This is a non-profit work of fan-fiction based upon the Star Trek films created by Gene Roddenberry. Star Trek, and all related characters, places, and events, belongs to Paramount Pictures, and is used without permission. This story, along with any original characters, belongs to the author, © 2001, 2004.
I knew what Spock intended to do. The awareness swept through me like the scalding winds of a sandstorm on the cursed deserts of Vulcan. From the moment he left the bridge, it was devastatingly obvious. And I could not stop him, for his logic was, as always, flawless.
Enterprise was in a precarious situation. No possibility existed that the Genesis wave could be stopped or intercepted. The ship's warp engines had been severely damaged, and within an ever-shrinking time limit everyone on board would be vaporized: our molecular structures scattered and fused within a newborn star system. It would certainly be a unique way to die, but something no one, including myself, looked forward to.
I could have stopped him. With one word I could have alerted James Kirk, told him of my knowledge; without a doubt he would have gone after Spock and prevented him from entering the ship's warp core. As an emotional human, Kirk would have placed his friendship with Spock above everything else. I knew this well, perhaps even better than he himself, which is precisely why I kept silent.
I had no desire for Spock to die. Illogical as it might sound, I would have given anything, my own life included, to save that of my mentor and yes, my friend. But as I sat at my station, trying hard to keep a tight rein on my emotions while the computer droned its quiet countdown, I could think of no acceptable alternative.
Only someone with a Vulcan's incredible strength and stamina could survive the intense radiation of the warp core long enough to make the vital repairs. Not for the first time, I regretted the circumstances of my birth that left me with the genetic traits of the Vulcan people, but lacking the life-long exposure to the planet's heavy gravity and thin atmosphere. My strength came nowhere near to equaling Spock's. I could do nothing but allow Spock his chance to do what he deemed logical.
The countdown continued, and only one option remained. We needed a miracle.
Spock provided it.
Immediately after the Enterprise shifted into warp and outran the Genesis wave by mere seconds, Doctor McCoy summoned Kirk to the engine room. Briefly, I considered the chance that Spock's sacrifice had not been lethal. He possessed a Vulcan's strength, after all. Perhaps he'd been able to withstand the barrage of radiation. Perhaps he'd been swift enough to escape a fatal dose. For a moment, I allowed myself the illogical human luxury of hope.
But then I felt him die.
It was not painful or shocking -- simply a faint whisper that touched my mind and then disappeared. It left an unsettling void behind, but I did not shame my mentor by allowing my grief to show outwardly.
As I sit now, in a cool stone chamber in Vulcan's sacred mountain retreat, the memories of that day are like crystal: clear and devastatingly sharp, and they play through my mind with perfect clarity. I understand now why my people choose to wrap their emotions in such tight control, and I wonder how they manage it every single moment of their lives.
Eventually I sense the sun begin to set outside, undoubtedly casting a blood-red glow across the desert sands, and lowering the temperature to a more tolerable level for humans. As if on cue, footsteps sound outside my room: the barest whisper against the rock floor.
It is a gentle voice, one that I have learned to welcome and trust. The woman it belongs to has been there by my side, despite the differences in our age and species, for we have shared the same pain. It is not logical to wish for a mother that I never knew, but if I did, I would wish could be her.
"Come in, Amanda," I tell her.
And she does, smiling at me in her gentle way. We don't exchange the usual human pleasantries. There is no need, for we are both Vulcan, by practice if not by blood.
I have been here, in the chambers of Gol, for nearly three weeks. Spock's mother visits each evening, delighted to be able to talk to someone so close to her son. The priests and monks think it odd for her to desire such continuous contact with me, but they cannot understand the human factor. I am a half-breed, and so is her son, though we are of different non-Vulcan parentage. And I spent many years with Spock, when she had to be separated from him. We have shared many memories, and the exchange strengthens us both.
"Have you learned anything new today?" Amanda asks, settling herself on the padded bench I had the monks supply solely for her.
Carefully suppressing a smile, even in her company, I reply, "'Each day brings new enlightenment of the universe around us.'"
She nods. "Surak, twelfth year, pre-reformation."
Amanda watches me for a moment, tilting her head thoughtfully. "Saavik, you know you don't have to stay here at the retreat. Sarek and I would be honored to have you as our guest at the house."
She has mentioned this before, but I shake my head slowly. "There are many things that I must consider and meditate on. If I am to properly learn the way of c'thia, true logic, this is the best place for me, at this time. But I sincerely thank you for your offer of hospitality."
There are other reasons for my refusal, some of which she is aware, but another which, at the moment, I am incapable of discussing, even with her. There is a moment of quiet, not in the least uncomfortable. Then Amanda breaks the silence with her soft voice.
"Do you regret what you did?" she asks, startling me once again with her ability to nearly read my thoughts. But perhaps she didn't, after all.
I consider her question, eventually comprehending that she refers not to the events surrounding her son's death, but to what happened later.
Spock gave us a miracle and saved our lives by his death. The universe decided to be kind for once and granted him his own miracle, offering him a second chance at life, through the same phenomena that had been responsible for his death: Genesis. The unique properties of the Genesis wave rejuvenated his body and restored his physical life, though the essence of his mind, his katra, lay light years away, safely hidden within the mind of one of his closest friends. But as his new body matured, it fell victim to an ancient Vulcan curse.
I alone held the key that could save him, then.
The price was something I had not expected to offer at that time, under those circumstances. But how could I deny my closest friend that which would save his life? He had given himself freely to save us all; I could do no less. Especially when it would not cost my life, but only my body, and perhaps my pride, considering the circumstances.
The union lasted the entire night, a feverish meld of mind and body in the most ancient of Vulcan customs. I hadn't expected to enjoy the experience, but to my surprise, I ached for him still, once the fever had faded and he'd slipped into a deep restoring sleep.
After we'd returned to Vulcan, and Spock became himself once again, I did not know if he remembered what had happened between us on the Genesis planet. His memories were scarce, and if he looked at me with curiosity, I told myself it was because he did not remember precisely who I was, or how long we'd known each other.
Then he'd decided to go back to Earth with his fellow officers, and I had no chance to speak with him. Likely it would be years before he came home, and he might never learn of the secret I carried. But did I regret doing it?
"No," I reply to Amanda, my words truthful in spite of everything.
She smiles, lightly touching my arm. "I'm glad."
And so am I, despite the illogicalness of the emotion. Gently, I rub my hand across my swollen belly, and hope that someday I will be able to tell Spock of the child he gave me. For all sacrifices are repaid with a miracle.