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Rob Morris

June 29th 2295

Commander Spock looked about, and saw his friend and captain’s young nephew stumble and fall when the power from his leg-braces gave out. The boy began to cry, cursing the fates that had taken his parents, separated him from his brothers, and left him helpless.

Ambassador Spock looked about, and saw the young man who was slowly but surely evolving into the physical and sometimes psychic image of his lost th’y’la. Two members of the Science team had fallen behind in their work. Peter Kirk told the two what to do and how to do it, to fulfill the requirements of their positions within the ship.

Commander Spock saw a beautiful young woman who stayed in the background and valiantly struggled with a communications board that seemed determine to make her underrated task a thankless one as well.

Ambassador Spock saw a mature, graceful woman who made the ship run and its crew do its job. Her one hand was firm, the other soft, and both were in evidence at all times.

Commander Spock saw a half-feral urchin regard him with mistrust. Every detail became a negotiation that rivaled Sarek’s talks with the Legarans for their scope and length. He caught glimpses of a sharp edge that was her favorite knife.

Ambassador Spock saw the ship’s second officer, a woman capable of emotional control and controlled emotional release. Despite her many words about the difficulty of dealing with Humans, he observed that she was in fact more comfortable with them and herself than he had been at that age. One of those she seemed to be speaking with a bit more often than usual was the young man he’d seen earlier. He hoped that upbringing helped determine certain friendships. For they both had regular need for such a thing. Fate had not been their allies.

Commander Spock saw a woman who often nervously sought him out and just as often avoided her own growth and potential. It took actual humiliation by a cruel alien to spark her evolution.

Ambassador Spock saw the ship’s chief medical officer, who in passing told him that she wished she had time to talk. But she had a new, more pro-active regimen in mind for the lives under her care, and she had to plan.

Commander Spock saw as green an ensign as had ever served aboard any ship. He grew visibly tense around the Vulcan officer, remembering many lectures on the proper way to do things, after which he never looked quite comfortable.

Ambassador Spock saw the captain of the Enterprise. He grew almost imperceptibly tense around the Vulcan diplomat, remembering a few early clashes over recognition of rank and just who ran this ship. Spock had since conceded both facts. Captain Chekov was growing into his role. He still didn’t look entirely comfortable.

Now, Ambassador Spock looked for that one last phantom, moving from past to present. The man who never failed, and never died. The one who would be around the corner, shaming Spock for even daring to think that minor things like an unprepared ship, a harrowed captain and a deep space anomaly could ever erase one such as he.

But Spock walked up and down the ship, awake and in his dreams. There was no sign of the man who never died, and never lost. Finally, he stopped at that dread spot on Deck Fifteen, and admitted out loud the total illogic of his quest.

"He is not here."

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