First Officer's personal log, star-date 2258.50.
While I am pleased to report that I have no regrets about my choosing to serve on the Enterprise, I cannot deny that I am still experiencing some troubling feelings regarding the recent loss of my homeworld, and the death of my mother. As a Vulcan, I endeavour to control all my emotions, and yet I fear my mental training will soon no longer be adequate to keep me from succumbing to the intense impulses that burn within me.
The lighting was subdued in Spock's quarters as he sat quietly at his desk and studied what was displayed on the computer terminal. The screen showed a message from Sybok, his half-brother, his second message to him in the last several days. Sybok pleaded with Spock to speak to him, unashamedly showed emotion in his words as he told of how deeply sorry he was by Vulcan's untimely destruction and the loss of so much life, and Amanda especially; he said that he and Spock should meet to reveal and share their anguish some time, that it was better than keeping it locked away. Sybok had long since rejected the teachings of Surak, choosing to promote instead the virtues of emotion, a hugely controversial decision from a Vulcan.
Spock was unsure how to respond at the present time, and so decided to close the message until he could formulate a suitable reply. It was rarely easy conversing with Sybok. There were times he had difficulty expressing himself to Nyota. Do what feels right, his older self, the one from the other timeline, had told him. Did that mean he should mourn as humans did, as a part of him desperately wanted to? Or should he remain true to what his father had taught him all those years of his life?
He decided the time had come for him to meditate as his Vulcan forebears had done. Lighting the votive candles, and with the scent of incense in the air - the scent of a dead world, he reflected briefly - he knelt on the floor and used the mental techniques he knew to try and gently dissipate the turmoil in his psyche.
The intelligence which travelled through the interstellar gulfs was sad and angry. A raw, seething pain that rippled against the fabric of space, the sorrow of the nigh invisible entity was understandable, given that the creature which had brought it into existence from within itself had finally faded into nothingness, its life-force extinguished forever. The non-corporeal species to which it belonged could live for many eons of time, far longer than the majority of species in this universe, but were nonetheless mortal. The being had felt its progenitor falter and die, and recognised such an occurrence as cruel and unfair. Never more would it know its creator's love, and so it roamed alone, bitter and confused.
It suddenly stopped in its relentless brooding as its senses detected something it had not even fully realised it sought: A life-form whose current emotional state, in many ways, reflected its own. Interested, it found that these feelings originated in one of the inhabitants of the vessel which moved through space very near its current position, a primitive method of transportation for primitive creatures. Drawn to the sorrow, it found itself moving closer to the being whose thought-waves radiated so strongly out to it.
Alone in his cabin, Spock jerked as he felt the other consciousness come into contact with his. He was frozen to the spot, unable to move from the sheer strength of the others' will. Who are you, he said to it in his mind. What do you want?
You are sad, the other replied to his question. I am sad. We are the same. Those such as us should not be alone in our sadness. I wish only to comfort you. You have lost someone dear to you, the one who brought you into existence, and you grieve. Please, permit me to grieve with you.
The other opened its thoughts fully to Spock then, and the knowledge flowed into his mind - he knew its life, and what it had lost. Yes, you are right, he said. We do both grieve for the same reasons. He allowed the warmth of its sympathy to pour into him, just as he gave it his sympathy. The pain that had gnawed away at him seemed to lessen, leaving a new sensation of peace behind. "Mother…" he whispered softly, almost inaudibly. "I love you. Goodbye."
Being the science officer, Spock felt it his duty to report his experience, seeing as it constituted contact with an unknown alien life-form. He stood in Captain Kirk's cabin, Kirk looking up at him from behind his desk as he summarised what had occurred. "And then what?" Kirk asked him.
"The alien consciousness withdrew," Spock replied.
Kirk stroked his chin thoughtfully. "You don't think its actions could pose any danger to you or to the Enterprise, do you?"
"None whatsoever, Captain. Of that I am certain. It merely sought…" He hesitated momentarily. "…Emotional comfort."
Kirk was silent for a moment, then stood up from his chair. "You're probably right, but all the same, I'd like Dr. McCoy to examine you, just to be safe. Report to sickbay."
"Aye, sir," Spock said. He had just turned to leave when Kirk said his name. He stopped and turned around.
"Thanks for telling me about this," Kirk said. "I appreciate it, especially given how it relates to you personally. I know it can't be easy, dealing with what happened to your mother, your people." He gave a brief, small smile. "Just take care of yourself, Spock."
Unsure precisely what to say in return, Spock merely stood immobile for a moment, then nodded his understanding before striding through the doors and out into the corridor. He would pay a visit to Dr. McCoy, and then he thought it was time he started on that overdue reply to Sybok. He had things he would like to discuss with him….