Strange New Worlds IV

by Dean Wesley Smith

  Although she felt weary, her rage remained strong. A finely tuned anger accompanied her return to this vista point, named for the leader of the original Federation colonists. She found some small comfort in her internal debate as she relived the regrets of one day’s decision.

  She should never have listened to Spock; she should never have accepted his cool emotionless opinion. She had paid for that lapse in judgment by allowing herself to be marooned for millennia.

  Now, as she set out again through the tumbled ruins, she vowed that this journey would be different. She would fight the memory of Spock and his damned logic. She would cross Vanderberg Point to the energy-scarred landing fields and convince her visitors that she must leave this sterile world. Escape would not elude her, this time.

  Yet, as she crawled toward freedom, she could not help but hesitate as she passed the tall Honor Stone commemorating Spock.

  Impossible as it was, she wished Spock could have somehow been made to stay with her, to experience what he himself had set in motion. She tried to mentally picture a flesh-and-blood Spock standing before her, in place of this cold stone figure patiently waiting for time to end: hands clasped behind its back, head held high, visage calm and unlined. Instead, her mind’s eye could only remember this same view from uncountable years past, but completely altered: verdant and filled with holographic light displays, spicy-scented delicacies, and strange, joyous music punctuating a spirited celebration….

  As the musical fanfare and brilliant light display came to a raucous conclusion, the three representatives from the Federation stood and bowed in acknowledgment of the tribute.

  The celebration paid homage to absent heroes James T. Kirk, captain of the original Enterprise, and Leonard McCoy, who had served as chief medical officer aboard that illustrious ship. The highest honors, however, were reserved for Kirk’s first officer, Spock of Vulcan, who consented to make a rare appearance on this auspicious occasion.

  The elaborate ceremony celebrated one hundred years of “Modus Vivendi,” the great agreement between the natives and the Federation. After a brief intermission, it would end with Tetsua’s formal ritual acceptance of the title “Honored Last.”

  Tetsua waited anxiously as two of the Federation representatives began the long walk from the stage to her seat of honor: Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the U.S.S. Enterprise-D and Dr. Lewis Zimmerman of Jupiter Station.

  Although renowned in his own right, Picard had in truth been invited to symbolically represent the third captain of the original Enterprise. Zimmerman had been a last-minute replacement for the ailing Dr. McCoy, surprisingly, at McCoy’s request. Katherine Pulaski and Lewis Zimmerman had headed McCoy’s list of suitably “ornery” substitutes, but Pulaski’s deep-space assignment precluded her attendance.

  Tetsua had spent part of yesterday discussing Starfleet and the Federation with these two amazing humans. She had learned so much: the Prime Directive, the history of the Federation, and the mission of Starfleet. Yet she yearned to be taught so much more.

  After having heard Picard speak not only of the privilege of service, but of exploration, discovery, and voyaging to the stars, Tetsua wanted to go where none of her race had gone before. She felt a powerful affinity with this human who enjoyed digging treasures out of the ground. She could have listened to his archeological anecdotes for hours.

  Then when Zimmerman had spoken of the alien technologies he had studied, the scientific accomplishments he had achieved, and the awards he’d received for his towering intellect, Tetsua knew she needed to meet more such aliens who could provide further cultural and intellectual insights. She had quickly gleaned that Zimmerman’s pompous attitude and scathing wit merely covered the insecurities of a brilliant, lonely man. Although others might disagree, Tetsua strongly believed Zimmerman was a fitting substitute for the cherished but curmudgeonly Dr. McCoy.

  However, Tetsua’s primary desire was to meet with the famed Vulcan, Spock, who had been unavailable yesterday. Tetsua had sent word that she would greatly appreciate the chance to speak with him, but had learned that he would not arrive until shortly before the ceremony.

  Tetsua had had little exposure to Starfleet during those first chaotic “Days of Beginning.” Yet she remembered the taste of Spock’s ordered mind, a memory passed on from the one called “mother” deep beneath the planet’s surface more than a century ago.

  Now, Tetsua wondered at the change within her; she wanted nothing more than to leave her planet of siblings, attend Starfleet Academy, and explore strange new worlds. This ceremony was her final chance to say no, to abdicate her position and give up the potential honors and acclaim. But if she went to the stage and accepted the title of “Honored Last,” there would be no turning back. The thought of her life being arranged, planned, and scheduled until the day her people were gone made her shiver in fear of the great loneliness that would follow. Yet the ceremony was basically perfunctory; in the fantastic history of her long-lived species, none had ever declined the rarely bestowed title of “Honored Last.” Tetsua ironically realized that she might be the first to choose not to be “Last.”

  As she anxiously wavered between obligation and adventure, she felt sure that a meeting with Spock would give her the added impetus to deny her fate and instead choose a life out among the stars. The Vulcan’s acclaimed ability to balance logic and emotion would surely reinforce her argument for rejecting her obligation. But Spock did not accompany the two humans who walked toward her.

  Zimmerman approached her first. He gave a sideways glance to Picard, then announced, “It has come to my attention that I should apologize for yesterday’s faux pas. Didn’t mean to almost sit on you.”

  The translator fitted against Tetsua’s body worked efficiently. “I accept your apology, Doctor, although I admit more serious gaffes have been committed in my presence by renowned diplomatic dignitaries.”

  “I’m an engineer, not a diplomat,” Zimmerman reminded her in a gruff voice. “And I admit that I was originally surprised to receive an invitation, since my scientific areas of expertise have always been more photonic than tectonic.” Zimmerman’s voice softened. “But I have had the greatest respect for Leonard McCoy, ever since I interviewed him for my EMH project.” His moment of emotional honesty passed as he brusquely added, “And since your species needed to pass accolades on to an alternate member of the scientific community, and I’m a very deserving specialist, well, here I am!”

  “Of course, your availability and proximity may have played some small part in your selection,” Tetsua said in a teasing tone.

  Tetsua was pleased to hear Zimmerman chuckle. “Some small part, yes,” he said. “Actually, I could say I was in the wrong place at the wrong time! But I am sincerely glad to have had the opportunity to meet such a graceful creature as yourself—” Zimmerman stopped. “—Uh, uh,” he stammered. “I meant gracious creature. Not that you’re not graceful in your own way, but what I meant to say, uh, was that …” His words died to a mumble.

  Picard’s eloquent voice smoothly interceded. “My colleague and I are extremely grateful for yesterday’s hospitality and today’s splendid tribute. Your warm welcome and kindness honors not only us, but also those who could not be with us today.”

  Tetsua would have surged with pride if she hadn’t felt oppressed by the weighty decision facing her. “Thank you, Captain Picard. Please let me know if there is anything else I can do to ensure that your visit continues to be most pleasing.”

  “You could answer one question I have about today’s proceedings.” Picard paused, waiting for Tetsua’s signal to continue.

  “Of course, Captain Picard. Feel free to ask anything,” Tetsua said.

  “We understand,” Picard said, “that the final element of today’s schedule concerns the bestowing of your title, ‘Honored Last.’ Would you mind enlightening us as to the significance of the title?”

  Tetsua froze and did not answer. She wondered if the humans could somehow sense her relu
ctance to accept that title. She thought only telepaths like Spock might infer some hesitation on her part.

  “It will be explained shortly,” her translator replied more bluntly than she had intended. Tetsua knew her response sounded ungracious, but she was not ready to speak publicly about her future until she met with Spock.

  Picard was not put off, however. Instead he stepped closer and said quietly, “If there is something more you would care to discuss in private, Honored Tetsua, I would like to help.”

  Tetsua was surprised by the sincerity and insight of Picard’s remark. She marveled at the incredible facility of these disorderlyminded humans. She wished she could unburden herself to Picard. After yesterday’s friendly conversation, she felt a kinship with this human and deemed him a trustworthy confidant. But she felt strongly that she could discuss her problems more intimately with Spock. She politely declined Picard’s offer.

  Picard bowed slightly and the two humans took their leave.

  Tetsua remained in her seat of honor, but her translator couldn’t fail to pick up Zimmerman muttering to Picard, “Poor thing! ‘Honored Last’? What kind of honor is that?” His misplaced pity merely confirmed Tetsua’s doubts about her future.

  As she waited for the commemoration to resume, Tetsua recalled all of the incredible changes wrought from the dusty soil and ragged terrain of her birth planet. She thought about the lush, green landscape that provided the setting for today’s ceremony. Sections of the harsh surface of Janus VI had been terraformed into a human “paradise” at great cost, although the natives and colonists preferred living underground. Such enormous expense was negligible when compared with the wealth of the planet’s inhabitants. The natives and humans had worked together to form a financial dynasty renowned for providing the richest minerals to the Federation these past one hundred years.

  Tetsua’s daydreams were interrupted by a calm mellow voice. “Honored Tetsua,” the voice said. “I am at your disposal.”

  “It is I who am honored, Spock of Vulcan,” Tetsua acknowledged the alien. “Thank you for granting my request for a meeting.” She realized that although the device she wore facilitated communication, it would not serve her during this crucial moment with Spock. She decided to be candid.

  “Spock,” Tetsua’s translator continued. “The burden of necessity forces me to be blunt. I must make a decision of utmost urgency and I value your experience and your advice. I ask … no, I beg that you speak with me directly, as you did once before with my kind.”

  “You are requesting a mind-meld,” Spock stated with slight curiosity.

  “I understand the gravity of my request, and accept your decision without reproach. Will you help me?”

  In answer, Spock took a deep, calm breath. Then he placed one hand on Tetsua’s irregular form and spoke quietly. “My mind to your mind. Your mind to mine. Our mind is one.”

  Tetsua and Spock were suddenly enveloped in a quiet privacy that could not be breached by the revelry and crowds surrounding them. Although the encounter was brief, perhaps only twenty seconds long, Tetsua felt devastated. Before breaking telepathic contact, Spock had discerned Tetsua’s problem, observed the reasoning behind her indecision, and then mentally provided her with a logical analysis as to why she must accept her title as “Honored Last.”

  Tetsua believed her shock from the Vulcan’s revelation was fully controlled until her voice hissed angrily out of the translator, “Logical prevarication, Spock?”

  Her accusation was received with silence.

  “I shared your thoughts, too,” Tetsua continued. “I experienced your friends’ belief that the good of the one outweighed the good of the many. I experienced your understanding of their philosophy. Yet you insist that in my case the good of the many outweighs the good of the one?” The voice from the translator continued to lash out. “Vulcans are not renowned for hypocrisy.”

  “It is not hypocritical to accept differing concepts. Indeed, your unwillingness to fulfill your duties seems quite illogical. Your mother set an example—”

  “She was not my mother!” Tetsua interrupted. “She was only a caretaker, as am I. My true mother died millennia before I was hatched. And the caretaker wasn’t stranded. She didn’t have anywhere to go! I have wealth beyond her understanding. I have opportunities she never dreamed of. Why shouldn’t I make use of them?”

  Spock replied calmly. “You requested my advice, which I provided. However, I believe whatever course of action you take will be logical. Your species is known for the thoroughness and integrity of your decisions.”

  Tetsua remained silent as she analyzed her previous day’s discussion with Picard and Zimmerman through this new perspective offered by Spock. He was right, of course. Yesterday, the captain and the doctor had spoken of more than adventure and the quest for knowledge. They had also implied that ethics and responsibility took precedence over their personal pursuit of happiness.

  Tetsua flinched in surprise as she sensed Spock’s desire to reinitiate the mind meld. He hesitated, awaiting her permission to proceed. When she didn’t respond, he spoke to her in a whispered tone. “One day you will understand that the good of the many and the good of the one can be harmonious philosophies.”

  Tetsua moved closer and Spock carefully placed his hand against her. His mind did not force or coerce hers, but the strength of his certainty and the power of his logic convinced her that fidelity and duty transcended her wish for adventure.

  Tetsua was equally impressed by the restrained passion for life that accompanied Spock’s ordered mind.

  He gently broke their connection.

  “I have faith in you, Tetsua,” Spock said. “However, your survival depends on your ability to have faith in yourself.”

  Tetsua did not respond. She felt overwhelmed by the enormous responsibility she was about to embrace. Her reluctance had faded, yet her fear remained. She began to shake, then felt the Vulcan’s gentle touch one last time. “Live long and prosper, Honored Last,” he said in farewell.

  “I shall do only the first,” she retorted, and immediately regretted her sulky tone. Yet Spock merely bowed and moved away as a keening chant arose from the crowd, signaling the start of Tetsua’s acceptance ceremony.

  After Tetsua’s title had been bestowed, and her Honor Stone had been unveiled, she had celebrated long into the evening with friends and family. Tetsua and Picard had maintained their friendship for decades after that fateful night, and she had even communicated periodically with Zimmerman.

  But she had never spoken with Spock of Vulcan again.

  Tetsua emerged from her reverie with painful resignation. She felt as if she had just finished another debate with Spock, and had lost once again. No matter the change in perspective or the time passed, Spock’s logical teachings prohibited her from abandoning her responsibilities. There would be no escape for her today. Tetsua knew if she had eyes, she would have wept tears for eternity.

  She carefully maneuvered her way around jagged rocks to the edge of the landing field. She thought of how her planet had come full circle: it had been an undeveloped, mineral-rich world, then a terraformed paradise, and now, fifty thousand years later, it was a dusty hunk of protected rock, more a curiosity than a home. Yet some small part of Tetsua, bolstered by the memory of Spock, believed her planet was also a symbol of faith, renewal, and the promise of new life.

  As Tetsua sat waiting, the rumbling of the landing ship’s engines reverberated through her exhausted body. But when the vibrations illogically droned on and on, Tetsua realized that she did not feel a ship’s energy. Instead, some unknown phenomenon caused each of her molecules to hum in sympathetic vibration. She actually felt a chorus of reverberation, a sweet beckoning music that filled her empty soul and erased millennia of weariness, impatience, and doubt.

  Nothing had prepared Tetsua for the total telepathic love and need that suddenly radiated at her from a hundred thousand points below the planet’s surface. As the young ones finally emer
ged from their stone shells, their urgency threatened to overwhelm Tetsua.

  Above the hungry cries from the Vault of Tomorrow, a voice spoke with calming influence from Tetsua’s memories: “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one… .”

  Spock was with her, she finally realized, and always had been, or she would never have survived more than fifty millennia on the Horta homeworld. She had kept her faith because of Spock’s faith in her. Her species was reborn. Her loneliness had ended.

  As Tetsua joyfully directed her cumbersome silicon body underground to greet her destiny in the Chamber of the Ages, she finally perceived true vibrations from the arriving ship. She felt no need to welcome her visitors; their scanners would relay the good news about the hatchlings.

  The long wait was over. The “many” needed their “mother.”

  Countdown

  Mary Sweeney

  “TEN …”

  Home Terran Standard, n. 1. The location or building in which one lives. 2. Point of origin, birthplace. 3. An imaginary or actual location providing or representing security, belonging, peace….

  I cannot live anywhere: I am not alive. However, I do have a point of origin. I was constructed within a Federation spacedock facility orbiting the third planet of the Sol system. Earth is my home.

  Approximately 4.273 × 1011 of my duotronic data units have been allocated to the storage of images cataloguing Earth’s characteristics and history. I am currently scanning an infinitesimal fraction of those data units:

  Image 5129098b [Origin: Starfleet Archives, NASA Section, Apollo 11 Mission]—A photograph of a gibbous Earth rising over the Lunar horizon;