Why, hello there! I know, I kind of disappeared for the last couple of weeks. Internet connectivity was almost non-existent while we were on vacation (my one afternoon slated for solitary time at a wi-fi equipped coffeehouse while my family went out on dune buggies was a fail – the Internet was out, and the dune buggies were still closed for the season…
And then, on Friday, right before we got on an airplane in Portland, OR, headed to Chicago, and then Albany, NY and home, I read the news….
Leonard Nimoy had died that morning. For those who read here often, you know this is a Big Deal to me, for many reasons.
And, yesterday, my laptop stopped recognizing its power adaptor. Fortunately, it’s still under warranty, but I’m now using my son’s battered little Lenovo, and it’s – well, not fast.
So I’m a bit…discombobulated. But here, and ready to get back into the WIPpet swing…
Disclaimer: Paramount claims to own Spock – but I think he’s the universe’s, now, if he wasn’t already. I take it as a matter of honor to treat him well.
Only the math of grief.
This passage is from my November NaNoWriMo novel, The Earth Doth Move. A very young Spock contemplates his dual heritage, and his future, while he dreams. He’s visited by some important figures in his life…figures with conflicting viewpoints…
Spock dreamed that he was on her world, running with her, in Huntform, through the wild places where she made her home. He dreamed too that she was awaiting him on Earth, that, if he could only reach that planet, she would be there, when his craft landed, and they would be together.
Would he still accept the appointment with Starfleet Academy, if he had no need to reach her?
“Don’t rock the boat, son.” Trip’s voice, or that of his katra, delivering a message that Spock did not wholly understand…but then they were on a rocking boat, moving across a vast Forge made only of water, with no land in sight, anywhere, and Spock felt ill as the craft plunged through wave after wave, cold salted water – WATER! – slapping him, icy and terrifying.
“Don’t rock the boat, son.” Mother stood beside Trip; they spoke together. “It’s impossible to unring a bell.”
Spock wanted to ask them what they meant, because the words made no sense. But, when he opened his mouth to speak, the salt spray drove into him. pouring into his Breathsource, so that he gagged and retched and coughed, and could not speak.
“You will not rock the boat. You will not ring a bell, if it cannot then be unrung. You will meditate, and practice the mind rules until you have mastered them. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the desires of two young ones not yet old enough to decide the details of their lives.”
Father did not speak to him, not as one would to a son. No, he was issuing edicts, as though he were in the Council Chambers, as though he were master of the forces and pulls within Spock, as though being his father- his Vulcan father – made it so.
“Thee dost not- and WILT not master me, Sarek. I am myself; I have the right to myself, to what makes me unlike any other. It is mine; I decide how I shall share it. Not thee. Never thee!”
“Don’t rock the boat, son. It’s impossible to unring a bell.” What did it mean that the only two humans in his life- Mother, and the katra of T’Pol’s dead husband, spoke together, in solidarity, as they shared the human vernacular that was so alien to his ears and his mind. Who were these humans, and why did they so compel him, draw him, toward themselves and their strange wet world? The force of gravity could not pull him from so far away – and yet, it did. Its pressure was a constant force upon him, drawing him nearer, drawing him to a home that had never truly been his, but which was, nonetheless, his birthright, as much as the world of red skies and sand ever honing the sharpened edges of obsidian cliffs.
Humans speak truth; but they speak it in their own ways. Often, they use images intended to be evocative, and sometimes provocative. Their words are intended to paint a picture- not a realistic one, but one that combines senses and emotions blended with cultural awareness. The boat and the bell are metaphors, Spock, and the actions ascribed to these metaphors deepen and shift them.”
As always, there were messages and layers in T’Pol’s words, and her vast stores of life and knowledge offered smoothing. One day, perhaps, he would be as she was – venerable, but not unapproachable; wise, but not unkind; aged, but not rigid of belief.
Which voice should Spock listen to? Would his own be better? Will he succumb to Earth’s pull, or Vulcan’s? His unknown bondmate, and her claim on him?
Of course, I’m not telling yet! Next week, we’ll return to get reacquainted with Tisira, at the moment that precipitates her sudden birth. That was supposed to happen last week, but, for reasons I don’t yet understand, the post misfired…
That’s life, sometimes….
And here’s a treat!