slightest degree. “I wanted only to point out the distinction between liking something and—”

  “Yes, yes, you don’t have emotions anymore, I understand that,” Amanda snapped back. “You had them and controlled them for most of your life, but that wasn’t enough; you had to rid yourself of them entirely.” Once more, she took a moment to settle herself. Then she pushed back from the table and stood up. “Now you don’t… you can’t… like anything,” she said softly, “and I suppose that means that you don’t love anything either.”

  “Mother, I—” Spock started, but Amanda turned and strode quickly from the room. Sarek looked after her and listened to her footsteps as she ascended the staircase to the second floor, then turned to face his son. “Most illogical,” Spock said.

  “She is your mother,” Sarek said. “There is nothing logical about upsetting her.”

  “She has spent the majority of her life on Vulcan,” Spock said. “She married a full Vulcan who’d achieved Kolinahr, and she is clearly happy in that relationship. Why then should she reject the course I have taken? And how can any of this be a surprise to her?”

  “You are mistaken in some of what you say,” Sarek noted, “and the fact of your Kolinahr needn’t be unexpected in order for it to displease your mother.”

  “I did not intend to upset her,” Spock said.

  Though Sarek believed his son, he said, “But you did.”

  “Am I to deny who I am?”

  “No, Spock,” Sarek said. “But I would suggest that you should not deny who your mother is, either.”

  “Human,” Spock said.