Title : Dear Jim
Author : Rob Morris
Series : AOS
Type : Short speculative piece
Characters : Spock Prime
Rating : PG
Summary : Spock writes to a home and a friend he will never see again about a history he has never seen before.
Dear Jim :
Though you are gone, a universe and a lifetime away, I remain to you what I have always been.
My adjustment to the new world goes well. ‘Elder Selek’ has been called an amazing treasure. I took so much from them merely by coming here, he will have to be several treasures, I fear. But again, I have found ways to adjust.
I have adjusted to your counterpart, cadet to King in moments. I have adjusted to my touchy counterpart, and to an Uhura who seems to be able to communicate with him, on his deepest levels. I have adjusted to a Leonard McCoy and to a Montgomery Scott all too comfortably familiar. I have adjusted, with a chuckle, to a Chekov who truly is ‘even younger’.
I have adjusted to the apparent absence of Gary Mitchell. My best good fortune began with his downfall, and now...were his parents with yours aboard the Kelvin? Perhaps my search has not been thorough enough. Thelin seems to be well. I spied him in Engineering, shaking his head at Mister Scott’s theories. I have obtained only contradictory information as to whether or not there is a Sam Kirk. There should be, and yet the butterfly’s wings blow wildly in a tiny space. I do not yet have the courage to question your counterpart on this. If he does not have an older brother here, the knowledge might even be cruel.
Making me wonder further on this are the history archives. Here, there are no mentions of odd, unidentified strangers aiding Zephram Cochrane on that historic day. Here, Jonathan Archer’s only mention of time travel–even when my hands found their way into files not meant to be seen- was in an encounter that was not his, but ours, as his ship encountered a dead scientific outpost on a planet about to crack apart, and the inhibition-shredding virus that shook the crew to its core. ‘What Have I Done?’ is a question that I think I will ask very often here, Jim.
Then there is Mother. The Nero of Rome killed his mother, the scheming power that brought him to his throne. The Nero of Romulus killed the loving power that enabled me to walk beside a King. She should have died an old woman, stubbornly refusing to leave the harsh climate and gravity of her husband’s world. Nero. If only your revenge-addled mind could have comprehended that you could have spared six billion Vulcans and still punished me by killing just one Human. Then, at least, her loss could have more meaning to me, and to her son.
I have taken heart in some few things. Romulus, anxious to prove that Nero was a madman without sanction, has opened up relations a full decade earlier. I will do everything in my power to bring them and Q’onos into peaceful co-existence with the Federation. I should at least be able to provide cultural perspective that might demystify these would-be foes, or at least one would hope. Hope arrives in other forms. It seems Cardassian traders aided–for a steep fee–the escape pods from the USS Kelvin, and have opened trade relations not unlike those of the Ferengi in our 24th Century. One would hope this proceeds with no invasion of Bajor–and a lot less slapstick.
I need no adjustment to the sight of my first captain, hale and hearty as he left that wheelchair behind him forever, without aid of illusion or, eventually, back braces. But alternate fate laughs as loudly as our more–canonical–one does. He now complains of being trapped behind a desk.
As I leave to begin a new day of our colony search, I recall this exchange between father and son. I think that I shall always recall it.
“Father, I think that he shall always be a puzzle to me.”
“Puzzle not upon him, Spock. If you are able, just let him become your friend. You had so few on Vulcan, and I only want your happiness.”
A mellow Sarek.
That, old friend, is one thing that I think I will *never* adjust to.
Spock as always, Remembering You.
Author : Rob Morris
Series : AOS
Type : Short speculative piece
Characters : Spock Prime
Rating : PG
Summary : Spock writes to a home and a friend he will never see again about a history he has never seen before.
Dear Jim :
Though you are gone, a universe and a lifetime away, I remain to you what I have always been.
My adjustment to the new world goes well. ‘Elder Selek’ has been called an amazing treasure. I took so much from them merely by coming here, he will have to be several treasures, I fear. But again, I have found ways to adjust.
I have adjusted to your counterpart, cadet to King in moments. I have adjusted to my touchy counterpart, and to an Uhura who seems to be able to communicate with him, on his deepest levels. I have adjusted to a Leonard McCoy and to a Montgomery Scott all too comfortably familiar. I have adjusted, with a chuckle, to a Chekov who truly is ‘even younger’.
I have adjusted to the apparent absence of Gary Mitchell. My best good fortune began with his downfall, and now...were his parents with yours aboard the Kelvin? Perhaps my search has not been thorough enough. Thelin seems to be well. I spied him in Engineering, shaking his head at Mister Scott’s theories. I have obtained only contradictory information as to whether or not there is a Sam Kirk. There should be, and yet the butterfly’s wings blow wildly in a tiny space. I do not yet have the courage to question your counterpart on this. If he does not have an older brother here, the knowledge might even be cruel.
Making me wonder further on this are the history archives. Here, there are no mentions of odd, unidentified strangers aiding Zephram Cochrane on that historic day. Here, Jonathan Archer’s only mention of time travel–even when my hands found their way into files not meant to be seen- was in an encounter that was not his, but ours, as his ship encountered a dead scientific outpost on a planet about to crack apart, and the inhibition-shredding virus that shook the crew to its core. ‘What Have I Done?’ is a question that I think I will ask very often here, Jim.
Then there is Mother. The Nero of Rome killed his mother, the scheming power that brought him to his throne. The Nero of Romulus killed the loving power that enabled me to walk beside a King. She should have died an old woman, stubbornly refusing to leave the harsh climate and gravity of her husband’s world. Nero. If only your revenge-addled mind could have comprehended that you could have spared six billion Vulcans and still punished me by killing just one Human. Then, at least, her loss could have more meaning to me, and to her son.
I have taken heart in some few things. Romulus, anxious to prove that Nero was a madman without sanction, has opened up relations a full decade earlier. I will do everything in my power to bring them and Q’onos into peaceful co-existence with the Federation. I should at least be able to provide cultural perspective that might demystify these would-be foes, or at least one would hope. Hope arrives in other forms. It seems Cardassian traders aided–for a steep fee–the escape pods from the USS Kelvin, and have opened trade relations not unlike those of the Ferengi in our 24th Century. One would hope this proceeds with no invasion of Bajor–and a lot less slapstick.
I need no adjustment to the sight of my first captain, hale and hearty as he left that wheelchair behind him forever, without aid of illusion or, eventually, back braces. But alternate fate laughs as loudly as our more–canonical–one does. He now complains of being trapped behind a desk.
As I leave to begin a new day of our colony search, I recall this exchange between father and son. I think that I shall always recall it.
“Father, I think that he shall always be a puzzle to me.”
“Puzzle not upon him, Spock. If you are able, just let him become your friend. You had so few on Vulcan, and I only want your happiness.”
A mellow Sarek.
That, old friend, is one thing that I think I will *never* adjust to.
Spock as always, Remembering You.
