Logic Alone: A Star Trek Fan-Fiction Story

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     The Feast of Surak. There was no greater day of celebration on all of Vulcan. Other boys looked forward to the food, the stories, the gathering of the clan. But not young Spock. 

      He held very still as his mother inspected him in his best suit and worked on his dark bangs with a comb. Then taking a little jar from the bathroom cabinet, she dipped her index finger into the tinted cream and carefully dabbed it over his bruised cheekbone. 

     “T’Pring will be there,” she said, leaning close, working on him.

     Spock was silent, thinking of the young girl to whom he had recently been betrothed. His future wife. It was as if he could already feel her cool eyes upon him. And not only hers, but all those others—everyone in the clan studying his features, appraising his behavior for any new lapses in discipline. 

     There was only one other who received such scrutiny, and that disturbed Spock even more. He did not like the way they looked at his human mother. Every time the clan gathered, it was the same. As if Spock and his mother were oddities. 

     Must we go? He struggled to keep the words from escaping, for in speaking them he would sound weak and emotional. Logic alone must dictate his actions. And there was really no use even asking. For centuries upon centuries, the Day of Surak had been honored in this way. The eldest members of the clan would stand and read Surak’s First Principles from the Kir’Shara. Though at seven years of age even Spock knew the Principles word for word, everyone listened respectfully because it was so important to their survival as a race. Surak, the great reformer. Surak, the scientist. 

     Mother finished and gave the top of his head a little pat. “There,” she said with satisfaction. “Look at that. No one could ever tell you were fighting.”

     Spock turned toward the mirror. There was hardly time to glimpse his image before Sarek appeared in the doorway. Father’s piercing eyes settled on Spock’s face. One eyebrow rose ever so slightly, a sure sign of disapproval that made Spock shrink inside. 

    “Amanda,” his deep voice rumbled. “What have you done to him?” 

     “Just a little makeup.” 

     “Take it off.” 

     “But Sarek –

     “If he is made to bear the consequences of his behavior, he might eventually learn some control.” 

     Spock could sense his mother’s unhappiness as she wiped the makeup from his cheek. Do not cry…do not cry. The desperate hope was not for her alone. Only yesterday he had attacked another schoolyard tormentor—now would he also shed tears? Right here, in front of Father? On the Day of Surak?  

     Young Spock held his breath and clenched his teeth and tried hard to focus his mind. Logic alone must dictate my actions…logic alone must dictate my actions. Logic alone… 

     “That is better,” Sarek said. “Come now. We are leaving.”

By M.C. Pehrson

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