The Vulcan Changeling Project

Contradictions

Spock found it illogical that he could gain peace from anyone or anything, yet the giant white feline provided him with just the tranquility he needed. His eyes closed. I'm exhausted. Vulcans don't get tired. He thought of Uhura and his chest ached. Then again maybe half-human one's do. He closed his eyes, willing the pain from his soul's contradictions to lull him to sleep. The cat, seeing her objective was accomplished crawled on Spock's stomach, attempting to purr away his mind numbing loneliness.

Kirk felt as if someone had run him through a transporter beam several times. His body ached and his mind felt drained of its normal vitality. While he lay safe in his bed, civil war raged on the planet beneath him. I must find out what's happening. I want to be on the bridge of my ship.

McCoy grinned, when he noticed Kirk attempting to feign sleep. "Jim, I know you're awake. I'm a Doctor, remember?"

Kirk sighed, then sat up. "Bones, I need to get back to the bridge."

McCoy ran a scanner over Kirk's body, then shook his head. "Sorry, Jim, your body's not ready to return to duty and if I can put in my two cents, neither is your mental state."

Kirk inched himself higher. "Just let me go for a walk."

McCoy hated the desperate note in Kirk's voice. It made him feel guilty. "Jim, you can go for a walk during your physical therapy session, but I not going to let you go galivanting around the ship free range. You have no idea what I had to do to put you back together. It's a miracle that..."

Kirk held up his hands. "Alright, Bones, I don't need a blow by blow of the medical miracles you performed."

McCoy scowled. "Jim, you're a wonderful friend and Captain but a lousy patient."

Kirk grinned. "Why thank you, Doctor?"

"Stop that now. I don't another smart ass in my medical bay, Spock's enough."

Kirk's grin faded. "How is Spock?"

McCoy shrugged. "I've checked him out. He's a hundred percent fit, but there's something...something off."

"I'm worried about him, Bones. He seems more...more withdrawn than usual."

McCoy chuckled, then shook his head. "Look at us, attempting to judge whether a Vulcan is withdrawn or not."

Kirk rubbed the edge of the blanket covering him. "It's not the Vulcan half I'm worried about."

McCoy frowned. "It seems like you're not happy unless you have something to worry about. Now lean back rest. That's an order."

Kirk leaned back, closing his eyes. "Perhaps, you're right, Bones." Sleep didn't come though, only unbidden memories, the surge of triumph when he grabbed the Klingon weapons, then the intense pain when the heat seeking grenade tore through his leg, reducing it to a pile of pulp. His screams, followed by the smell of his burning flesh. I'm going to die. Spock? Then everything had blacked out.

The next thing he had remembered was McCoy's voice shouting, "Jim, we're beaming you up and don't even think of dying on me. It wouldn't be logical." Kirk was sure he had smiled, even though McCoy said he hadn't.

Spock awoke with the giant feline still sleeping on his chest. His lower back had a cramp in it and his arm was twisted at an odd angle, but he endured it, not wanting to disturb the cat. He envied her peaceful slumber. A book of Vulcan poetry lay beside him. He picked it up, turning to one of his favorite passages.

'To all you beings whom envy us, you must be unaware, of all the things that bind us and keep us forever ensnared. The private hells that bind you, will someday cease to be. But keep in mind the Vulcan soul is never free to be. Logic keeps our sanity. Logic controls fear. Logic solves all problems, except the lonely years. When the human soul gets broken, it will soon be healed, but the Vulcan soul will shatter if it ever learns to feel. So, we must protect you from ourselves and keep our barriers high. We must be brave and stand alone. We must never learn to cry. So, when you laugh or even weep, be thankful for your release. The Vulcan soul must meditate to finally obtain peace. So, my eyes grow very dim, they flicker and lose their sight, and another shadow disappears within Vulcan's moonless night.'

Spock looked at the date of the poem, it was written about one hundred years after Surak's death. No name was given, it just stated that the poem had been composed by a Vulcan philosopher. Spock read on: 'Do not mourn my death, beloved. I will meet you on the steps of Mt. Selya, where the Vulcan sands burn bright. There we shall be one forever, touching, your mind to mine, parted, yet never parted. My soul shall search for yours, incomplete until our Katras blend once more.'

Spock lay back and pondered the philosopher's words. What if his love were not Vulcan? Would they still be able to clasp each other, blending their Katra's after death took them? What of his mother and father? Would their Katra's be joined after death? It was a sobering thought. I shall search for the answer, logically, but what if there were no answers. What then? Logic. I must focus.

###

Talerath watched the Enterprise with a mixture of sorrow and triumph. She stood alone surrounded by Federation humanitarian ships. They would be no match for the cloaked bird of prey that stalked them.

###

Kirk grimaced when his physical therapist ran him through another round of grueling exercises. "Shit," Kirk swore looking down at his sweat soaked body.

The physical therapist grimaced, "Sorry, sir."

"No, need to apologize. I'm just frustrated."

"Understandable, sir."

Kirk looked down at his leg; it would heal but it would scar a painful reminder of the Klingon grenade. He was just about to gear himself up for another round, when he felt a tremor rock the hull. "What the hell was that?"

"I have no idea, maybe an atmospheric disturbance, sir?"

The next jolt sent them both flying. Kirk was the first to scramble to his feet. "That was no atmospheric disturbance, Lieutenant. We're under attack and..." The rest of his sentence was muted by the glaring sound and brilliant flashing lights of red alert status.

###

Muriah and the rest of the makeshift crew gasped when the bird of prey decloaked. "My god, what is that bird of prey after?" Tiberius whispered.

A cold grip of fear, clutched at Muriah's stomach. "They're after the Enterprise."