Work Text:
The World
by Acidqueen
"How long did you stay on Vulcan?"
"Three months in whole. We were very secluded at that time, rarely talking to others besides our closest circle of friends, seldom following the news. It wouldn't have done any good. We needed that time off for ourselves."
"Did you never fear that the political evolvement would be not to your liking?"
"Fear is irrelevant. What is is. You can only be concerned about things you can influence, neither about the past nor the future, as long as it is not within your power. If the Enterprise had been destroyed in one of the battles, it would have been that way, with or without my worry."
"But you two returned there after your stay on Vulcan, even though the Vulcan government at that point did not guarantee that you would be allowed back again."
"Yes. Our time on Vulcan was over, our duties called us back, duties to Jim Kirk as well as to Starfleet and the Federation. There was a lot of work to be done to get over that nasty bit of history. If we couldn't have gone back to Vulcan, well, that would have been a price we were willing to pay."
"Today we can read about the end of this civil war in our history files. Did you ever fear that it would not end with the repulsion of that movement?"
"No. When you look back at history, such movements could make a lot of destruction, and it's easy to kill thousands, even millions of people within a few years. But blood-shedding despotism is not easy to maintain. From Hitler and Stalin to the Killing fields or the Eugenic Wars we know that its time comes fast usually. People will only take that much from an oppressive force before they fight back. I was always sure that the natural, funny, I should use that word, isn't it that the natural evolution of history wouldn't allow for anything else. On the other hand, if it hadn't been repulsed, the Federation would have likely split into at least two parts. That would've weakened it, and maybe made a target for Klingon or Romulan attacks, but at that point we knew that the forces on our side were already strong enough to support a minor war with them. Eighty percent of the former Starfleet fleet had joined the rebellion, plus fifteen out of nineteen space stations. We had bases on Rigel, on Deneb - well, everywhere. No, we never feared it would not end to our likes. We only feared the costs, but there was no way to prevent losses."
"You are talking about starships like the Virgin and the Mistral...?"
"Yes. The Virgin engaged self-destruction after they lost the battle of Maxima Four against the Excelsior and the Enterprise. 500 hundred people dead for nothing. And the Mistral was destroyed after they had already given up, due to a failure in their antimatter retention fields. Another 300 hundred formidable people dead."
"You mean, you didn't feel relieved to hear that the same Admiral that was responsible for your conviction in the first hand had died there?"
"No. Why should I have been? A loss of life is always tragic. He wasn't the only one to follow the wrong prophets. Should we have killed all the followers of the movement? We would've been no better than Kodos the Slaughterer then."
"Back to your private life, after the war you and Commander Spock returned to Vulcan where the politics had definitively changed for the better concerning homosexual relationships. You were the first officially accepted married gay couple then. How did it feel to know one was making history?"
"Oh my... making history. We did that all the time, but when you are in the middle of it, you plainly don't see it that way. You do your work everyday, have your struggles and fights, and do what has to be done. And later people look at your life and see things in it you didn't see at that point. I never felt like an hero, and though I knew that we were the first ones, it was not really our doing. Many people had contributed to that change - Sarek, of course, T'Pau, the Vulcan movement of "The Reconsidering", all those Vulcan men and women who stood up and outed themselves as being closet homosexuals. And in the end the Vulcan High Council bowed to logic. That was the real achievement."
"So you feel that in the end there was something good coming out of your personal... hardship, I may call it."
"Definitively. We wouldn't have chosen that road consciously, but if the outcome changes some things to the better, it was definitively worth it."
"And what are your plans for the future?"
"Nice to ask that way, my dear. I will retire as Admiral from Starfleet soon, since my health is a bit on the bad side lately, unfortunately, and go back to live on Vulcan."
"And your spouse, the Ambassador?"
"He is actually on a diplomatic mission, but after that he will take a leave for a while."
"I see... We thank you for this interview, Dr. McCoy. All the best to you and Ambassador Spock. Live long and prosper."
"Thanks to you. It was nice to talk about the old times again."
**
Sarain, the chairman of the History department of the VSA, switched off the data tape, and like always he found it hard not to meet the gaze of the blue eyes that looked so brilliant even in their old age. A part of him wished he had met this Human who through his relationship with the Ambassador had influenced the development of the Vulcan society, but unfortunately his life had already ended 80 years ago, at an formidable age for one of his species. The tape was taken from the last interview McCoy had given on Terra in a television production that had centered on his unusual life.
Why he had watched it again, he did not know. He had seen all the material at least once, most of it he had checked and rechecked and analyzed concerning its importance for his work. He had seen all tapes ever taken for public use, but he had also read all personal reports - at least all that the Ambassador had given him, when he had engaged him as author for their biography.
Taking the tape out of the antique reading unit he placed it into the container with the other records, and in another illogical motivation his fingers traveled through the few papers and photo prints. One he fetched out of the stack, looking at the bright man in the red and black uniform shaking hands with an Human of Asian descent in front of a whitely shimmering building under a blue sky - it had been taken on the day of James Kirk's promotion to Admiral in the reunited Starfleet. His inauguration had been beyond dispute, but Nogura's stay in his position had not. After the repulsion of NaturalLife many people had been brought to justice for crimes against intelligent life, a charge that had been known as crime against humanity in former times. In trials throughout the quadrant the history of the prosecution years were unrolled in an attempt to make a new beginning - but of course, as history from the past could have told them, one could simply not dispel everybody who was involved. Often technical and administrative personnel with their special knowledge were not easily substituted by others, and so many had remained in their positions who did not have "clean slates", as Terrans said. Healing the wounds of those years had taken the Federation almost a hundred years, although on other points it had strengthened the organization. There should never again be a time where the legal force of Federation articles had to rely that much on the interpretation of a single interest group, and so a lot of woolly-worded sequences in the Charter had been rewritten and tightened in their content.
Kirk's demission as Captain had ended the close working relationship of the former bridge crew, but it had not diminished their friendship, as the group picture taken on the wedding of Uhura and Scott in Scotland five years later showed, which he now fetched out of the container. They had all been there, looking into the lens of the camera in the assured attitude of people who knew where they stood in life. And there was also a snapshot from the wedding, showing Spock and McCoy dancing in a tight embrace. Like all photos that had been taken by Kirk with the instinct of a close friend it was radiating so much intimacy and love that Sarain once more felt like an intruder to their privacy. Only Kirk's premature disappearance into a mysterious energy band during the maiden flight of a new Enterprise had ended their friendship, leaving a deep wound for a while, as he had been able to read between the lines of memos and video messages following this event.
A small, rather old-fashion looking book with photographs fell in his hands as he put the snapshot back. It was the McCoy family album, with pictures of Joanna and her family from baby age to adults with their own children. Some of the pictures had been taken on the family estate near Shi'kahr, several of McCoy's descendants had partly been living on Vulcan, and one was actually studying genetic engineering at the medical department of the VSA. Some stray photos from the Ambassador's adopted daughter Saavik and her family had also made it into this album; they were otherwise reluctant to be photographed in their private lives, mainly due to security reasons. Many of them had served in the new Starfleet, while others had positions in the Vulcan administration, and her youngest daughter would probably become the next matriarch. The House had not only survived the turbulent history of its heir, but had even been strengthened in its position; whereas for many it had been once a synonym for decrepit remains of the old ways, it had become the link to the future with facilitating the single biggest change in the Vulcan philosophy and lifestyle since nine hundred years.
Putting the book back he took another snapshot, showing two astonishing similar-looking men at a 3D chess game. They had become friends for life, Perren from Rigel and Spock from Vulcan, when they had met a decade after the events on Mrrahan on a conference. Neither had expected to see the other, and so the official photo document list had been able to fetch the open astonishment in their features on the corresponding tape. The man had also been able to shoot the apology the deeply moved Rigellian had offered before they had hastily disappeared together. Perren had risen to the chairmanship of the prison management in the end, where he had induced major changes; today Mrrahan was an outstanding institution, which set standards in modern prison management under compliance of Humanoid Rights.
Determined Sarain placed the photograph back into the container, closed it and called for his transportation. It was time to part from their lives, which during his writing had become a part of his own life. All material was to be returned this afternoon, together with the final version of the manuscript, which had already, underwent many corrections from both the Ambassador and himself. The biography was to be published only after his death, the Ambassador had demanded in advance. He did not want to discuss his life with someone at this point, and also did not want it to be seen as a kind of unduly self- worship. Being of public interest all his life, he also did not intend to feed the media sharks, as he had stated in a vivid human saying during their meeting, with the flesh of his memories. Sarain had accepted the assignment nevertheless; to get an insight into the life of such an outstanding personality was too valuable to decline that offer due to such a small inconvenience as waiting some years for the publication, and it would not take longer than that, by anyone's estimate. The Ambassador was only 213 years old, but he was already suffering from some major symptoms of old age and would not live as long as his father. Besides the Ambassador's closest family and friends Sarain had been the only one to be invited for a conversation in more than five years, and it had been the first and last one for him, all other communication had been done in written memos or via the Ambassador's secretary. But today he was looking forward to meet him again, exchanging some final words with him at the end of their project, which had them brought close in an unusual way...
The buzzer cut through the silence of his office and announced the arrival of the transporter. Time for departure, indeed, he thought as he stepped into the heated afternoon air.
*
He had been too late in the end, Sarain reflected as he slowly followed the stream of family and friends behind the urn from the traditional ceremonial place over towards the Forge a week later. It was still dawn, and the cool morning winds tugged on the long robes, adding a small rustling to the steady sound of soft steps in the sand. The air was still slightly humid, and automatically he inhaled it deeply, absorbing the traces of water before the sun would burn it away.
He had been too late on that day, as the yellow ornaments on the estate's gate had told him instantly, announcing death with the color of the desert. Despite his expectance, Saavik, the bearer of Spock's katra, had greeted him like an old friend and invited him to join their traditional waiting for a while. Everyone was interested in his manuscript, and so it was rapidly printed and handed out to all who wanted to read it. It was the best gift he could have given to them on this day, Eileen, the so characteristically blue-eyed great-great- granddaughter of McCoy, told him later. It would also be published soon, but this was of no relevance for him on this morning.
The procession came slowly to an halt with the urn carrier on the top of the same rock spur as on McCoy's funeral, and in a graceful movement the young man opened the urn. Even through the distance he saw the ashes carried away by the wind, and like a song from the past the High Vulcan words traveled on their wings, "as it was from the beginning, our bodies come from the sand and return to the sand in the end of our time..." and it took him a moment to analyze the unusual emotion he felt.
"S'Haile, you appear to grieve. Have you been a close friend of my orfik-kel?" a calm voice suddenly asked in a mixture of Vulcan and Federation Standard from beneath, and he looked down to see a small boy with green eyes and pointed ears. Instantly the child's parents stepped near.
"S'Haile Sarain, I ask forgiveness for the behavior of my son," the father said sternly, "we live on Terra most of the time which impairs our attempts of Vulcan education," and the Terran mother added an apologizing glance from under her hood.
"No insult taken," Sarain replied solemnly, and went down on one knee to face the boy. "Your curiosity is understandable, Sarik, great- grandchild of Spock." He looked into the deep green eyes, pondering his answer. 'I barely knew him' had at first come to his mind, but then he reconsidered. Switching to Federation Standard he said, "in a way, I was his friend." He knew his answer was neither complete nor logical, but the boy gave him only a wordless, understanding nod before he left on the hand of his mother.
At the horizon the sun began to inflame the sky, bathing it in the deep red colors of the Vulcan morning, and suddenly his grief resolved - as it was from the birth of the universe, with every end there was also a new beginning. A hidden smile crossed his face as he watched the families with their children who walked back through the now illuminated plane, leaving behind the physical remains of their ancestors towards a new day.
A circle closing, in completion.
End of the Tarot Suite
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