with considerably more certainty, I calculate the odds of him attempting to kill us rather than surrendering at ninety-one-point-six percent.”
Kirk’s reply was dry as the empty avenues between the ruined buildings below. “Fantastic. I can always depend on you for encouragement in a difficult situation, Spock.”
The science officer was not deterred. “You can always depend on me for an accurate appraisal of any situation, Captain. Most would consider that a more useful response.”
“Unless they’re Vulcan,” Uhura suddenly put in from behind, “and they don’t care about dying.”
The object of her ire turned in his seat. “I am sorry, Lieutenant, but I am not certain that I could hear clearly what you said.”
She raised her voice, more than was necessary. “I’d be happy to speak up on a wide assortment of subjects if you’re ready to listen to me.”
Fully engaged in piloting their craft, Kirk quite sensibly chose to say nothing in the hope the conversation would take another, more professional tack, or even better, die out completely.
It was in vain.
“Lieutenant,” Spock replied firmly, “I would prefer to discuss this in private.”
Uhura was not in the least dissuaded. “You’d prefer not to discuss it at all, is what you’d prefer.”
Painfully aware they were very close to touchdown, Kirk felt he had no choice any longer but to intervene. “Whoa, guys, are you really gonna do this right now?”
“As our current circumstances require undivided focus,” Spock put in, cutting off Kirk, “I suggest that—”
Now it was Uhura’s turn to interrupt. “What doesn’t seem to require ‘undivided focus’—sorry about this, Captain . . .”
“That’s okay,” Kirk mumbled. “I can land this thing myself. No reason for you to be involved just because you’re on board.”
“. . . is us,” she went on, as if she hadn’t heard a word he’d said. Or maybe she had heard everything, divined both his sarcasm and the implicit criticism, and had chosen to ignore both. “Two seconds, Captain. At that volcano, you didn’t give a thought to us, did you? About what it would do to me if you died, Spock.” She was fighting to keep her emotions out of her voice—and failing. “What I got out of it was that you didn’t feel anything, you didn’t care.”
Try as he might, Kirk found that he couldn’t focus wholly on the instruments. Knowing that this close to the surface, final touchdown would be handled largely by the ship’s automatics anyway, he stared at his first officer. Normally that would have had no effect: Spock could outstare a cat. But whether it was Kirk’s intensely thought but unvoiced Say something to her, you idiot or just something rarely utilized within Spock himself, the Vulcan finally responded.
“Your suggestion that I do not care about dying is incorrect. A sentient being’s optimal chance of maximizing their utility is a long and prosperous life.”
“Great,” she muttered.
“In my particular instance, I hold an additional responsibility, given the small number of survivors of my kind. I therefore would greatly prefer to survive for as long as possible in order to be of use not only to Starfleet, but to the Vulcan diaspora.” He paused. “But it is true that I cannot deny what you say regarding ‘emotions.’ In truth, as I faced my likely demise, I did not feel anything. This is not because I did not wish to do so—especially as regards to certain personal relationships. It was because it was the most personally efficacious course of action. I chose not to feel anything upon realizing that my life was about to end because it was the least disturbing course of action open to me.”
Readouts were starting to flash and several to beep as instrumentation signaled they were on final approach to the designated landing site.
“To even consider the idea of one’s death affecting a loved one would be so painful,” the science officer continued, “that the only logical option in that moment would be to choose to feel nothing instead. This was recently confirmed for me as Admiral Pike was dying. As I tried to comfort him, I briefly joined with his consciousness. I experienced what he felt at the moment of his passing. There was a surprising dearth of pain. In its place there was anger. Confusion. Loneliness. Fear.” Though he could not see Uhura, who was seated facing away from him, he looked back in her direction as he spoke. “Nyota, you misunderstand my choice not to feel at that moment as an indication of not caring, while I assure