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Date: Wed, 16 Jun 2004 23:00:32 -0400
Subject: [ASC] NEW TOS: Selections from the Book... 1/1 (K/S)[R]
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Forwarded by the ASC-VSO 
Posted: 16 Jun 2004 17:02:21 -0700  
In: alt.startrek.creative 
From: lyrastarwatcher@yahoo.com (Lyra) 
 

Title: Selections from the Book of the Dead
Author: Lyrastar
Series: TOS
Codes: K/S
Rating: R
Contact: Lyrastarwatcher at yahoo dot com 
Disclaimer:  Paramount, not me.
Beta: Dina, with many thanks as always.
Notes:  This appeared in print in March 2004 in the Beyond Dreams
KiScon 2004 zine.  This version has been very slightly modified to
bring it down to an R rating.  The original can be found online at
www.geocities.com/lyrastarwatcher/selections



SELECTIONS FROM THE BOOK OF THE DEAD


My strength shall be near thee, my strength shall be near thee
forever.
...Thou art raised up.         --From the Egyptian "Book of the Dead"


Yellow Federation Security Bureau of Investigations crime scene tape
barricaded the entrance.  Together they sliced through it, but a new
lock had been added.  Spock confounded the Fleet lock and the door
slid aside without further protest.  Night had already fallen, so only
a weak glow came in through the picture window by the bay.  Dim dots
from the polka-dotted patterns of lights on the water, on land and in
the sky.  Jim signaled the overhead utilities and the room was
suddenly bathed in white.

"Well?" Jim asked expectantly.

Spock hesitated. "I had envisioned it being somewhat--neater."

Jim grimaced wryly as he picked the way through the debris that had
been their belongings.  "Yes, Starfleet Investigations is nothing if
not thorough.  I should know; I approved the search protocol myself." 
Not that there had been anything to find except one half-empty bottle
of Romulan Ale.  His desperate trip back to Genesis had been so
quickly planned and executed that there was no telltale evidence to
find, either here or in his office.

Stepping over the remains of some shelving, Spock picked up a model of
a ship, which lay in two pieces on the floor.  Jim watched him turn it
over in his palm.

"Do you remember that?" 

"It is the SS Maxima, registration number NTF--"

"Yes, yes," Jim prodded impatiently.  "But do you remember why we had
it?"

"It was the vessel you commanded during stardates 7423.6 to 7447.2,
while the Enterprise was in refit, to survey the temporal anomalies in
the area of the V'ger effect.  It was a gift to you from the crew, as
I recall."

Jim waited, but nothing more was forthcoming.  He took the pieces of
the model from Spock's hand.  "It was a gift to *us*," he stressed,
"from the crew."  And not just the standard parting token from crew to
captain, but a personal memento given with best wishes.  The card had
read, "May your fuel be rich, your course be true, and your journey be
unending."  It was on that survey mission that they had sealed the
plans for their bonding.  Six hours later, the whole crew had somehow
known.  Thus are the mysteries of space.

Jim turned the fragments over in his hand, then tossed them back on
the floor along with the rest of his shattered life.  The day after
tomorrow he would face court-martial and he was guilty of each and
every count.  After all he had worked for, all he had done, his life
was now reduced to rubble.  This mess was only the physical
manifestation of the broader situation.

Venerated Vulcan mind techniques, so old they had all but been lost to
the realms of myth and mystery, had restored the bulk of Spock's
memories.  Replacing the factual knowledge had been easy in
comparison.  But Vulcan techniques were not equipped to factor in his
human emotions, and while Spock professed recall of the events of
their life together, it was cold and distant data, with no meaning or
feeling behind it.  And every time Jim looked at him and sensed
nothing, absolutely nothing, in the corner of his mind where their
bond had been, it wrenched something inside just a little tighter.

Jim wandered over to the bedroom they had shared.  It had been
searched and destroyed just as thoroughly.  Every bit of furniture was
slashed or shattered.  Jim perched his hip down on the upended
dresser, and just looked.

In the ruined bed he saw a vision of the early hours of his birthday,
the last time they had made love. It was nothing special; who knew it
would be the last time?  They had lain together, naked and touching. 
Kissing, touching and whispering lover's whims.  Caressing each other
where it would give each the most pleasure, lazily, sensuously, in no
special hurry to take it anyplace else.

It hadn't always been like that, of course.  In those first furious
days of their bonding, Jim had been ready all the time.  The thrill of
having his husband's essence floating so lightly through every fiber
of his mind took some training to control.  In those days he had been
so open, so stimulated every moment, that at times he had thought it
would be over with a single touch.

Once it had.  He had arrived at Spock's door aching with excitement,
mind and body alike on fire.  Spock had reached to mate their fingers,
but the crush of Jim's desire had been too obvious in every way. 
Instead Spock had dropped his hand and cupped it roughly down between
Jim's thighs, moving it with purpose.  Jim had climaxed in the doorway
where he stood.

Shaking and laughing, he had fallen through the entry and into Spock's
embrace.  "I'm so sorry," he had offered, drinking in the undisguised
gratification on the Vulcan's face.

"Don't be," Spock said as they moved to the bed, that certain
masculine smell seeping slowly through the room. "I love you exactly
as you are.  For exactly what you are." Then Spock had taken his
fingers and nudged the link open wider, intertwining their minds.
Unbelievably and improbably, Jim had felt his excitement start to
build all over again.

But that last night together they had just held each other in the
human fashion for what began to seem like ages and no time at all. 
Maybe an hour?   Jim thrilled to on that thrum of wound-tight tension
that built up and up when he balanced on the very edge of completion. 
Naked, Jim had lain wanting with Spock's whole weight spread upon him,
envisioning them soldered together, molten as one.  And now when he
closed his eyes, he could still feel the burn of Spock's caress down
his side, over his hip, and trailing down the tender skin of his inner
leg.  He could feel the scrape of the rough, dry tongue along his neck
and hear those private whispers shiver in his ear, beautiful words,
spoken in English by necessity, for there could be no equivalent to
such sentiment in modern Vulcan.

Sometimes they made a game of it: who could last the longest. 
Sometimes Spock would win.  They would lie one astride the other,
kissing, breathing hard, rubbing skin and nipples, but purposefully
not moving below the waist.  Then a muscle would twitch, the infamous
straw that broke the captain's back, and a quiver would rise
throughout his body.  Jim would feel the inevitable climax building
within himself, dammed but never dampened, and with one or two
powerful motions, throw them both over the edge.

More often, however it was Spock who gave in.  The enticing buzz of
the tenderness and affection transmitted through the skin was
pleasant, but nothing like the fullness of being buried in the mind
and soul of his t'hy'la.  As Jim's excitement grew and the crackle of
the t'hy'dyd energy increased, it sucked the Vulcan hopelessly into
that emotional vortex until his lonesome mind reached out and flung
the bondlink open wide.  Jim would unravel in a massive paroxysm of
sensation, and Spock would follow close behind, finally at peace in
the completion of their conjoined minds.

Either way had been pretty damned good.

At daybreak, on that morning of his birthday, he had awoken to find
Spock gone and a ribbon-wrapped leather volume on the table. Dickens. 
He had opened it to a random page. It fell at the end of a chapter and
most of the page was blank. "The wind is rushing after us, and the
clouds are flying after us, and the moon is plunging after us, and the
whole wild night is in pursuit of us; but, so far we are pursued by
nothing else."  Book the Third--Chapter XIV started on the opposite
page.

Jim started as a hand fell on his shoulder, familiar in gesture, but
foreign in feeling without the subtle brush across his mind that had
always accompanied it in years past.  The frayed edges of the severed
marriage bond still flapped painfully raw and open in his mind; once
again, he brushed them aside.  Dwelling on it would do no good.

"Jim?" Spock had moved in behind him, surprisingly close--considering.

Deprived of the telepathic reassurance he had known for so long, Jim
settled for the old-fashioned way instead.  He reached across to his
shoulder, and patted the warm, living hand and labeled himself the
selfish bastard that he was.  He had had his miracle.  How much more
did he want? Or expect?

"Just thinking, Spock."  Jim looked up into the eyes that met his with
such confused compassion. "Do you remember anything of this?"

"Of events, yes.  In some detail I believe."

"But, feelings--?"

There was no answer.  There was no time for Jim to hide the hurt and
despair that must have shone so plainly on his face.

"Perhaps you would rather be alone."

Jim gathered himself and worked a half-decent smile on to the corner
of his mouth.  "No, It looks like I'll have twenty-five years to life
to be alone.  This is your home, our home, and while it's possible,
I'd like--I'd very much like you to stay."

Spock cleared his throat and looked pointedly around the apartment. 
It had been quite expertly demolished.  Severed bond or not, their
eyes met in perfect unity of thought.  As simple though the moment
was, it was nice to feel even this much connection again.

Jim spoke the words out-loud.  "Not much to stay for here, is there?"
He continued, "You'd think with all I've worked for, all I'd done, I'd
end up with something more than this.  Whatever else I thought might
happen to me, I never considered that I would end up back on Earth,
old, alone disgraced and with nothing to show for it all."

Spock stood just behind him. Close enough to smell his scent, to feel
the heat.  And for just a second, Jim thought he felt the familiar
touch of a mind against his.  But when he reached back for it, there
was nothing there.  Instead, he heard Spock speak.

"Jim, if I were to ask, would you come with me?"

Jim shook his head firmly. Running away had never been his style. 
Never. "Whatever happens, Starfleet has been my life, and if my oath
is to mean anything, I have to stand behind my actions. No matter
what."

"I meant only for a few hours.  I would like to show you something."

"Where? You know I'm confined to the planet."

"Where I am going.  Which will be no place that you cannot follow."

 The look in his eyes, was that of his old Spock. Jim extended his
hand reflexively.  It was a gesture more symbolic than physical. Spock
took it.  The familiar textures of their skins melded once again and
the disparate bloods of those who are kin-by-choice, not by birth,
pulsed just barely beneath the surface.  Wrapping their fingers firmly
together, Spock pulled Jim up to his feet.  When he released his grip,
the moment broke, yet something yet remained which did not.  It would
have to do for now. Together they exited the door.

 Jim's Starfleet privileges had been pulled along with his transporter
coded identcard, so they boarded the civilian Transcontinental Express
to Philadelphia.  Spock didn't volunteer a final destination and Jim
didn't ask.  If it was away from the leavings of his life in San
Francisco, it would do just fine.  He was glad that they were going
east, towards the sun and hastening on the night.

A man in the aisle caught his eye, focusing in one-sided recognition. 
But instead of the predictable autograph request, he leaned down to
say something to a small child, who he steered between his knees. Jim
looked over to see only bits and parts of him through the crowd, but a
glimmer of classic silvery-white flashed, unmistakably between the
legion of legs and satchels.   In his hand the child clutched a model
starship.  It was the Enterprise.

The man straightened and the boy, no, it was a girl, looked back up.
She spoke to her father with the completely self-assured disdain that
only the very young can muster.  "Is not!  Captain Kirk's not old!"

The man flushed and hurried his latter-day Cassandra down the aisle.

The legendary galactic hero and savior of the planet shot a cutthroat
glance at the back of the little girl's curly head.  For a moment it
looked like he had something to say.  Spock caught his arm. This could
not be good. "Jim--"

Magically, a stewardess appeared.  "Something to drink, sirs?"

Spock didn't turn to address her.  "No." 

"Yes," contradicted Jim, settling back into his seat in resignation.
"Bring me a Bucolic Alcoholic.  Neat."

"Coming right up." She smiled the generic smile that she no doubt
distributed to all her passengers.  If she recognized the hero, at
all, she was doing a marvelous job of concealing it.

When she passed him the glass, Spock considered briefing the admiral
on the toxic effects of ethanol on the human body, but logic dictated
that that would not be a wise decision.

Jim downed the drink in two swallows and fell asleep, his head lolling
sideways in the seat. It wasn't restful sleep, crammed into his own
plastiform-molded seat, nothing like the command chair that seemed to
have been built just for him.  But those days were over and he might
as well get used to it.  Nothing lasts forever, but damn, those had
been some amazing days.

As Jim napped, Spock studied his features with the nagging sense that
he should remember.  Something fluttered just at the border of recall.
 Something big, too big to even be seen in its entirety if one stood
too close.  It flirted with his restored Vulcan intellect, but dashed
coquettishly away whenever he tried to reign it in.  Studying Jim's
face smoothed in sleep, Spock allowed his mind to drift to the
subconscious. He was close, so close, right on the brink, but yet
again, nothing of the human emotions they had nurtured together came
back.

They had melded of course, both with Vulcan masters and alone, in an
attempt to recapture some of what was lost.  But he had come away with
only a sense of Jim's emotions.  As intense as they were in Jim, they
had held no particular significance to him.  He noted and catalogued
them all as he would some alien creatures.  And yet, something about
the lines of that face, those curls...

In Philly, Jim awoke to the docking commotion.  Spock stood up
abruptly and they scrambled to be first for the hatch.  Jim stopped
when the toe of his boot kicked something.

It skittered up the aisle and hit the leg of a chair. It was the tiny
toy Enterprise, one nacelle broken off and the rest left for trash. 
Without thinking, Jim picked it up and slipped it into his pocket
before he followed Spock across the station.

They boarded the BigPond Hopper to Lisbon and crossed the ecliptic en
route, breaking out into a new day.   From there they caught an
Iberian connector direct to Algecerias.  In Algecerias, Spock led them
through the turbotunnel under the strait and into the North African
transportation hub of Tangier.  There they got a North African local
heading east, final destination: Oman. Spock programmed in their
desired stop, apparently to be somewhere in between.  More on
principle now than anything, Jim carefully didn't watch.  He had
trusted Spock with much more than this--many times.

At last the datapadd signaled their stop. Cairo?  Jim looked out the
window. "Cairo?"

"Cairo," Spock confirmed.

Jim rolled his eyes.  Five thousand years old, dirty, sweaty, hot,
overcrowded and smelly.  At least Spock's idea of a good time hadn't
changed in the refusion.  Cairo.  Great. Just great.

But Spock was already waiting on the platform.  

The air was so dry that it seemed to suck every drop of moisture from
his body the instant he stepped outside the shuttle. It was nearing
midday, and the heat baked down incessantly, wafting back up in waves
and ripples from the sandy plain below the landing ridge.  But Jim
started in surprise as he stared down at the city. Even this land
which had changed so little over the past two thousand years had not
been immune to the anger of the alien probe.

Apparently the Nile had breached its banks during the storm.  The
rotting carcasses of fish and river animals spackled the land below.  
The city was still digging out.  Wind and water whipped dunes of sand
backed up to, and sometimes over, every house and wall.  Litter and
debris pockmarked the desert plain for as far as he could see.
Machines and men pushed piles of sand around, trying to restore order.
 But there was so much to be done and each load moved seemed less than
a blip on the scale of the chaos laid out beneath them.

"My god," gasped Jim. If the probe had done this to the desert, how
close had the planet cut its margin this time?   In San Francisco the
damage had been in sprinkled bits and snatches, each hidden from the
others by walls and towers.  Much of it had already been repaired
through the extensive metropolitan infrastructure and the
concentration of Starfleet resources. But here--here where one could
see for dozens of kilometers--the devastation was striking.  He really
had saved the world, his world, and only by the skin of the baleen
plates of two whales.

In contrast to all this, what happened to one person mattered less
than one speck of sand.  What ever happened, humanity would continue. 
And isn't that what it was all about?  He fingered the broken
Enterprise in his pocket, recalling the day he had sworn the oath.  He
still meant every word of it, no matter what the sacrifice.

Spock spoke at his shoulder, jolting his thoughts back to the present.
 "Not an easy tide to turn, Admiral.  And not a victory to be won
without some cost.  Surely Starfleet will recognize this."

"Intercepting the probe was a coincidence, and the end doesn't always
justify the means.  I didn't commit those crimes to save the Earth.  I
did it for other reasons entirely."

"For friendship."

Jim turned slightly, a sad smile on his face. "No. But that would have
been enough."

He searched Spock's face, but saw only patience. Big words he had just
used. So why wasn't it enough now?  He let the moment drop, along with
the overdose of accumulated thoughts that bubbled too near the surface
of his brain.

 Most of the concessions were shut down for the clean-up, but
automated services were still available.  At a self-tour kiosk, Spock
summoned an open antigrav sledder--two seats and no climate controls.

Great.  Three months on Vulcan, and the first thing he wants to do on
Earth is tour the Western Desert.  Just terrific.  Well, if he died of
heat stroke today, at least he wouldn't have to stand trial tomorrow. 
In the pilot's seat Spock appeared cool as a cucumber and completely
at home in this heat.  That was a small consolation.  Someone would be
around to tell the officials where to find his bleaching bones.

"Admiral?" Spock extended a hand down from the glider.  Tugging his
shirt collar away from his neck with one hand, Jim took Spock's hand
with his other one and let himself be pulled up and onto the empty
seat on the hovering disc.

Spock set the controls for the Giza monuments and the sledder took off
on its route around the city and over the Nile plain.  From below a
flock of faces looked up at the sound, and wondered what sort of crazy
tourists would take off in the blister of the mid-day sun, especially
when there was so much work still to be done.

"Monuments to the dead," Jim mused as the sledder whisked them in
nearer to the pyramids.  They grew larger and larger the closer that
they flew.

"Not precisely.  More to the immortal spirit," Spock corrected.  "The
Old Kingdom Egyptians believed in a life cycle where no pharaoh truly
died.  In life the pharaoh was Horus, the god of the skies.  After the
body's demise, he became Osiris, the god of the dead.  The new pharaoh
was now Horus, and the old Osiris ascended to a higher plane."

"Fascinating." Jim mimicked.  But this Spock seemed oblivious to the
old bait.

They had stopped in front of the Sphinx, timeworn, and eroded, but
still so imposing from this close. A king with the body, the strength
and the heart of a lion.

"Indeed. All this," Spock gestured at the giant tombs, "exists solely
because of the strength of that belief.  And the Sphinx sits here to
defend those spirits; a staunch protector of those souls now
incorporeal and unable to fend for themselves, as devout in his duty
as if the soul he guarded was his very own."

Jim looked up sharply, startled to hear his words from another mouth. 
Surely, there was no way--  But Spock seemed unaware of the
connection. He only touched the controls, and flew them up and over to
the pyramid strip. The breeze while they were in motion brought a
welcome relief from the pounding midday heat.  Forty-eight degrees
Centigrade was the reading on the sledder gauge, and Jim could easily
believe it.  He was no longer young enough to tough out these
hardships--or foolish enough to want to.

"Spock, what are we doing here anyway?"

"Taking the historic tour, Admiral."

Jim reached up to wipe his brow, but his hand came back dry.  Any
sweat had long since evaporated.  He would have given his left arm for
a glass of water.  Or a tube of Chapstick. "Spock, look, not even the
camels are out in this. Are you sure this trip is quite--logical?"

"My cognitive processes have been declared fully functional by the
Vulcan Cabalistic Council, Admiral."

Jim snorted. Why not?  For Vulcans, this would be a stroll in the
park, wouldn't it?  He began to wonder if death by dehydration would
be particularly painful or not.

The sledder stopped, thankfully on the slightly shaded side, then
idled up and down in lazy ellipses in front of the largest pyramid,
the one for Khufu, or so the datascreen said. Its restored golden tip
glistened in the blinding sunlight and it was almost impossible to
appreciate its full size without a referent.  But it was massive for a
land-based structure even by today's standards, and by those of five
thousand years ago, it was an uncontested wonder.

"All this to save one man's soul," Jim mused.

"The Egyptians believed that the soul was multipartite.  One part, the
ka, stayed with the body.  Another, part flew from the body after
death, but eventually, with proper care and diligence, would return to
make the being whole in the afterlife."

Jim hesitated, his throat balking at giving voice to the question that
it had harbored for so long.  "You're saying you think that there's a
chance to recover your--emotional memories too?"

Spock knit his brow, and when he spoke it was not an answer, but
another question. "Did you know that to this day, the exact mechanics
by which the pyramids were constructed has never been determined?  The
cuts and placements of blocks are precise to less than a quarter of a
millimeter, feat seeming beyond the scope of possibility for the tools
and instruments of that period."

Jim blinked, baffled and expectant.

Spock cleared his throat. "I am saying that these people knew many
things that we do not.  Things that still exceed the boundaries of our
understanding of the universe.  And considering that these monuments
have endured through five millennia, I submit that their conceptions
should not be dismissed lightly."

Too many wild emotions rolled though his mind to coalesce into any
sort of defined reaction.  Jim settled for acknowledgment.  "That
sounded a lot like a 'maybe'."

Spock inclined his head fractionally.  Was that a hint of the old
smile?  "Even a Vulcan cannot foresee the future."

Jim clasped his hand and in a flash of decision, dismissed all doubts
and fears.  Wasn't Spock's bringing him here an answer in itself?

"At the trial tomorrow, I will stand with you."

"No." Jim shook his head firmly.  "You're my legacy.  If I'm sent to a
penal colony, at least I'll know that you are free to carry on--at
least--a part of what we were.   You did nothing wrong; you're place
isn't in the court."

"Jim," Spock chided, in the tone of a not-so-very-long-ago
conversation, "you need no other legacy." He reached into Jim's pocket
and extracted the little model Enterprise.  "Perhaps you cannot see it
now, as the pharaohs could never see these monuments to their lives
while they breathed, but what you have done for your world, for the
galaxy, will be remembered long after we both are gone.  For the
children will tell their children and the cycle will be repeated."
Spock pressed the little toy into Jim's hand, and left his own over it
as well.

"And as it has been so duly noted in the past, my place is by your
side."  Spock paused.  "If you will allow it, given my
current--deficits."

Jim dropped his gaze, for the bright sunlight stung his eyes so that
his vision was a little blurry.  In his lap lay a set of unmatched
hands, clasped together around his ruined Enterprise.  He ran his
thumb over the stub of the missing nacelle, over the rough edges, up
Spock's palm and back again. Something choked at his throat, perhaps
it was the heat, and it took him a minute to find his voice.  "I think
I could manage that."

Jim gave Spock's hand a squeeze.  The Vulcan returned it, and held his
grip.  Using his left hand only, Spock guided the sledder in and back
to the dock.

*******

The sun was slipping down past its zenith when they boarded the
transport back to Tangier.  Stopping at most major cities along the
southern Mediterranean strip, the shuttle flew low enough to watch the
terrain slide by under the cloudless African sky.  Neither said much
as the locals transferred on and off, instead taking in the sights and
sounds of the world below.  It was only when they had settled in on
the BigPond Hopper to see a luncheon menu displayed on the datascreen,
that Jim realized how tired he was.

If it's lunchtime in Lisbon, what time must it be in San Francisco? 
Around dawn, he supposed with a yawn.  A new day just beginning at
home.

The attendant came by.  "Can I get you sirs anything.  Lunch? 
Beverage?"  This time Jim waved her on.  A nap was all he had in mind.

"Yes."  

Spock's voice surprised him.

"A blanket."

Jim chuckled behind his eyelids and scrunched a little lower into his
jacket.  Spock gone all soft and looking for creature comforts.  Who
would have thought it?

But to Jim's surprise, the blanket settled over him instead.  It
tucked under his chin and over his body.  The swaddling of the wrap
and the soft plush against his cheek were oddly reassuring in some
elemental way which, five minutes earlier, he would have sworn he had
outgrown.  And then he felt the touch.

Under the blanket, Spock slipped his hand and rested it, warm and
solid, on Jim's upper thigh.  The touch had none of the empathic
resonance they had once shared, yet it brought a flush of heat and
joy, the sort that human had shared with human down from time
immemorial.   The ache in his mind from the broken bond eased off more
than a little and another impudent part of his body twitched with
response as well.  Although what it thought it was going to do,
exhausted and sweaty, here on a public transport shuttle, Jim had no
idea.

Jim relaxed into the touch, and let himself lean over and rest against
the security of Spock's living presence.   He would have liked to stay
awake to feel the closeness, but the day had been too long.  In a
short time he was asleep, his head swaying gently on Spock's shoulder.

If the shuttle hostess thought anything odd about it when she passed
by, it was only the look of tenderness adopted upon that severe Vulcan
face.

      

~Lyra
February, 2004

--
Forwarded to ASCL by:
Stephen Ratliff
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