Star Trek: The Original Series: The Shocks of Adversity (13 page)

“I am surprised to find you here,” she said. “I
hope the first officer’s presence doesn’t indicate any more troubles being caused
by our crew,” she said.

“No, you need not be concerned on that point,” Spock told her, “though I am curious
as to why my presence surprises you.”

“You don’t strike me as the type to engage in such frivolities,” N’Mi answered, with
a contemptuous gesture. “I assume that someone who has achieved as much as you would
spend most, if not all, of his spare time and energies working toward advancing those
achievements.”

The Vulcan nodded slowly. “I will admit, your characterization of me is generally
correct.” From an early age, he had been determined to excel—a determination born
of the need to earn Sarek’s approval, and to exceed his expectations. “However, I
would challenge your blanket characterization of all activities being undertaken here
as frivolous.” He gestured to a three-dimensional chess set, left with its pieces
arranged in a checkmated game. “For instance, strategy games serve to improve the
player’s logical facilities.” He sat behind the board, and began to reset it for the
start of a new game. “There is a school of thought which posits that the more advanced
a species and the more complex its mind, the greater the need for recreational play.”

N’Mi looked skeptical as she took the seat opposite him. “Do you subscribe to this
school of thought?”

“Not entirely,” Spock allowed. “Although I have found, serving with humans for as
long as I have, it does apply to them.”

“Have you always served on vessels where the human crew was the majority?” N’Mi asked,
watching him move the chess pieces from level to level.

“Yes,” Spock said. “I’ve served aboard the
Enterprise
my entire career as an officer, first under its previous captain, Christopher Pike,
and was offered the position of first officer when Captain Kirk assumed command.”

“I can’t imagine,” N’Mi said. “To be the only one of your kind on a ship of this size,
that must be terribly isolating for you. Why wouldn’t you choose to serve on a Vulcan-crewed
ship instead? You said there are such vessels in Starfleet, didn’t you?”

The memory of the
Intrepid
—and specifically, of the death of its entire crew—came back to Spock unbidden. “Yes,
I could have requested a posting on such a ship,” he answered, forcing the recalled
emotional shock back behind his mental barriers. “But I came to the decision, early
in my Starfleet career, that by living and working alongside humans, that would better
serve my efforts to be a Vulcan.”

A look of confusion crossed the Liruq’s face. “I don’t understand. What effort does
it take for you to be a Vulcan, and why would being among other Vulcans impede that?”

Spock sighed silently, then explained, “Because
I am not, in the strictest sense, a true Vulcan. My mother was human, and I am half
human.”

N’Mi’s mouth gaped open. “You’re a mongrel?” she said.

“ ‘Mongrel,’ ” Spock repeated. “Vulcans generally refrain from overt expressions of
distaste . . .” he said, even as he recalled the taunts of his childhood peers.

N’Mi’s expression quickly shifted to one of mortified embarrassment. “I . . . I apologize,
Commander Spock. I . . . you . . .” The engineer continued to stammer, standing up,
nearly knocking her chair backward in her haste to leave. Spock considered giving
her some sort of reassurance that he had not taken offense, telling her it was unnecessary
to leave in such a state. Instead, he silently contemplated the board before him as
N’Mi rushed off and out of the hall.

*   *   *

Just off the recreation deck was a small storage area, which housed a large array
of entertainment items ranging from chess sets to jigsaw puzzles, and playing cards
to portable computer games. In addition, it also served as a repository for an impressive
collection of musical instruments. Many of the
Enterprise
’s more musically inclined crew members had their own personal instruments—Spock had
his Vulcan lyre, and Scotty owned bagpipes—but most
didn’t. The transitory nature of a Starfleet officer’s life precluded carrying extraneous
possessions from one posting to the next. Therefore, a morale officer had established
an assortment for the use of anyone who wished to play. Included were several styles
of guitar, multiple woodwind and brass instruments, a Tiburonian wheel harp, a full
set of Andorian percussion blocks, and the small stringed instrument Fexil currently
held cradled in her hands.

“This looks almost like a
gelbartix
,” the Abesian said, her entire face lighting up as she gently ran her fingers up
the length of its wooden neck. “What did you call it?”

“A ukulele,” Uhura said, smiling back. The Domain engineer’s attention had been caught
by the instrument collection immediately upon entering the small room, and the way
she had been drawn to the ukulele was like watching the reunion of two long-lost best
friends.

Fexil plucked at the four strings in sequence, then positioned her long elegant fingers
on the frets and strummed a chord. “Almost sounds like a
gelbartix
, too,” she said, giving her head a small shake of wonderment.

“Do you play?” Uhura asked.

“I haven’t for years,” Fexil answered as Uhura led her out of the storage room back
into the recreation deck proper. “My mother played professionally, and she started
teaching me as soon as I was big enough
to hold one.” She tried a few more experimental chords, and then was strumming out
a melody.

“That’s lovely,” Uhura said after a few bars, thinking the melody sounded oddly familiar.
Fexil smiled more widely, revealing a row of pink, gummy protrusions that served in
place of teeth. As she continued to play, Uhura noticed the rec deck’s background
level noise falling and conversations halting as everyone’s attention was drawn to
the Abesian’s impromptu performance. The alien melody started to repeat itself, and
all of a sudden it dawned on Uhura why the song seemed so familiar. The rhythm was
slightly different, and not all the notes matched, but it was close enough that Uhura
found she couldn’t refrain from adding old lyrics to the new song. . . .

“Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me,

Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee . . .”

Fexil’s eyes bulged in surprise at first, but she didn’t miss a beat as she segued
into a closer harmony with Uhura’s vocals.

“Sounds of the rude world heard in the day,

Lulled by the moonlight have all passed away . . .”

Instrument and voice flowed and melded together, complimenting one another like longtime
musical collaborators, and ultimately rising to a final crescendo.

“. . . Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me,

Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!”

Fexil ended her rendition with an exuberant strumming flourish, and was rewarded by
a round of enthusiastic applause, which took her aback. “Does that mean they liked
it?” she whispered to Uhura, wide-eyed.

“Yes.” Uhura laughed as she joined in the applause for her accompanist. “It means
they liked it very much!” Fexil smiled shyly back at Uhura, and then to the audience.

*   *   *

“This is to indicate we liked the song?” Deeshal tentatively mimicked Chapel, clapping
his hands rhythmically.

Chapel tried to hold back a smile at his confusion. “Yes, it is,” she assured him.
It was oddly charming how the alien doctor, who had exuded such poise and self-confidence
in the operating room, was so tentative and reserved in this social setting. “Was
that an Abesian melody she was playing?” she asked once the applause ended, and the
alien woman began playing another soft song.

Deeshal nodded. “Yes, an old traditional song of theirs, called ‘The Sailor’s Romance.’
The lyrics were something different, though.”

“An old human song, written over four hundred years ago,” Chapel said. “But the melodies
were almost the same.”

“By Erhokor, isn’t that incredible?” Deeshal said,
shaking his head as he marveled at the connection. “Two completely different people,
separated by almost a hundred light-years, the products of their own unique evolutionary
and cultural developments, yet somehow, they both independently produce such remarkably
similar pieces of music?”

“Yes,” Chapel agreed. “It’s something we see all the time, but still, I’m constantly
amazed by it.”

Deeshal looked dubiously at her. “All the time?” he asked.

“Well, we do encounter truly alien species, too,” Chapel admitted. “But, there are
still similarities and parallels. In almost all cases,” she carefully qualified herself,
“there is something that allows for a connection between us.”

“That’s really how you humans see others, isn’t it?” Deeshal said, fixing her with
an intent, thoughtful stare. “You look past the differences between yourselves and
others, and focus on the similarities instead.”

“Well, we try to,” Chapel said. “Humans nearly destroyed themselves centuries ago
because we refused to look past our differences and recognize that everyone is worthy
of respect—even those we disagree with. It’s a lesson we’ve taken to heart, and have
applied to others as we’ve traveled out into the galaxy.”

“So when you look at a Goeg like me,” Deeshal asked, “your impression is . . . what?”

A corner of Chapel’s mouth curled up as she tilted her head and considered the man
across the table from her. “I see a brilliant, dedicated healer. A person who cares
deeply about others, who is compassionate, kind, and generous.”

Through the light coat of pale fur that covered his face, Chapel thought she saw Deeshal
blush. “Actually, Nurse, I meant the Goeg in general; I wasn’t soliciting compliments.”

Now Chapel felt her own cheeks get warmer. “I’m sorry, I misunderstood,” she said.
“I hope you don’t mind the compliments.”

“Oh, not in the least,” he told her, smiling widely. The rows of pointed teeth exposed
in his lion-like muzzle might, at first glance, have appeared threatening. But Chapel
could see in his eyes that his expression was one of enjoyment of their shared company . . .
and perhaps admiration? Christine Chapel was certainly no stranger to the admiration
of men; it was almost a monthly occurrence that some new crewman would land in sickbay
and, at some point while under her care, express his deep (yet fleeting) romantic
infatuation with her.

But it had been some time since she’d found herself the object of this more genuine
sort of attention. It was something she had been hoping Spock might someday return
to her, even though he’d never given any indication he would, even if he were to ever
lower his Vulcan emotional shields.

“I have to admit, Nurse . . .” Deeshal said.

“Call me Christine.”

Now there was definitely a pink tint beneath his light yellow facial fur. “It’s a
bit more of a challenge for me to look past our differences,” Deeshal said, looking
down at the table. “Like you, I try. I treat all my patients equally, of course. But
even though it was obvious—while I was working on Lieutenant D’Abruzzo—how many similarities
there were between Goeg and human, I found myself concentrating on the dissimilarities
instead.”

“Well, that’s natural . . .” Chapel started to say.

“What I want to tell you, Christine,” he said, clearly struggling with his thoughts,
“is that right now, here, talking with you . . . those differences seem irrelevant.
You are unique . . . and I realize that those two statements actually contradict each
other.” Deeshal finished with a small embarrassed laugh.

“That’s okay,” Chapel said, and slid her hand across the table to brush her fingertips
against his. Their eyes met. “I think I know exactly what you mean.”

On the seventh day of their journey, the
Enterprise
experienced an inauspicious failure of one of its primary missions.

Spock sat in the captain’s chair with his fingertips steepled in front of him. Though
he had the conn, his command authority was severely reduced, with the
Enterprise
’s navigational control turned over to the Domain ship. As he watched the starfield
on the forward viewscreen move and warped streaks of light slide past without effort,
Spock reflected on how the current arrangement impacted the bridge’s operational standards.
While Lieutenants Arex and Kyle manned the forward astrogation panel, they were only
monitoring their respective stations. The rest of the crew posted at the stations
ringing the command well still had their own duties to perform, but turning control
of the ship itself over to another crew had a marked negative effect on the crew’s
emotional state.

Spock found this somewhat troublesome. He recalled Chief N’Mi’s query from days earlier,
and
considered that he would not need to concern himself with the crew’s emotional state
if they were Vulcans. But they were humans, and he needed to deal with them as humans.
It was perhaps his greatest challenge as a Starfleet officer, and one of the reasons
he had refused past offers to command his own ship.

As the Vulcan weighed the question of how to best address this pervasive emotional
state, Ensign Frank turned in his seat at the science station and said, “Mister Spock,
I think you should see this.”

“See what, Mister Frank?” Spock asked, pivoting the chair in the junior officer’s
direction.

“I just picked this up on our long-range scans,” Frank said, indicating the imaging
hood on the console before him. “At first I thought it was a ship, but then I noticed
some odd anomalous readings. I ran them through the data banks and found a correlation
to the thing we encountered in the Gamma 7A system.”

For a fraction of a second, Spock felt a jolt of emotions test his mental barriers.
The “thing” Frank referred to was a giant spaceborne organism that had engulfed the
Gamma 7A system, killing its four billion inhabitants and the crew of the
Intrepid
, and had also nearly killed Spock. The first officer made a concerted effort to maintain
his emotionless bearing as he rose and moved to his regular station.