by S. D. Perry
He was troubled by his last encounter with Miss Kalomi. He had begun to postulate a context for her actions and manner regarding their interaction. The curiosity about his background, her attempts to touch him, and the comparison she had drawn between herself and his mother—all of it suggested shon-ha’lock, the engulfment. It was a perilous emotional state experienced by humans, sometimes called a crush or love at first sight.
It was difficult to accept that the condition had him as its locus. He could not see how he had done anything, even inadvertently, to provoke it, but the evidence seemed conclusive. Humans were particularly susceptible when they were vulnerable, and the recent termina tion of Miss Kalomi’s romantic relationship would account for the preexisting condition. In hindsight, he saw that Miss Kalomi had shown distinct signs of vulnerability.
Her attempt to identify with his mother encouraged an interesting issue. Spock had never considered it before, but now it occurred to him that perhaps his mother had experienced shon-ha’lock for his father. This would be a sufficient explanation of why she had chosen to marry outside her own kind. Spock had never been able to discern, however, any logical reason for his father’s choice to wed a human. The implications had affected his life greatly, he believed, and there had been times he had resented it.
Spock felt a thread of emotion and allowed it to play out, identifying it as shame. It was not unfamiliar to him, but it had been many years since he had experienced it. As a youth, his resentment had shamed him, not only because he was ashamed that his humanity allowed him to feel emotion at all, but also because he knew that to resent his human side was to resent his mother, and his mother did not deserve to be the object of such rejection. As much as he had struggled for acceptance on his home planet, his mother’s struggles had almost certainly been exponentially worse. In a carefully controlled sense, he admired her for enduring them.
He considered the possibility that his parents’ marriage did have a basis in logic. Perhaps it had been his father’s intention to stimulate social progress on Vulcan by introducing an example of an interplanetary union, to create a stronger bond between the two worlds by bringing the relationship to a societal level. Perhaps he had believed that eschewing tradition was necessary in order to change his own culture for the better—after all, harmony and acceptance were the loftiest of goals to a Vulcan, and a more widespread acceptance of Terran customs seemed to serve those goals.
And yet, the results of his parents’ marriage would indicate that there was no logic in it at all. The children of such unions were not generally accepted into either human or Vulcan society, and altogether the marriage had caused more conflict than acceptance. It was irrational to create interference in the smooth inner workings of society in order to serve one’s own personal ideals and notions of what constituted the greater good. The needs of the many must always take precedence over the needs of the few. No, Spock decided, a marriage to a human was not a logical option.
There was no sense considering such a thing for himself, even if he wished it. He was already betrothed to a Vulcan woman. Though he was not well acquainted with her, the day would come when he would be compelled to partner with her, as dictated by Vulcan tradition and physiology. He did not, of course, have much thought or opinion concerning his impending marriage, except that he would prefer to return to Starfleet once matters were settled.
After a moment, he rested his lute on his lap and began to play once more. His quarters were filled with the ethereal sound of the instrument as he plucked through the notes of two ancient Vulcan ballads. His mind was clear once more. A faint shadow of ? of something remained, but he believed it would withdraw with the assistance of meditation. He rose, put the lute away, and prepared himself once more for a silent contemplation of oneness.
Kent jerked awake from a half dream that he was still on Earth, still at the summit. He stretched, blinked, stared dumbly around at his small Martian apartment, at the flat screen in front of him. He could not let himself fall asleep now, not when so much was at stake. But what was the use? Nobody would listen to him. He had been hunched over his computer station for the better part of the last six hours, trying to contact anyone who would agree to help with another protest effort, and his resolve was growing thin. After what had happened on the station, many of the established activist groups on Mars and Earth were withdrawing support, displeased by the negative coverage. The protest had been disorganized, a lot of young fringe elements banding together without a clear purpose, and the perception was that Starfleet had been forced to step in, to save lives. Kent had done his best to reassure his contacts, but to no avail. Everyone seemed to agree with Preston Sadler that the scope of this particular experiment was too limited to be of concern.
He deeply resented Carol Marcus’s implication that he didn’t understand the ecosystem. He’d read everything about the possible results of terraforming on Mars; he knew that the long-term environmental impacts were impossible to predict. A number of researchers had even warned that terraforming Mars would amount to a black hole for resources, becoming so consumptive that it would never be able to pay for itself, but Kraden refused to listen. The public was overwhelmingly in favor of science; they believed it could cure anything. Doctor Marcus’s refusal to speak to him, to spare him a single moment, was indicative of that mind-set, that blind allegiance to dogmatic boundaries—he disagreed with her and was therefore wrong.
What really burned—what had kept him at the computer, kept him focused throughout his exhaustion—was what she’d shouted as he’d been dragged away, hauled from the tube like some animal. What had he sacrificed? His wife, his beloved and best friend, that was all. How dare she presume to know his experience? What did she know about anything, buried in her tiny, inbred community of self-congratulating academia? It was beyond infuriating.
Redpeace had been officially barred from the space station pending a judicial overview, which could take weeks. That made further local public protest nearly impossible. He had been trying to convince some of his contacts on Earth to stage a protest at Kraden’s headquarters, to pressure them into pulling funding, but he couldn’t drum up enough interest to make a bubble. Terraforming was controversial, but even some of their most committed sister groups felt it wasn’t worth the effort, the specifics of the experiment too “general” to invite real controversy.
He stood, intending to stretch, then abruptly sat back down again. He hadn’t eaten anything in hours, too involved in his increasingly hopeless quest for help. Jess used to get so mad at him when he forgot to eat.
“I’m sorry Jess,” he murmured. “I don’t know what else to do.”
No one cared. The apathy of these so-called citizens of the Federation was almost too much to bear, it was worse than evil or selfishness; at least those came with purpose.
He stood again and moved toward his bed, leaving the sound up just in case anyone returned his calls. Eating would wait; he was too tired to go through even the simplest motions of food preparation. He lay down on the bed, closed his eyes—and his computer signaled an incoming communication. The promise of support alerted him instantly. He scrambled to his computer station.
“This is Kent. What is it?”
The face that came up from a deep scramble was familiar, though he couldn’t place it until he heard the voice, that youthfully arrogant voice.
“There’s something we need to discuss,” said Josh Swanson, the kid from Whole Earth. “Can you talk?”
Kent didn’t respond, his tired thoughts racing. Swanson seemed to take his silence as assent.
“My contact on the Kraden project says their experiment is going to happen soon, and fast. If you want to stay out of the fight, you should end this call now. But if you’re worried about what Kraden’s doing ?”
“I’m listening,” Kent said.
Nine
Mister Spock set his glass on the end table, templed his fingers as he watched her speak. Leila was talking about the project, ab
out their early successes. It had taken some coaxing on his part, but perhaps the wine had freed her to talk about her own interests, to set aside her self-consciousness.
Except it’s his interest too, she thought, setting aside her wineglass. They had shared the bottle of wine, a light dinner—she too was a vegetarian—and now, as twilight gave way to evening, the last of the day’s light filtering through one of the apartment’s small windows, Leila could feel herself relaxing, letting her guard down. From the way Spock was looking at her, the way he pressed the tips of his index fingers to his lower lip, she knew that he too was allowing himself to breathe, to be at rest. To feel.
He moved nearer to her as she talked, shifted as though to get comfortable on the low couch until his leg touched hers. She could feel the warmth of his skin through her clothes and knew, with a sudden intuitive grasp, that the touch was no accident.
She faltered, met his gaze—and saw a need there that moved her in its intensity, its depth. It was a longing for understanding, for the freedom to expose his inner self. It was more than that, though, more specific—it was a hunger for her, and as she recognized it, felt it, her body reflexively responded. Her skin felt tight and warm, her breathing short.
“Miss Kalomi,” he said, his voice soft and deep, his eyes capturing every aspect of her, learning her face, tracing her mouth, her throat, the lines of her body. He wanted her so badly, wanted so much to reach out to her, to touch her and—
“Leila, are you almost finished?”
She looked up from her position on the floor and saw Carol standing in front of her, a look of faint amusement on her face. A half unpacked case of leaded tubes sat in between them. They were alone in one of the Kraden laboratory’s small storage walk-ins, this one directly adjacent to the main operation room. Leila could hear the voices of a few of the others in the next room, talking as they set up for the next stage of testing. The surprise protest from yesterday was still the topic of choice.
“Caught you daydreaming, didn’t I?” Carol asked.
“I’m sorry.” Leila blushed, but Carol raised one hand, still smiling.
“Don’t be. I’ve been a bit distracted myself lately. Tell me, was it fame or fortune?”
“Ah ? neither, actually,” Leila said.
Carol arched her eyebrows. “Really? So, it must be ? love?”
“I ? I don’t know. Maybe.” Leila smiled. “I think so.”
It was strangely exhilarating to say it aloud, to confess it to another. He’d said he did not feel affection, she knew it was presumptuous to consider such a thing, but the way he had looked at her at their last meeting ?
I see him. I see his inner face, and he knows it. Whether he wished to admit it or not, there was a connection between them. She believed that he was thinking of her on his ship, now, perhaps puzzling over his own confused feelings. Since leaving for Mars, her daydreams had grown more complex with each retelling, more detailed—and in each retelling, her feelings for him grew stronger.
I am in love, she thought, reaffirming it, liking the sound very much.
Carol was still smiling, the expression almost wistful.
“There’s nothing like new romance, is there?” Carol said. “It’s all so extemporaneous. First date, the first kiss—that moment you realize you can’t wait to see him again ?”
She shook her head, as though shaking memories of her own. Her smile had faded. “Enjoy it while you can. Things have a way of getting complicated.”
Thinking of Adam, Leila nodded. Although her expression was neutral, Carol suddenly seemed sad to her, as though weighed down by something. The experiment, surely. But considering the topic, it occurred to Leila that perhaps she too was having romantic difficulties.
“The feelings aren’t so complex, though, are they?” Leila asked. “Loving? Wanting to be loved?”
Carol paused, then nodded, her expression thoughtful. “No, I suppose not. Love is love.”
Before Leila could think of anything else to say, Carol was smiling again, backing out of the room. “We’ll be ready to repeat the first-stage testing in about twenty minutes,” she said. “If everything checks out, we’ll be able to begin the initial field run by the end of the week.”
“Even with the weather?” Leila asked. Troy Verne, Kraden’s representative, had expressed concern over the conditions—though it wasn’t particularly close to Mars’s perihelion, a dust storm had blown up in the past week. The bulk of it was well north of the lab, but Verne was insisting that the particle count would interfere with Inception’s results. Ridiculous, considering the force field density they’d be using.
Carol sighed, lowered her voice slightly. “That is with the weather. Technically, we could do it tomorrow. But the casts say it’ll all be over in the next day or so. I suppose we can wait.”
Things were moving so quickly. They’d reached the lab only the night before, and already they were unpacked—mostly—and ready to run the stability tests on actual Martian soil. Ready, in fact, to run the full experiment. The results analysis would take another ten days, at least, but it seemed that Carol’s initial estimate of three to six weeks had been much too liberal.
“I’ll only be another moment,” Leila said.
“Take two,” Carol said, and then she was gone.
Leila set back to work, determined not to let herself get caught up in another fantasy. Once she had the supplies unpacked, she should
go over her measurement kits again, make
sure they were set up to receive samples ?
Except that she’d been making him the instigator, and that was wrong. Mister Spock would never be so open, so forward ?
He sat on the edge of the couch, posture stiff and unyielding, and she could sense his turmoil, the powerful internal struggle raging in his breast. His face betrayed nothing, but she knew. She knew.
“Miss Kalomi,” he said, straightening his shoulders, clearing his throat. “I should go.”
He would or could not meet her gaze, not until she took one of his hands, cradled it within her own.
She saw the confusion in the dark wells of his eyes, saw that he was alone, lost. She touched his cheek and he closed his eyes, almost as though the press of her fingers caused him pain.
“Leila,” he whispered, her name a plea on his lips. “I don’t ? I don’t want ?”
“Yes,” she said and went to him. He started to pull away as her mouth brushed his but then leaned in to their kiss, his powerful hands
slipping into her hair, cradling her head as though afraid that she would stop and he would lose her.
Leila sighed, her heart aching with fullness. The daydreaming had never extended past their first kiss. She tried to imagine making love with him, imagine how he would touch her—with thoughtful intensity, with passionate precision, she was sure—but that part always blurred, al ways sent her back to the beginning, to replay that first moment of his release, his acceptance of his feelings. On one level she knew she was being ridiculous, indulging her silly, childish fantasies, but they also seemed so real, so possible ? so unlike what she’d had with Adam. Her Mister Spock was nothing like Adam.
My Mister Spock, she thought, and sighed, wishing with all her heart that it was so.
Worn out and content, Jim moved closer to Carol, slipped his arms around her. The thin mattress creaked noisily beneath them, as it had for the last half an hour. He grinned, and she smiled back—but she seemed distant. It wasn’t what he expected after her abrupt call, insisting that she see him right away—
—or that spectacular greeting, he thought. She’d practically tackled him as soon as the door was closed, and from her responses throughout their lovemaking, he believed it had been a mutually fulfilling experience. And now, though they were nude and touching beneath the coverlet, she seemed light-years away. He wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to press her, fearing that one or both of them would finally be forced to acknowledge the futility of their relationship. Now wasn’t the
time for that par ticular conversation; at least, he didn’t want it to be. He held her tighter, and the mattress creaked again.
“Not exactly four-star lodgings, I suppose,” he said.
Carol’s smile softened, relaxed. “It’s fine, Jim. It’s perfect.” She nudged her head beneath his chin, her nose grazing his Adam’s apple.
“Well, at least we’ve got a view.” He glanced out the window. The storm was settling down on this side of the planet, allowing intermittent views of the star-pricked blackness to emerge through gusts of billowing red clouds. “Though you must hate it, considering.”
When she’d called, she’d told him about Kraden’s concern over the dust storm, that it had caused her to put off the experiment for another day or so. Jim wanted to be supportive, but he couldn’t help hoping that the storm would pick up again. He wanted her to have as much free time as possible.
