Received: from [66.218.66.157] by n35.grp.scd.yahoo.com with NNFMP; 03 Jul 2004 10:03:42 -0000 X-Sender: campbratcher@psci.net X-Apparently-To: ASCEM-S@yahoogroups.com Received: (qmail 8310 invoked from network); 3 Jul 2004 10:03:39 -0000 Received: from unknown (66.218.66.167) by m17.grp.scd.yahoo.com with QMQP; 3 Jul 2004 10:03:39 -0000 Received: from unknown (HELO mailstore.psci.net) (63.65.184.2) by mta6.grp.scd.yahoo.com with SMTP; 3 Jul 2004 10:03:38 -0000 Received: from max (as1-d38-rp-psci.psci.net [63.69.225.38]) by mailstore.psci.net (8.12.2/8.12.2) with SMTP id i63A3J7l030191 for ; Sat, 3 Jul 2004 05:03:20 -0500 Message-ID: <003401c460e5$074116e0$26e1453f@max> To: "ASCEM-S" X-Priority: 3 X-MSMail-Priority: Normal X-Mailer: Microsoft Outlook Express 6.00.2800.1158 X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V6.00.2800.1165 X-eGroups-Remote-IP: 63.65.184.2 From: "Keith & Jessica Bratcher" X-Yahoo-Profile: sileya MIME-Version: 1.0 Mailing-List: list ASCEM-S@yahoogroups.com; contact ASCEM-S-owner@yahoogroups.com Delivered-To: mailing list ASCEM-S@yahoogroups.com Precedence: bulk List-Unsubscribe: Date: Sat, 3 Jul 2004 05:03:44 -0500 Subject: [ASCEM-S] NEW TOS: A Song of Distant Shores 2/2 (K/S, K/f)[PG] Reply-To: "Keith & Jessica Bratcher" Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-ELNK-AV: 0 Title: A Song of Distant Shores [PG] Author: Lyrastar Part: 2/2 Contact: Lyrastarwatcher at yahoo dot com or www.geocities.com/lyrastarwatcher ********************************* He came up upon the James Kirk riding his starship in the sky, and James gleefully clutched him to his side and took him in as his. For James was drawn to this dark man fallen from the heavens who had left his world and all he knew to be a part of his. Through time and trial James came to trust him as he did his own self, to depend upon him as he did water, air or food. Two souls as one, they rode into giant nebulae, wove though the tightest asteroid belts, skirted the hottest coronas and never were they apart. Together they were what is greatest and truest and most constant of all. And while one had the other, never did they fear. His heart filled with great affection for this dark man, who revealed so little of himself, James Kirk arranged that he should stay with him always. He had quarters prepared, which connected, through a hatchway, with his. Oftentimes when all was still and none had need for their might, James would put his arm close around his Spock and hug him tightly to his breast. At such times, when his heart was fullest and aching from love, he might look into those timeless, deep dark eyes and ask, who was this man, this manna who had fallen from heaven, just for him, to land so happily at his feet? But Spock had no reply, for it was not of the Vulcan race to speak these thing into the cold, unfeeling air. These things were for The Song of the Mind, The Song of two minds knit as one. And his Song sung out loud and long. It vibrated though the passageways and cargo bays and echoed from deck to deck. It was so loud that it shamed him for the logical being he had once professed to be. It was so loud that the more sensitive humans could sense it too. Not hear exactly, but perceive it nonetheless. Something more primal, some atavistic sense of belong given unto the compassionate to know those most dear to their hearts. Chekov grinned, Uhura wondered, and McCoy just shook his head. But after the adaptation of T'Pau, Spock's Song, however long and long it cried, would be forever kept from James Kirk himself. Kaidith. And so the brilliant smile fell on a face that could not answer and the Song fell on the lonesome ears of one who could not hear and the pining heart of one who could not know to answer back. One day it became clear that Spock must marry. Forcing the words from his lips that were never meant to be heard outside the mind was an anathema, one he thought he never could have managed, but the self- preservation drive of the pon farr was stronger than even he had known. Thus he shamed his former home and people throwing himself at the mercy of his t'hy'la. As always the needs of one were the same as the needs of the other, and so together they returned to his ancestral lands. The sands burned hot, but his blood burned hotter and T'Pau took no pity on his plight. She would not credit the scene before her eyes as testament to the pact having been fulfilled. "He gave his life for mine; what greater love is there than that? Is that not proof enough?" Not that it mattered to him. James Kirk was dead. His life was over as well, but he wanted some testament, some memorial to endure of the time they had had. Some proof that it was not all for naught. "He said nothing of claiming thee above all others. He did not challenge to have you for his own. Thy life is forfeit, as a consequence. I grieve with thee." Yes, it is forfeit, Spock agreed with no feeling. And so he went back to the ship, to lie in their suite, among the things of James, wrapped in the smell of James, amid all he had left of James, to die. But fate or luck or simple country medicine had smiled on them and there was to be no death, but joyous reunion instead. "Jim!" The name rang out to fill every corridor, to fill every ear, and the clamor of the Song was so great and so loud that it spilled forth from his lips, his face, in shameless exaltation. It was a burst of all he wished to say, of all that was locked in the language of his heart and mind, the fathers of Vulcan never dreaming it would be necessary for it to cross the lips. So it did silently, in the mute form of a smile. For Jim it was the end of a rainbow, that smile contained all he had ever wanted to know. It gave his empty heart solace as sweet as the nectar of the rarest hyacinth in spring. But in less than a heartbeat, it was gone as if it had never been, living on only inside his memory until he had to ask himself whether it had been real, or only the wistful mirage before the eyes of a man crawling desperately through a long, lonely desert of dust. "You are dear to me," said James Kirk, folding Spock closely to his breast. "For you have the best spirit and are the most devoted to me and I to you, even unto death. You bring to my mind the memory of a younger time when I was hurt and adrift and a maiden I shall never see again touched my mind and healed my hurts. I know not how she did such a marvelous thing, but in all my travels in all the galaxy, none but you has touched me as she did that day." Ah, he knows not that it was I who brought him home when he was adrift, thought Spock. And he knows not that I touched his mind that day, perhaps far more deeply than he can ever know, for it has touched me far more deeply than anything I had known existed. But how could he claim to be a part of such a miracle, when The Song was gone between them forever? Too soon their journey through the galaxy together was ended and the twain were again to be cleft. "Come with me," James implored. "Stay by my side, where fate and fortune and all civilized reason would place you best. They have promised me a great surprise, something I will love even more than I love my ship and crew, upon my return, but it will not be anything if you be not there to share it." "I will you go with you, for there is nowhere I would rather be. " Spock said with his tongue. But do you not love me best of all, was the question, which played in the lonesome lyrics of his MindSong. But the Song fell, gossamer soft as always, adrift upon the bitter wind. The next morning they sailed upon the solar tide to dock in the safe haven of the Starfleet piers. There was great rejoicing all around at the wondrous event of their return. Great men and fair ladies bowed and sang the praises of the Hunters, home, safe at last, from the hills. And they took James Kirk aside, with Spock shadowing always by his shoulder, and brought him to a place where deepest secrets brewed. "Look here, James!" They flung aside the curtain, and with proudest strut and show, announced the model of the refitted Enterprise. Against the black velvet sky of the drapery, it sparkled new and bright but delicate as a dream. "And this is Vice-Admiral Ciani; she will be overseeing the project." A woman of ebony hair, so dark she almost faded into the curtain, stepped forth and extended her hand and mind. "It's you!" exclaimed James Kirk. "It's you who succored me and soothed me with your mind all those year ago. In all my time and travel, in all that I have seen and done, I have encountered nothing more beautiful that the feel of your mind against mine as you lifted me from where I fell." "Oh, I am so happy," he said to Spock, "for my hopes are fulfilled. You will rejoice with me at my happiness, for your devotion to me is great and sincere." "Of course, my t'hy'la. I wish you all the happiness your human heart can hold. And if you have now found it, my hopes for you are fulfilled," said Spock with open honesty, although it cracked his heart in two. But the vulcan heart is strong and trained, nigh impermeable to emotion, and the traitorous Vulcan genes failed to take Spock then into the gentle mercy of death, but lived to mock him as his broken heart continued to beat, to watch James Kirk happy in the arms of another. On the eve of their wedding day, Spock made his preparations to leave James Kirk and to leave this plane of existence as we know it, you and I. The latter gave him little pause; to die was but to be no more. But the former, the former rent his soul in two. If there be something, anything, in that great beyond, to enter it alone gave him no pause. He had been alone before and he knew that condition well. But to abandon James Kirk to meet whatever may come without his t'hy'la by his side, that pain he could not stomach. For he had sworn an oath to defend James Kirk with all his might and main, and he railed against the cold hand of death that would keep him from his solemn pledge. Spock went out under the brilliant stars of night and stared toward the heavens, toward that planet that fixed his fate so firmly. It brought unto his mind his first voyage across the void and his first tentative step out among the halls of Starfleet, which would become his home. He could not regret his choice, but neither could he do aught but rue the loss. He had abandoned home and land and family. Never again would he see the silver birds soar across the ruddy face of T'Khut or filter the musty soil of his little garden through his hands. Never again would he hear his mother's voice as she held him to her breast, or smell the rich scent of Pbryllia in bloom on a warm summer night. These things he regretted, but they were not what brought that sensation that humans know as pain. The pain he felt cut sharp into his soul, but it stemmed not from that which he had surrendered long ago. Oh no, this pain came sharp and fresh and new with every breath. Every breath he drew was one nearer to the last he would breathe in the same air as James Kirk. Each twinkling star jeered at him and taunted that this was the last night he and James Kirk would share under the same sky. It was the last time the moon that lit James Kirk's face would shine upon his own as well. This was the living, breathing agony of that which is not yet dead and, but dying a slow and gruesome death, struggling painfully every moment, screaming for mercy, a second chance at life. He rent his clothes, the vulcan robe retained from long ago, and cried out with all the power of The Song not to be separated from his t'hy'la over such a cruel and senseless trick of fate. It was not T'Pau who answered, but Sar'ek, his father, summoned by The Song. "My son, my son, throw you not your life away. For I have gone unto T'Pau and made with her a dreadful deal. I have relinquished all our clan's birthright to the Council Chair and made myself a peon at her feet. For this she has rescinded your fate on one condition only. You must leave James Kirk at once, tell him you never loved him, that it was all but a ploy. Do this and you may return to Vulcan and the embrace of your now so humbled mother and me." "Father, I cannot. For to do so would be like unto driving a dagger into his tender heart. And how can I rip the heart of one I hold so dear, solely to save my own?" "Not only your own," Sarek said. "Look deep into the Seeing Stones, which T'Pau sewed upon your person when she made this wretched trade, and tell me what you see. See if it is not like unto what I have foreseen in mine." Spock picked up the tatters of his ruined garment and looked deep into the center stone of dullest garnet red. There he saw his t'hy'la, within the ship he loved and cherished, blown by a million trillion dynes of force into the solar wind. "This is to be his fate, if you are not to survive to save him from it." "How can I know this?" said Spock, his Songvoice barely above a whisper. "You must have faith in the mysteries of our people, as he has faith in you. If you leave him now, you will live to see him grow and prosper, and perhaps to save him from his fate. "But if you cast yourself upon the stars and leave him to the force of T'Pau's What-Was-Meant-To-Be, he will surely die." "But if I rend from him the faith in one who has been half his soul, what will happen to him then?" But Sar'ek had no answer. For this was purely a human mystery and for this the Vulcan stones were dark. Spock crept silently back into the domicile where James and Lori slept breast to breast. They looked so calm and peaceful, her song was so nurturing and full that it pained him almost unto death to hear it Sing for James. Soft as the Western Wind, he kissed the fair and slumbering brow, then sat a thoughtful vigil by his side, contemplating all that was and is and never now would be, until the first rays of the morning sun threatened to burst upon the horizon. Then he shook one warm and muscled shoulder firmly with his hand. "Admiral." Jim awoke with a start. The woman at his breast dozed on. "What is it, Spock?" "I must take my leave of you now." The stab of pain through James Kirk's breast woke his new bride with a cry. "Spock, why are you leaving me, just as we are about to embark upon this new frontier? Now when I need you most?" His gentle face was matted with confusion and dismay, darkened with fear of the one thing he had never before had cause to dread. "Admiral, our voyage together is over. Instructive though it was, I must now return to Vulcan. I do not expect you to understand, for you are but a human." "Spock!" James Kirk cried after him, his heart running blood and tears. But Spock was through the door and gone as the red morning sun breached over the great Pacific Ocean. Without his lifelong t'hy'la, Jim drifted asea, unable to find an anchor within himself at all. All around was grief and loneliness and pain. And his Song soon changed to grief and loneliness and pain, driving his patient bride away and leaving those who knew best about such things to question his very fitness to lead others. And so alone he twisted on his empty sheets, wasted, impotent and in despair, wondering when his, long useless years would come to an end. And similarly stood S'pock, back on the barren plains of his father's planet, but with many more long years before him to bear than any flitting human soul could conceive. Days with the parents that were no longer family, the parents who had given everything of value for this life that he no longer wanted, were unbearable. And the nights--the nights were even worse. He had not even the solace of surrendering to the physical expressions that grief or pain may employ, for on Vulcan such things are not the way. Only the memory of the fate that awaited James Kirk, should he fail him in the last, kept S'pock living and breathing at all. But in the end, the pain was too great for one of even quasi-human genes, and to Gol he went, where there was no feeling, no grief, no pain--only cold impartial logic. The memories of the pain without kept him hard at work at his pursuits. Again he was the model acolyte--a shame he was no longer of Intended blood, else he would have made a very fine Elder indeed. After three long years, the pain no longer burned him day and night. In comparison, he took that for success. And so he readied himself to kneel before the Old and Wise, and submit himself to the plane of total logic. On the hard clay of the ancient land of Gol, Spock reached out to say his last good-byes. He stretched his mind out towards those who had suffered and laughed and fought and triumphed with him in those halcyon days aboard ship. He relived the subtle Song of each human friend who had touched his skin, his mind his heart, Chekov, Scott, McCoy, Uhura, all the souls he had known so well, but for last he saved James Kirk. Logically for last, he told him himself, as by all dictates of reason, it should be futile, so why expend the time? But you and I might believe it was because he had heard the human prophecy that on one great day, the last shall be first, and little would it hurt to try. Or perhaps it was only because he knew his katra wouldn't bear the pain, and so he completed all other tasks before it would snap asunder and whither unto the clay at the sudden strain. But what a sharp surprise he got when he groped blindly for the essence of James Kirk. Something proud and powerful, as a monsoon in the desert swept over his mind and infused his entire katra it was James, but more. James was flailing, a novice on his own ship grown apart from his own crew. He was sailing once again into the maw of disaster, but this time so alone. And as he tuned his mind to that wave after wave crashed down upon his brain. Wave after wave of cold, inhuman logic, some how connected with James Kirk, some how connected, albeit harsh and unfeelingly, with everything that lived and breathed and moved and stood and formed and withered and dissolved in this galaxy. It was more powerful than the joint force of all the minds of the masters, and it was headed straight for Jim. In a flash of clarity, such as nothing had been clear to him in a very long time, he knew that he must touch this entity. And he must, whatever the cost, keep it from touching James Kirk. The memory of James Kirk, soft, open vulnerable hung before his mind. He fingered the Seeing Stone on his robe. It grew warm under his touch and he bowed his head. He did not need to look within the image to know that the time it prophesied was now. T'Lar, the mistress of Gol read the war within his mind upon the lines of his face. She took his thoughts, but saw nothing of the bonds of the t'hal'zed, only the vehicle of ultimate knowledge with James Kirk incidentally in its path. Of course she would, her mind was geared to receive nothing but logic. She dropped her hand. "Your place lies elsewhere." Yes, with him. T'Lar heard the unvoiced thought. "S'pock, remember your bargain. He chose another before you. If you return to him, you will die, perhaps not in the morn, but soon--and all alone." "Then I will die. But it will be having lived my life with him, and I will have saved him from the blackness that awaits him otherwise, and that is a thousand times more preferable to the slow dissolution upon these sands that never were and are not now of me." And so Spock returned unto that glistening ship. That beacon that might never be extinguished through even the wildest storms, the coldest winter, or in the darkest night. "Spock, my friend, I have missed you so," cried James Kirk as he clutched his t'hy'la to his breast. And in that instant James felt the sweet return of something he had recognized only in its absence. For in the intimacy of that embrace he felt the gossamer whisper of a memory through his mind. A memory as old and deep and strong and real as any he could relate out loud, but this was a vestigial memory of the heart and soul. A memory of a Song that had reached him when he was all but lost, even too himself. James Kirk stood back and stared eyes wide with wonder at Spock, who had returned to him. "It's you! All this time, it was you who haunted the shadows of my mind, not her. Never her. It was you, all along, you who loved and strengthened me, but I was too blind to see." "Yes, it was I. Once my mind could sing to yours, but that Song is lost forever." Jim touched his face in rapt amazement. "But I hear, I feel, I see it now. How could I ever not have known?" And Spock touched him back and felt the same stirring within his soul. The stirring of an intimacy born not of his old world, but of his new one. For this feeling he had neither name nor explanation, but he wished nothing more than to live out this mystery with this man for the rest of whatever days they would have. And he and James Kirk loved each other freely in every way, as hard and fast and true and long and pure as is seldom seen in our world today. They were to each other all that two beings can be, and more, without the Song of Vulcan, but with a Mindbond all their own, framed from their own certain harmony and forged in the fantastic fury of the V'ger effect. And there was beauty, peace and infinite satisfaction. There was joy and hope and dreams unfurled. And there were all these things in abundance, and neither knew loneliness in those transcendental days for which it lasted. We have no time here to tell the tales of those days, for the adventures that they had in the time that they had would fill volume upon volume until they filled this room. There were tales of monsters with no faces, but hearts brighter than platinum or gold. There were tales of other worlds and other times and other dimensions that as of yet have not been named. There were men and cities and civilizations saved and others that could not be saved, but will live on remembered in those books that could fill this room. There was blood spilt and wiped clean away, there was strife and trial, problems solved and blinding new discoveries made. There were fears and loss and regrets and joys. There were wild days and peaceful nights, and some of the opposite as well. They lived and loved as one heart, one mind, one will, and merged their bodies as freely as they merged their deeds. The good was doubled and the bad was halved, for that has always been the way of burdens truly shared. But nothing is forever, and destiny shall not be allayed. Upon that fated day that when Spock stepped into the reactor chamber, what must be became what was. And on that day the heart of James Kirk split in two, for one without his bondmate is not one. And on that day the m'rbyl statue split along the blackened crack and fell, in two pieces, back unto the clay. The wise men of Vulcan came to stare, but none could offer any explanation from within the realm of science, and so they returned home unsatisfied. Some things were forever beyond their ken. ~Lyra January 2004 [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]