Showing posts with label Kirk. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kirk. Show all posts

Thursday, 21 May 2015

“It’s just that I – I never lost a command before...”



William Windom being brilliant as Commodore Matt Decker in the Star Trek episode The Doomsday Machine. This has to be one of my favourite episodes and that’s due in no small part to Windom’s characterisation of Decker, the desperate Captain Ahab figure consumed with the need for revenge on the machine that killed his crew.

As I started watching it this evening I was captured by little details - the moment when Kirk walks around the bridge past the viewscreen so we see that not-often-seen side of the bridge between Spock’s station and the viewscreen. The fast moving camera angles. The score, which is in turn dramatic and poignant.

Then we move on to the most poignant scene in the episode, where Kirk et al discover Decker alone in auxiliary control and he explains through his shock and distress what happened to his crew. When he collapses Kirk almost reaches out to comfort him, but in a very male mid-twentieth-century way he stays his hand before he touches him. “It’s just that I – I never lost a command before,” Decker falters before McCoy leads him away.

Sunday, 19 April 2015

Amok Time Promos

I've been scouring the web the last few days gathering together all the Amok Time promos I could find. This is what I have so far. I'd love to get bigger versions of some, but I'm pleasantly surprised by how many are out there.

Featuring Leonard Nimoy as Spock, Arlene Martel as T'Pring, William Shatner as Kirk, DeForest Kelley as McCoy, and Celia Lovsky as T'Pau.















Saturday, 28 February 2015

Fan Fiction: After Khan

Leonard Nimoy, March 26, 1931 – February 27, 2015

Kirk

Do you know, Spock, I never thought you’d leave us. I mean, so many times – so many times – I thought you were dead. For a few heart stopping minutes, hours, days sometimes, I thought you were gone, but you always came back. It got me thinking that you couldn’t die. Just couldn’t. That’s silly, isn’t it? All men die. But then – no, I know it. I know what you’d come back with. You’d say in that wonderful, wise, level voice, I am not a man, Captain. I am a Vulcan.

And do Vulcans die? Do they die in the same way as us mere frail human beings? There was the Intrepid. I know that. You felt them, all four hundred of them. But they weren’t you. They weren’t you, Spock, and I – I suppose I endowed you with some superhuman ability, some cosmic power of just staying alive. Every time you gave me those heart stopping moments I still had a thought in the back of my head, a feeling that you were still there.

Not this time. This time I know it. I was there. I saw you die, saw the life fade right out of you. You’re not missing in the void and I can’t pretend. I saw you, goddammit. And you’re there now in sickbay, in a radiation canister because no one can get near you, and – Spock, I think the ship will never be the same again. I think – don’t laugh at me. I know you don’t laugh. You know what I mean. I think the heart’s gone out of the ship today. You were my brother, Spock. And now – what? That’s it? You’re gone? Is that all that you were?

I can’t believe that. You were much more than that. You are much more than that. I know it’s foolish, silly, human emotion, but you’re in me, Spock. You’re in Bones. You’re in everyone that loved you. And we still love you. You can brush love aside as illogical, but we still love you, and as long as we love you you’ll continue in some way. You’ll be there at my side. I’ll always hear your voice asking, Jim, do you think that is wise? or Captain, allow me to help, or – I can’t think, Spock. I can hear your voice but I can’t think of a damn word you’d say. Not right now. But you’ll be there, Spock. You’ll always be there.


McCoy

I guess you’re expecting a string of curses, aren’t you? You goddamn green blooded hobgoblin, automaton with pointed ears, all those things. I don’t know. I’m tired, Spock. But I cursed you plenty back in the day, didn’t I?

Dammit, there shouldn’t be a back in the day. Why does everything come crashing to a halt like that when someone dies, like the train’s derailed and that’s it? There’s then and now, and a big wall in between. Can’t I pretend for a little longer? Pretend you’re looking over my shoulder, about to come into the room and make a deadpan crack about how much I drink or how awful my medical skills are?

Perhaps you’re right, Spock. I couldn’t save you, could I? I patched you up so many times, brought you back from being shot through the chest, saved you from those goddamn parasites on Deneva. Couldn’t save you from this. Were you so determined to die? So determined you’d knock me out and walk into that chamber? Blast it, Spock...

The weird thing is I can still feel you. Would you tell me that’s illogical? I can feel you there, right in the back of my head, like you’re sitting there just waiting to say something. I can see that eyebrow going up. I can see your mouth opening, but you just never quite get to speaking. What is that? Is it that I’ve spent so long around you that I can conjure you up like a genie? Are you going to be there every time I operate? Really, Doctor, are you sure you want to start with the left coronary artery? Doctor, are you certain you should be using that gauge of laser scalpel?

Maybe I don’t mind. Maybe I always liked having you back there pointing out my shortcomings. God knows, sometimes I needed it, just like you needed me to point out when you were being just a bit too Vulcan.

I’m going to miss you, Spock. I’m going to miss you like hell. It’s been the three of us for so long. Did you know they call us the triumvirate, like you, me, and Jim were some holy trinity of the Enterprise? Did you ever hear that? How does a triumvirate work with one guy missing? How does that hold up?

I don’t know, Spock. I’m too tired for this. I’m too tired for eulogising, too tired for thinking. Maybe I’ll just pretend you are there, eh? Pretend you’re there in the back of my mind, looking over my shoulder. I think you’ll be there until the day I die, that cool logical voice telling me to hold back, to calm down. And I’ll listen to you. I promise, I’ll listen to you now. If that’s the only way I’ll keep you around, I’ll listen to you as much as you want.


Spock

If you are reading this captain, it is almost certain that I am dead. What is more certain is that Dr McCoy is reading over your shoulder. That is quite all right. I have nothing to say that cannot be read by you both. After all, we have been acting as a team for quite some time now, have we not?

I shall proceed with the assumption that I am in fact dead. I know the good doctor likes to work miracles, but even miracles sometimes fail to materialise. What I must say to you, Captain, and to you too, Doctor, is please, do not grieve for me. I understand that you will quite probably ignore my suggestion. I understand that grief is a natural process of human emotion. Yes, Doctor, I do understand various facets of human emotion even if I choose not to partake. But, please, do not let your emotions interfere with the efficiency of the ship, Captain, or of your medical practice, such as it is, Doctor. Your best service to me will be to continue performing admirably.


I do not fear death, Captain. I can be quite honest in that statement. There is nothing to be feared in passing from the living state, since all death is inevitable and there is no logic in fearing the unavoidable. I think I have accomplished a great deal with my life. I have accomplished things of which, if I were to succumb to the emotion, I could be proud. I believe a classic of Earth literature once asserted that ‘to the well organised mind, death is but the next great adventure.’ I don’t know that I expect any adventures to come my way since death is essentially a simple transference of the energy of a body into its surroundings, but having never died before I cannot be certain. Please, Captain, Doctor, raise a glass, as is your custom, and think of the adventure of my life with gladness, not sorrow. If there are yet adventures to come, I am sure we shall all share in them one day, and know that if I have ever loved, I have loved my friends best. Good bye.



Saturday, 14 February 2015

Fan Fiction: Drowned Rats (Kirk/Spock version)

Drowned Rats (Kirk/Spock)

Aconitum Napellus

2015

(Rated: 18)

This is a non-profit work of fan fiction. No monies are being made. This story is based on and uses elements from Star Trek, which is trademarked by Paramount Pictures and CBS. I do not claim ownership of Star Trek or any associated characters or the universe of Star Trek. All other elements are my own.

 ‘Spock, you look like a drowned rat!’
The eyebrow that Spock raised was more cat than rat. Jim knew that Spock disliked rain. If he had not been worried about insulting him he would have gone as far as to say he hated it. Spock definitely disliked rain, especially cold rain, especially cold, wind-blown rain, especially rain that turned the ground into mud and plastered hair to the head and stuck clothes to the skin. Yes, Spock was a cat.
‘Captain, I fail to see how insulting me will help at this juncture,’ Spock said in a tone that Jim would definitely characterise as nettled. Despite his concern, he had succeeded in insulting the Vulcan anyway.
‘Mr Spock, I was merely expressing concern at your – ah – your current physical state,’ Jim told him in a conciliatory tone. ‘It’s just an Earth idiom, that’s all.’
‘Very often Earth idioms are insulting in nature,’ Spock pointed out.
Jim was struck by the urge to raise his hand and wipe away some of the water streaming down the Vulcan’s fringe and into his eyes, but he resisted. It wouldn’t do much good anyway, because the rain was coming down so quickly it would be replaced within seconds.
‘I promise you, next time I’ll check the met reports more carefully and make sure we beam down with the proper gear,’ Jim said with a sheepish smile. ‘I just didn’t anticipate that cold front turning into – ’
Spock’s raised eyebrow made him tail off. He knew there was no way he could placate Spock over this disastrous mission. They were already lost, they were already stuck on the planet due to a failure of the transporters that Scotty was apparently stumped over, they were woefully badly equipped, and Spock was soaked to the skin. Jim was soaked to the skin too, but that wasn’t concerning him so much. No matter how he, Jim, made light of the situation, Spock simply wasn’t built for such dank, cold conditions.
‘Look, Spock, we’ll find somewhere to shelter,’ he promised. ‘There are plenty of empty houses in this area.’
‘You mean – break in?’ Spock asked, raising a soaked eyebrow again.
Kirk shrugged. ‘Well, it’s not breaking in entirely. This sector has been abandoned for months since the radiation scare.’
‘The houses are still owned by Federation citizens,’ Spock pointed out.
‘Yes, and what Federation citizen wouldn’t extend hospitality to a couple of drowned rats on a night like this?’ Jim asked brightly.
Spock opened his mouth to reply. There were vast numbers of Federation citizens who would not welcome the presence of Starfleet officers in their home. Many human colony planets expressed resentment towards the interference of the Federation and Starfleet in their lives, and some had gone as far as to raise arms against them. The citizens on this very planet had been highly resentful at the order to evacuate while the planet passed through a period of intense solar radiation since they realised, quite rightly, that the evacuation could turn out to be permanent if the system’s sun was shown to be dangerously unstable. That was why Spock and the captain and a number of scientific survey teams were here on the surface in the first place, investigating the effects on the planet after the radiation had waned away.
‘Well, at any rate the radiation levels are acceptable here,’ Jim said in an off-hand way, before Spock could voice his views on the unrest of Federation citizens.
Spock glanced down at his tricorder, wiped water off the screen, failed to decipher the readings through the blobs of water that were left, and looked up again.
‘They are acceptable,’ he nodded. ‘However, I find the problems of the Enterprise disquieting. The suggestion is that the radiation is severely affecting the ship’s functions, even if it is failing to penetrate the planet’s atmosphere.’
‘Yes,’ Jim said, rubbing his thumb over his chin. ‘Yes, it is.’
He looked up at Spock again. The Vulcan was trying to look as dignified as he could with rain constantly running down his face. It was catching in his eyelashes and making him blink. His trousers were splashed with mud to the knees. If the weather had treated them equally, Spock’s boots would be soaked inside just as Jim’s were. As he looked at the Vulcan, Spock suppressed a shiver.
‘No, this is ridiculous, Spock,’ Jim told him. ‘We’re finding shelter, regardless of the morals of breaking in to someone’s house. I’m all for the sanctity of a man’s home, but I’m damned if I’ll let you die of pneumonia because of principles where there are houses left right and centre.’
This time Spock did not protest. Perhaps he had crossed some kind of threshold in the last few minutes. The sun was moving down towards the horizon behind its thick blanket of clouds and it was perceptibly colder. They were relatively near the tropic, although here that was only a definition of latitude, not an indication of a pleasant climate. When the sun went down it would do so rapidly, and they would be left floundering about for a place to shelter in utter darkness.
‘There,’ Jim said, pointing at an edifice that rose up beyond the trees a few hundred yards away. ‘That’s closest. It’ll do. We’ll shelter overnight and hope that conditions are better in the morning. You said this latest solar flare should subside in the next fifteen hours, didn’t you?’
‘Fifteen point seven three five hours, approximately,’ Spock corrected him.
‘How can you be approximate to three decimal places?’ Jim asked him, slightly irritated.
‘One can be approximate to any number of decimal places,’ Spock told him smoothly. ‘I don’t guarantee that the event will occur at that exact moment.’
Kirk harrumphed, and set out resolutely towards that distant building.

((o))

The place was nothing less than a mansion, built on mock Gothic standards, harking back to the late nineteenth century in Earth’s western hemisphere. The inhabitants must surely have missed Earth to recreate such a perfect example of antique architecture here. The flora and fauna were vastly different to Europe, but they had made up for that in every faced block of limestone, in every crenellation and carved mullion, even down to the artfully sculpted pineapples that topped the gateposts, which harked back to an era when the first pineapples had been introduced to Great Britain. A fascinating time to live, Kirk thought, although the mixture of eras in the architecture did make for a rather jumbled building.
‘You think this will suit us for the night, Spock?’ Jim asked playfully as they approached the high wooden door.’
‘It will provide shelter at least,’ Spock said. The water had got inside his tricorder screen now and misted it up from the inside, and he was not happy.
‘Come on now, my little cat,’ Jim grinned. ‘I’ll have you drying out in front of a log fire in no time. Did you see the chimneys on this place? They must have traditional fires.’
‘I am forced to agree,’ Spock said, not quibbling Jim’s appellation of cat. It was certainly better than rat.
The captain used his phaser to force the door. As soon as they were inside, out of the rain and away from the unlikely chance of any prying eyes, he reached up to brush the water from Spock’s forehead, and kissed him lightly.
Spock returned the kiss with more vigour than Jim had expected, putting his hands against Jim’s back and spending a long, languorous time engaged in the most illogical of actions. Then he sneezed.
‘No, come on, you need to get dry,’ Jim said. He could feel Spock’s shoulders shivering under his hands. He felt freezing. He turned in a circle, looking about at the various doors that led off the wide hall. ‘There must be a room with a fireplace down here.’
Spock looked about too. There was a decent amount of light coming in through the windows either side of the front door, but the light was slowly going. Jim could see the Vulcan mentally pulling up an image in his head. He was probably comparing the visual of the outside of the house with the inside. Then he nodded towards a door on the left and said, ‘I would try that one.’
Jim walked over to open the door, noticing as he did that he had left a trail of mud and water across the parquet floor.
‘I think you’re right, Spock,’ he said, opening the door further to reveal a well-appointed sitting room with a wide stone fireplace at one side. ‘And look, they even have wood stacked ready to use.’
‘The evacuation occurred during the coldest season,’ Spock said conversationally.
He came into the room himself and looked about, before pressing his palm to a panel by the door. Lights came on. The room was primarily lit by a high chandelier that hung glittering from the ceiling. The room seemed to have been divested of very few possessions, perhaps what could be packed quickly during the emergency of the evacuation. It still held all of its furniture and a good deal of decorative items.
‘There must still be power supplied here,’ Spock said. ‘Perhaps there is also powered heating. It will be more efficient than this – ’ He gestured at the fireplace, apparently unable to put his thoughts about the primitive heating system into words.
‘Perhaps there is,’ Jim said with a grin, going over to the fire. ‘But still, there’s something about an open log fire, Spock.’
‘Yes. There are sparks and smoke and draughts,’ Spock said.
Jim frowned at him. ‘Mr Spock, where is your sense of romance?’
‘Perhaps it is somewhere above the rain clouds, Jim,’ Spock told him.
Jim sighed. ‘Mr Spock, I am going to look around the house and see how we’re situated. I expect that fire to be burning merrily by the time I get back. I don’t care whether you use your phaser or rub two sticks together. I want fire.’
Jim strode out of the room, leaving Spock behind.

((o))

Spock stood before the fireplace, considering the most logical arrangement of wood to create the most heat. Fire building for warmth was not a skill often required on Vulcan. Lighting a flame for meditation was one thing, but 40 Eridani provided quite enough heat for the average person. Even during the cold desert nights heat had usually been stored enough during the day for a slow release in the evening.
He settled on a pattern and began to arrange the logs. The wood was unfamiliar to him, undoubtedly cut from native trees nearby, but it looked dry and not too dense, a promising fuel. Lighting it was another matter. There were implements by the fire that looked as if they might be fire lighting tools, but he settled on using his phaser to heat the whole pile until it spontaneously burst into flame. That was far more efficient than lighting one piece and waiting for the rest to catch.
The heat was instantaneous, and despite himself Spock relaxed. Water began to steam from his uniform tunic, and he stripped it off and looked about for somewhere to hang it. There was a kind of folding metal screen leant against the wall by the fire, so he unfolded that and used it as an impromptu clothes horse. Since his top was drying so quickly and the wet clothing was deeply unpleasant against his skin, he quickly stripped the rest of his clothing off and hung that up to dry too. He set his boots upturned on the hearth. A small trickle of water ran from each one.
Now that his feet were bare he noticed that the rug on which he stood was made of some kind of thickly-furred animal skin. He had assumed it was synthetic, but the tactile sensations were unmistakable. The idea of killing and skinning an animal in order to tread its pelt underfoot was deeply unpleasant to him, but on the other hand the sensation was definitely pleasant. Perhaps the animal had died a natural death and its pelt had been put to logical use?
He sat down on the rug so as to stay as close to the heat of the fire as possible. He was damp all over and his hair was still downright wet. The sensation of the fur against his naked thighs and buttocks really was pleasant. There was something comforting in it, like being held by one’s mother as a child. Spock closed his eyes and allowed himself to experience the sensation of dampness steaming off every inch of his skin.

((o))

Jim came back into the room clutching an armful of clothes, but he was arrested by the sight that met his eyes. Eyes closed, Spock was sitting in something approaching the lotus position in front of the fire, his back to the flames, his head tilted backwards slightly to angle his damp hair towards the heat. His arms rested loosely on his thighs. Entirely naked, his skin was bronzed by the ever-changing light of the flames.
‘Dear god,’ Jim said.
Spock’s eyes opened. A slight smile touched his lips and mischief sparkled in his eyes. Jim had almost dropped the clothing he carried.
‘Well, I thought we could get changed, but – ’ Jim began.
‘I didn’t expect there to be clothing left behind,’ Spock said. ‘And I thought it better to dry myself thoroughly.’
‘Well – yes,’ Jim said, still slightly flabbergasted. ‘Yes, much better. Much...’
Spock straightened his back a little more and stretched out his arms lightly, as if he had grown stiff.
‘Would you care to join me, Jim? It is most pleasant.’
‘I – Yes,’ Jim said quickly.
His clothes proved annoyingly resistant to being removed. They clung wetly to his skin and he almost ripped his tunic in the attempt to drag it off over his head.
‘Damn, this is good,’ he said when he was naked at last and the heat of the fire was washing over his skin.
Spock lay down on the fur rug, and after a moment Jim joined him. He lay like that against Spock’s side for a long time, until he felt himself becoming perilously sleepy.
‘Do you know, we’re probably the only humans for a thousand miles in all directions,’ he murmured drowsily.
‘You are the only human,’ Spock corrected him.
‘Yes, of course, I’m sorry, my Vulcan friend,’ he smiled lazily. He stroked his hand lightly across the down on Spock’s chest. ‘I am the only human. You are the only half human, half cat.’
He could almost feel Spock’s eyebrow rise.
‘I assure you, any genetic connection I have to the genus felis is contained entirely in my human ancestry,’ Spock said.
Kirk laughed quietly. Spock turned over on his side, just as lazily as Jim was feeling, and leant his head against his lover’s chest. Jim began to murmur;
‘Viens, mon beau chat, sur mon coeur amoureux;
‘Retiens les griffes de ta patte,
‘Et laisse-moi plonger dans tes beaux yeux,
‘Mêlés de métal et d'agate.’
He felt Spock’s momentary pause as much through his mind as through his body. Touching like this, their link was all the stronger.
‘Well, your accent leaves something to be desired,’ Spock began, and Jim swatted at him.
‘Spock, you have all the romance of a bulldozer. Do you have any appreciation for – ’
‘Charles Baudelaire, 1821 to 1867, a resident of Paris, France, Old Earth,’ Spock cut across him smoothly. ‘I have read his poems both in original and translation.’
‘Let me try it another way, and maybe my accent won’t interfere,’ Jim said, brushing his fingers through Spock’s now drying hair. The water had left something of a wave in it, which was quite appealing.
‘Come, my fine cat, against my loving heart;
‘Sheathe your sharp claws, and settle.
‘And let my eyes into your pupils dart
‘Where agate sparks with metal.’
Jim stopped, and Spock stirred against him. The fire crackled. ‘That is not the all of it,’ Spock said.
‘No, Spock, no, I was getting to the rest,’ Jim murmured. ‘I was just allowing myself a moment to consider your eyes. But I’ll have to change the gender. You may be a cat but you’re not a female one.’ He cleared his throat and continued, rather more self-consciously this time.
‘Now while my fingertips caress at leisure
‘Your head and wiry curves,’ he continued, his fingertips tracing down Spock’s flank to his naked hip,
‘And that my hand’s elated with the pleasure
‘Of your electric nerves,
‘I think about my Vulcan – how his glances
‘Like yours, dear beast, deep-down
‘And cold, can cut and wound one as with lances;
‘Then, too, he has that vagrant
‘And subtle air of danger that makes fragrant
‘His body, lithe and brown.’
There was silence. Spock appeared to be considering this music-less serenade in his deep and ponderous Vulcan way.
‘Do my glances cut and wound one as with lances?’ he asked finally.
‘My dear Vulcan cat,’ Jim said, smiling, his fingers still toying about Spock’s hip. ‘I think there will always be moments in a Vulcan-human relationship where Vulcan emotional control can cut, but I know – believe me I know – all about the fire underneath.’
Spock seemed satisfied. Jim’s fingers strayed further down from his hip, passing into the wiry hair about his penis, pleased as the action caused Spock to shiver in an entirely different way.
‘Actually, hold that thought,’ Jim whispered into his ear. ‘I’ll be back in just a moment.’
There had been a bathroom up on the first floor where he had found the clothes. He scooted upstairs, ignoring the cold that closed around him outside of the fire-lit sitting room. The rest of this house had not been heated in months. He ran into the bathroom, cold making his skin pimple all over, and looked quickly through the cabinet in there. There he found what he was looking for, and jogged back downstairs.
‘There, all done,’ he said, coming back to Spock’s side and setting the small bottle of massage oil in front of the fire where it might warm a bit.
Spock shivered as Jim’s cold skin touched his warm, but the cold seemed to spur him into action. He sat up and leant over Jim to kiss him, the warmth of his fire-heated body sinking into Jim’s surface cold. Jim’s mouth fell open to Spock’s probing tongue and he tasted the alien-spiced interior of the Vulcan’s mouth. No matter how many times they kissed he always loved that exotic taste.
Spock’s hands were moving over his body, hard and hot against his human-cool skin, brushing over the erect nubs of his nipples, down his smooth chest and into the fur of hair between his legs. He reached out for Spock with his own hand, finding him already part erect. He took hold of that heavy organ and moved his hand firmly against it, and Spock growled and kissed him with renewed force.
‘Whose turn is it this time?’ Jim murmured, but Spock was apparently beyond speaking. The Vulcan pushed Jim firmly down onto the fur rug and turned his attention to the human’s own slowly engorging penis, sinking his mouth down over it without preamble. Jim arched and gasped at the hot touch, feeling himself stiffen further, thrusting against the enveloping mouth and throat. Spock’s hand caressed his scrotum, his fingertips running over the cool ridged skin, and then moved lower down to pulse at the thickness beneath his perineum where the root of his penis was buried.
‘Oh – oh my god, oh my god, Spock,’ he gasped, hardly able to contain himself.
His hands were on Spock’s head, his fingertips in his hair. He could feel Spock’s arousal and delight through the touch as he continued to suck and pummel.
‘No,’ Jim murmured. This setting was so perfect. He wanted to be inside Spock, to be over him. ‘No, this time I want to – ’
With some difficulty he tried to pull Spock away. The Vulcan didn’t want to stop. In the end Jim became masterful, taking hold of his head with both hands and pulling it back. His erection ached with need and he turned Spock roughly onto the rug so he was lying on his back. Spock’s own member was huge, yearning, fluid glistening at the tip, and Jim rubbed his hand on it again so that Spock moaned aloud. Then he took the small bottle of oil and tipped some into his hand. He slicked it down over his own needful organ and then pushed at Spock’s legs with his knee. They fell apart with no resistance, and he slicked more oil into the puckered hole that was revealed.
He positioned himself to push into Spock’s tightness, leaning down over the Vulcan, kissing his parted lips and then pushing forward until he sank into the hot receptivity of Spock’s body. Dear god, it was like coming home. His entire body thrilled with the feeling, a sensation that was concentrated to an almost unbearable peak in his belly and groin. He thrust again and again and Spock moaned aloud, his own pleasure exploding like fireworks in a mind sensation that Jim could feel clearly through their link. Jim’s belly rubbed against Spock’s hardness each time he thrust, and he could feel the Vulcan building to a peak even as he reached his own.
Then an astonishing control built inside Spock’s mind. He could feel the Vulcan digging deep into his mental resources, putting down a kind of cordon around that part of his body even as he allowed the rest of himself to be delightedly responsive to Jim’s penetrations. He was holding himself, forcing himself not to come.
As the pressure built all thought of Spock’s own pleasure was forgotten. All he wanted was to withdraw and sink home again and again as the fire built to a crescendo, until he was jerking in completion and Spock was crying out his name in a soft, desperate sound.
He had little time to lie still in the blissful silence that followed, because Spock was urgently grasping at his shoulders, turning him over so that he was on his hands and knees, and he felt the warm slick oil trickling down his skin, channelled by his personal geography. Then Spock was over him, the hardness of his unsatiated erection pressing against Jim’s ass, and Spock was kissing his shoulders and back and sides in a way that made him think of cherry blossom spontaneously appearing on a tree.
And then Spock entered him, hard and fast and desperate in his own urgency. For a moment there was a tight pain, and then nothing but pleasure as Spock drove into him harder and faster. He called out the Vulcan’s name, called on god, called on hell, but Spock was silent except for wordless sounds of pleasure. When he came the sensation of it exploded through Jim’s mind too, and for a moment everything was blanked out and he was floating higher than the sky.
He came back to himself still kneeling on the rug with Spock over him, their bodies pressed together with a thin slick of sweat between them. His heart was thumping and his mind still felt disconnected and elevated with endorphins. In the silence the fire crackled and the colour of the flames leapt against his closed eyelids.
‘Oh my god, Spock,’ he murmured.
Spock gently put his hands on him, turned him around so that that both knelt facing each other on the rug, and kissed him. He melted into the heat. Spock’s head nestled onto his shoulder, and he put his arms about the Vulcan’s back, stroking his dry skin softly as if he really were that loving cat.
After some time, perhaps a long time, they pulled apart. The fire was growing low and cold was starting to push back into the room.
‘I don’t even know what time it is,’ Jim murmured.
‘Ship time or local time?’ Spock asked, and Jim realised how meaningless time had become.
‘You put some wood on that fire, Spock,’ he said. ‘I’m going to go and see if I can find something to – well – to clean up. I think we – ahem – mussed their rug a bit.’
‘Must you go?’ Spock asked in a very human way.
Jim kissed the tip of one pointed ear. ‘I must, my dear cat.’

((o))

When he returned Spock had piled logs onto the fire again and the heat was pressing through the room. He had noticed through the windows that the night was fully on them now, thick and dark with the blanket of cloud to block out even the stars. This planet had a moon, but it was small and would have given out little light even if it had been visible.
‘Here, I found a vacuum,’ Jim said as he came through the door, using the generic term for what was actually a particle disintegrater and would clean up what they had left on the rug so well that no one would detect it without forensic skills.
Spock was no long in front of the fire. Jim looked about, startled at first, and then saw him sitting at a baby grand piano near one of the high curtain-covered windows. His fingers were arched, hovering just above the keys. Spock looked up to meet his lover’s eyes and then began to play. Jim knelt on the rug and began to carefully clean up the mess, while music spread into the room. Spock was still naked, but above the piano he could just see the top of his chest, his collarbones fine and sharp, his face intent with concentration.
‘Do you have any idea how hot that is?’ Jim asked.
Spock raised an eyebrow. His playing did not falter.
‘You asked me to put wood on the fire, Jim,’ he said.
‘Not the fire – you, sitting there playing like that, naked as the day you were born.’
A slight smile touched Spock’s lips. ‘T’hy’la,’ he said tolerantly, ‘Were you not satisfied with our recent exercise?’
Kirk pursed his lips. ‘You know, I may be a human male, but I don’t always mean I want more sex. I can appreciate you in more aesthetic ways.’
Spock nodded, the smile still on his lips.
‘You know, their food stasis unit is still working,’ Jim said. ‘And I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.’
‘We have already broken into their home and stolen their firewood,’ Spock pointed out in a slightly disapproving tone.
‘Oh, Spock, Starfleet can replace anything we’ve used,’ Jim waved away his concerns.
Spock arched an eyebrow and continued to play. Jim took that as acceptance, so he left the room again and returned a few minutes later with a platter of food, vegetarian for Spock, but with a few pieces of Earth-style cured meats for himself.
‘Come on, Spock,’ he said, patting the rug before the fire. ‘Come break bread with me.’
Due to the excellence of the stasis storage the food was as fresh as it had been when it entered the house. Jim had also found a bottle of wine, of which Spock consented to drink a little. When they had finished he cleared away the things and they put more wood on the fire and then lay down together on the rug, flesh to flesh. They had been there for a long time now and the warmth and sex and food and wine were conspiring to make Jim sleepy. He nuzzled his face against the Vulcan’s back. With a far greater tolerance of heat than the human, Spock’s body was acting as a shield from the direct heat of the flames. The fire had brought a light green flush to his skin.

((o))

He did not notice himself slipping into sleep, but he must have, because the next awareness he had was of being pressed up naked against Spock’s warmth, with a pallid light coming through the curtains. The fire had died down to ashes and Spock was fast asleep. Jim lay there for a while just looking at the Vulcan’s face. His hair was still rippled by the rain of the night before. His eyelashes lay dark and long along his closed eyelids. His lips were very slightly parted and his breath came softly between them. His body was so relaxed that he looked like a cat in a sunbeam. Unwittingly Jim felt himself begin to harden. The little bottle of oil was still there on the hearth. How perfect it would be to have him here again, loose and lank on this fur rug.
Carefully and quietly so as not to wake the Vulcan he slipped away from him and went to put more wood on the fire. He noticed the automatic lighter control at the side, and smiled. Spock had told him he had used his phaser last night. He touched the control and instantly the wood burst into flame.
‘Ah, my perfect Vulcan,’ he murmured, kneeling down beside him again and kissing the tip of his ear.
Spock stirred a little, and his eyes blinked open. For an unguarded moment there was nothing of Vulcan control at all in his face as he gazed into his lover’s eyes.
‘You said you don’t always want more sex, t’hy’la,’ Spock murmured, ‘but there is little else in your mind at this moment.’
Jim chuckled, and reached out for the bottle of oil. They made love languorously and gently in front of the fire, with none of the bestial urgency of last night. Then, spent, they lay together on the rug again and let the heat wash over them.
‘I suppose I should try to contact the ship,’ Jim said eventually. ‘They must be worrying...’
Spock grunted in a non-committal way, most uncharacteristically unconcerned about duty. He was still warm and relaxed from making love and could not imagine moving.
Jim glanced at his communicator, which lay by the side of the hearth. He tried to remember if he had had a dream where that thing had been beeping insistently. It had been half a possibility.
‘Oh, hang it,’ he murmured, spooning close against the Vulcan again and wrapping his arm about his body. ‘The ship’s fine. It’s just a communications blackout. It’s not like I can do anything from here.’
‘I think I dreamt the sound of the communicator just prior to waking up,’ Spock said musingly.
Jim smiled. ‘Isn’t that funny, Spock? I did too. I suppose that shows how in tune we are, each feeling the other’s dreams.’
‘Perhaps,’ Spock murmured, but a slight frown furrowed his forehead.
A very familiar noise began to build in the air, very quiet at first, but growing. Jim’s arm clenched over Spock’s body for a moment. There wasn’t time to move. He closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable.
It came.
‘Jim, Spock, what in blue blazes do you think you – ’
It could be no one other than Dr McCoy. His medical tricorder was already warbling. The doctor’s voice stuttered off. So far, Jim and Spock had confided in no one about their relationship. They were, to public eyes, just very close friends.
‘The scanners showed an elevated – ’ McCoy stuttered. ‘I mean – And Spock was – Goddammit to hell, Jim, I’m a doctor, not a blasted mind reader.’
The silence stretched out. Spock did not move. Jim did not dare turn around. After all, all of his modesty, what little there was left, was protected by the shield of Spock’s body, and he really, really did not want to meet the doctor’s eyes right now.
The seconds dragged on. Finally McCoy flipped open his communicator.
‘McCoy to Enterprise. Yeah, Scotty, they’re both just fine. They’ll be – ahem – I’m sure they’ll be beaming up in a little while. Meanwhile, get me the hell out of here. Please.’
Jim closed his eyes as the sound of the transporter built again. Spock was very, very still.
‘Well,’ Jim said after a long silence. ‘I guess the cat’s really out of the bag now.’
Spock did not reply, but after a moment he made a sound very close to a purr.


Wednesday, 9 July 2014

Episode Analysis: S3E05 Is There In Truth No Beauty?

Despite all I say about Is There In Truth No Beauty?, I do like it, a lot, not least because it guest stars Diana Muldaur, who is rather marvellous in both her Star Trek episodes (this one and Return to Tomorrow) and who I should probably appreciate more in her prolonged guest stint as ship’s doctor in The Next Generation.

The complete objectification of Muldaur, as Dr Miranda Jones, by the men aboard ship is intensely frustrating, and for me it overwhelms the story of the Enterprise being stranded outside the galaxy. After all, she was stranded there entirely because of the jealousy Miranda arouses in her male companion, Enterprise designer Larry Marvick. She is seen by the men on board alternately as frigid, too tempting, misguided, cruel (in denying the male humanoids of the galaxy a chance of romance), over-emotional, and jealous. There’s probably more. But this episode was written by a woman, Jean Lisette Aroeste; and not only by a woman, but by the same woman who wrote the splendid All Our Yesterdays. (Incidentally, All Our Yesterdays was originally titled A Handful of Dust, which I think makes us reflect far more deeply on Zarabeth’s fate.)

In the light of this I have to hope that the male reactions to Miranda Jones were a rather cynical, satirical exposé of 1960s attitudes to women. Unfortunately, with such attitudes rampant through television of the time, it’s very hard to tell if this is satirical or just normality. Was Aroeste’s treatment of Miranda’s blindness, and the male assumptions of her incapability, the same? Miranda certainly shows herself as completely capable in everything she does. The ending of the episode would lead me to believe that Aroeste was far more in sympathy with Miranda than the males of the episode, since at the conclusion she achieves all that which she set out to achieve.

I have one more thing to say, having just flicked back through these caps. Lighting, lighting, lighting! The lighting in this is beautiful, the way the relatively low-key grey sets are rendered as purple, blue, green, just by the effects of lighting.



Well, hello, beautiful.

I do a fair bit of objectifying myself through this episode, although mostly of the ship and of Spock.

As the Enterprise orbits a beautiful planet we learn from the Captain’s Log that they’re there to pick up the Medusan ambassador, the Medusans being beings with beautiful minds, but of such ugliness that they can cause a person to go insane. We know right from the word go that we’re being set up for a philosophical discussion on the nature of beauty. If the title of the episode didn’t give it away.



So here we all are, the boys preparing to receive the ambassador. Larry Marvick (David Frankham) is sent up first to make sure that no one but Spock is in the room when the ambassador beams up. This ugliness thing is serious. Scotty’s happy because Marvick is one of the designers of the Enterprise. Wow. He doesn’t even look that old. I’m not quite sure why he’s part of Miranda’s team. Maybe I missed that.



Sometimes when you see Spock attending to things on the ship you wonder why they bother to have any other crew at all.



Spock has a funky visor to wear that will somehow protect him from the hideousness of the Medusan. Spock assures Kirk it works for Vulcans. ‘It’s your human half I’m worried about,’ Kirk points out. Spock gives him the look, and promises to ‘endeavour to keep it under control.’

I assume the fear is that in the transportation process some glimpse might be caught of the interior of the box that the Medusan travels in. That brings in interesting questions for the transportation process in general. Do we ever get a glimpse of Spock’s spleen, for example?



It says something about Spock that he doesn’t look silly in this. He just looks an extra level of cool.



Dr Miranda Jones is not proficient at the Vulcan salute. We’re seeing her through Spock’s visor, of course. The music changes, and it might as well be going, ‘boom chicka-wah-wah.’ Miranda is A Beauty.




Spock, of course, is excellent at the Vulcan salute.



Here she is in proper colour.



This is the Ambassador. I wonder what he looks like in there?



Spock looks rather startled, which surprises me, to be honest. Surely Spock would be perfectly aware of what to expect?



Spock continues to look startled. And what a look. The music goes all dramatic too, just in case we weren’t aware of how startling this is. And so we fade to the titles. Two minutes in. 11 caps. Oops.



So, Kirk clears the corridors so that the Ambassador can be taken to his quarters. They’re taking no chances.



For once the corridors are quite crowded. This guy in blue looks about sixteen!



Both looking good with visors. I mean, Spock always looks good, so the visor can only make things better.



There’s already a lot of very polite bitchiness from Miranda as they carry the box through the corridors. We get a little glimpse into Spock’s life – he was offered the assignment with the Ambassador but turned it down. ‘My life is here.’ Miranda is obviously working on a lot of pent-up jealousy and sees Spock as quite a threat. Women. You know. They’re always unstable.



Oh, hands...



Spock asks for the chance to exchange greetings with the Ambassador. Miranda is obviously reluctant, but she allows it. Even with the visor on he flinches and looks away at first, but gradually becomes more intrigued.



The Ambassador is just a one-being disco in a box. Groovy.



‘I almost envy you your assignment,’ Spock  tells Miranda.

‘I see in your mind that you are tempted to take my place,’ Miranda responds. A bit of a faux pas, that, reading his thoughts without asking. But she is wrong anyway. He doesn’t want to take her place.



We haven’t seen McCoy in this episode yet, but he gets in anyway.

‘Ambassador Kollos often finds the process of transport somewhat unsettling,’ Miranda says.

‘I understand. Our ship’s surgeon often makes the same complaint,’ Spock responds dryly.



Here we get the first intimation that Miranda is blind. ‘What is it he sees when he looks at you?’ she asks once she is alone, in a rather intense tone. ‘I must know.’

And the box opens to display psychedelic vomit.



So. They’re having dinner with Miranda. Much excitement from my three year old. ‘They have a café on the ship! They have a café on the ship!’

This is where the rather grating 1960s sexual objectification begins. (Anyone remember The Lights of Zetar, where the female protagonist was referred to almost constantly throughout as ‘the girl’?) Kirk pretends to be bewildered as to how the male population of the galaxy ‘let’ Miranda come on this mission. ‘Didn’t anyone try to stop you?’ Her answer is yes, and Kirk is glad that he didn’t succeed because ‘otherwise I wouldn’t have met you.’ Can we read this in any other way than, ‘I want to have sex with you and I don’t foresee you having any problem with that’?



Just look at this gathering. Five men and one woman, with women waiting on. Kirk spends all his time at the start of this scene treating Dr Miranda Jones as a sexual object. She is here as a liason to an Ambassador, but he treats her as a rather confusing female who has dared to step out of the box.



On the plus side everyone looks rather pretty at this gathering. First Kirk, who is wondering how Miranda manages to work with Kollos since no human can look at him even with a visor without going mad.



Then Miranda, who explains that she spent four years on Vulcan studying their mental techniques.



Then McCoy, who greets this news with a wry, ‘You poor girl.’



Then Spock, who retorts that on the contrary, ‘Dr Jones was indeed fortunate.’

Dr Jones has been on Vulcan learning how not to read minds. We get a moment of insight into Spock’s inner life.

‘What most humans generally find impossible to understand is the need to shut out the bedlam of other people’s thoughts and emotions,’ Spock explains.



‘Or of their own thoughts, and emotions,’ Miranda adds reflectively.



Here we get our first proper glimpse of Spock’s IDIC. Miranda exposes her insecurities by asking, ‘Is it a reminder that, as a Vulcan, you can mind link with the Medusans far better than I could?’



Ouch. Everyone’s a bit stunned by this. Captain Kirk calls it, ‘the most revered of Vulcan symbols.’ Spock sounds rather stung as he tells her, ‘I wear it this evening to honour you, Doctor.’

Ever the diplomat, Kirk moves the chatter on to talking about the possibility of using Medusans on starships as navigators. All that is necessary is working on adapting the instruments. Dr McCoy, of course, is cynical. 

‘I see, Dr McCoy, that you still subscribe to the outmoded notion, promulgated by your ancient Greeks, that what is good must also be beautiful,’ Spock comments.

And if the argument is that just because the Medusan is ugly he is not necessarily bad, it must follow that just because Miranda (whose name means ‘worthy of admiration’) is beautiful she is not necessarily good. It is telling that it is Larry Marvick, who has his own reasons to be in conflict over Miranda’s goodness, who points this out.



Miranda looks rightly dubious as Kirk dismisses all this to assert rather impatiently that ‘most of us are attracted by beauty and repelled by ugliness. One of the last of our prejudices,’ and proposes a toast to beauty, ‘To Miranda Jones, the loveliest human ever to grace a starship.’



At this point McCoy gets in on the sexual harassment act, saying, ‘How can one so beautiful condemn herself to look upon ugliness for the rest of her life? Will we allow it, gentlemen?’

‘Certainly not,’ they chorus (with the exception of Spock).

Excuse me? May I slap them now?



Miranda isn’t going to take that. ‘How can one so full of joy and the love of life as you, Doctor, condemn yourself to look upon disease and suffering for the rest of your life? Can we allow that, gentlemen?’

To which – silence.



‘To whatever you want the most, Miranda,’ McCoy replies, sounding royally pissed off, because, I mean, how dare she attack his choice of profession? How dare she?



Suddenly the atmosphere changes as Kirk tries to ply Miranda with more alcohol and she freezes.



‘There is somebody near by thinking of murder,’ she says.

We get lots of reaction shots to this. But it was a fleeting thought. It’s gone, and she can’t say who it was.



As she gets up to leave she has a flurry of offers to escort her to her quarters. Kirk probably wants an intimate after dinner coffee. Spock is probably just being courteous. Miranda, being a dastardly independent woman, insists she can manage.



‘Are you sure you can find your way alone?’ McCoy asks her. McCoy, with what he knows about her, should really be more sure than the others, one would think. Kirk makes a little face at McCoy kissing her hand. The testosterone in the room is so thick you can almost smell it. Yes, even through a computer screen.

‘Now, where I come from that’s what we call a lady,’ McCoy asserts after she has left.

‘Yes, she is something special,’ Kirk agrees. I mean, she hasn’t even deigned to sleep with him yet.



‘Very special – and I suggest you treat her accordingly,’ Marvick cuts in. Is it any coincidence that there’s a green hue all around him? If I were him I’d be a bit pissed off too, to be honest. Dr Jones hasn’t exactly been treated with the respect that she is due as a scientist on a mission. Scotty offers to ply him with Scotch, but he isn’t having it.



So Kirk chooses to mention how dressed up Spock is for the occasion, with his IDIC on his tunic.



Spock’s not in a good mood either now, and doesn’t appreciate what he seems to see as teasing.

‘I genuinely intended to honour her, Captain,’ he says rather peevishly. ‘Good evening, gentlemen.’



So Kirk and Bones are left behind with their alcohol and their sexual frustrations.

‘Bones, what’s troubling you with the girl?’ Kirk asks. Here we are. The girl.

‘Well, she’s not just another girl, Captain, don’t make that mistake,’ McCoy asserts. No, Leonard, she’s an adult scientist with a doctorate or a medical degree. But he’s bothered. ‘She seems very vulnerable,’ he says.

Yes, Leonard. Probably because she comes to an evening dinner on the ship and everyone’s hitting on her.



‘We’re all – vulnerable in one way or another,’ Kirk says sagely and rather introspectively, and we suddenly get a glimpse of the ‘all I need is a tall ship and a star to sail her by’ Kirk, the Kirk who is probably a little insecure, who likes to read books and maybe hits on every girl he meets to fill up a void in his soul.



‘But there’s something so very disturbing about her,’ McCoy muses. Perhaps because she’s a woman with a ‘disability’ who manages to go through life as if she had no such thing? Does that disturb you, Bones?

‘Meaning she’s quite a woman,’ Kirk says glibly, shaking off his introspection. ‘I agree.’

Yes, of course, Jim. That’s always what McCoy means when he says something like that in that tone of voice...

‘Goodnight, Jim,’ McCoy says, with the tone of, ‘You have no idea what I’m talking about and I might as well give up trying, because we all know you’re thinking with your penis right now.’



So Jim is left alone to rather creepily fondle the rose that Miranda has left behind.



Meanwhile, Larry comes to visit Miranda in her quarters. You can tell she really doesn’t want to let him in, but she does, in that feminine, slightly motherly way that people have. She feels sorry for him. Larry seems enormously jealous that Miranda enjoyed her meal with all of those men. He’s the kind of person who wouldn’t surprise you if later you found out they were a rapist. And here he is in Miranda’s rooms.



It’s obvious from their conversation that he is in love – or at least obsessed – with her and she has no such feelings. It’s also a little obvious that she is slightly in the wrong to be beautiful and female and yet still reject him, despite his apparent persistence in his pursuit of her.

‘I understand. That you’re a woman and I’m a man, one of your own kind, and Kollos will never be able to give you anything like this.’



And so he sexually assaults her by kissing her when she obviously doesn’t want him to and makes no movement in response.



It is obvious from what she says that she has not encouraged him and has repeatedly told him that she’s not interested. But she’s a woman, so she should accept him.



This is when she realises that it is he who was thinking of murder. She still doesn’t know who he wants to kill, though. She wants to help him, but he’s bitter.

‘So now I know what a mere human male has to do to get a reaction out of you. Make you think he’s a patient. The great psychologist. Why don’t you try being a woman for a change?’

There is so much wrong with this that I can’t even start.



He leaves her room and starts to go one way, then turns back and goes to the room of Ambassador Kollos. Why he does this is a little unclear. It could just be that he’s verging on insane and wants to kill Kollos and doesn’t even think about the risk of going in there. (It’s a little disturbing – no, actually, very disturbing – that he’s allowed to carry a phaser on board.) But is it also possible that Kollos is aware of what’s going on and entices him into the room through telepathy so that he can expose him and remove him as a threat to Miranda?



Oh dear. Jazzy music, snapping between different camera shots, face grabbing. Not good.



Miranda is aware...



Marvick has been infected with overacting.



Interestingly, the shots of Marvick here aren’t distorted, whereas the ones of Miranda are.



Again, we see that Miranda can go into the room without any protection.



This lot mean business. Presumably Miranda has called them.



‘Who could have done such a thing?’ Kirk asks her.

‘Larry Marvick,’ she says with great regret.



Just as Spock is warning that Marvick will be dangerously insane, Marvick is down in engineering, gaining access to the engines. Oops.



Then the announcement comes through the PA system. But don’t worry. Scotty knows how to handle a mad person! Barrel into them and try to bring them down!!

A fight ensues, of course. There isn’t any way in such a sensitive area of the ship to bring someone down quickly – you know, like hit them with a phaser on stun. Something like that. Marvick is beating Scotty’s head into the floor, but no one comes to his aid, because apparently the entire engine room is staffed only by one person.



Oh f*ck.



The bridge crew are essentially thinking the same. McCoy, of course, needs to be on the bridge right now, because there’s a mad man loose on the ship and the best place McCoy can be is not looking for him. They’re travelling at Warp 8.5, and accelerating.



I like this. This is a view we don’t often get of the bridge. It really looks like a complete, real place. But presumably the camera angle is to reflect Marvick’s madness and a sense of dislocation.



Spock (and Chekov) is trying to disengage power. He is pretty.



They get engineering on audio and Spock pauses to listen to Marvick’s wild ranting. Spock, we can see right up your nose.



Am I the only one who thinks that it’s poor that engineering was apparently staffed only by Scotty (after a meal with plenty of alcohol), and was about to be left in the hands of a non-crew member, Marvick, and that it’s taken this long for anyone to realise what was wrong and get down there?



Oops again. The Enterprise has just passed through the edge of the galaxy, which apparently, rather than just a petering out of stars into a more complete vacuum, is something completely momentous.



Marvick is immensely relieved, because he thinks they’re safe now.



Kirk gets McCoy in to help him, but when Marvick panics, in his wisdom he waves McCoy away, presumably thinking the Kirk-brand of soothing will be better than the treatment of a qualified doctor.



Except, no. His panic increases. He sees Miranda. She tries to reassure him. He tries to strangle her, and warns them all against loving her. And then he dies. Jim, do you think you should have let McCoy give him that shot?



Everyone is rather captivated by the odd swirly blue fire stuff that exists beyond the edge of the galaxy. I would be too. The trouble is, the Enterprise is now lost in uncharted space. Oh dear.



Having just made a log entry to the effect that they’re lost in a ‘completely unknown void,’ Kirk rocks up to Spock and asks rather unfairly, ‘Where are we?’

I would forgive Spock for answering, ‘We are in uncharted space, in a completely unknown void, Captain.’ Essentially Spock replies that they’re lost. They have ‘entered a space-time continuum.’ I’m not sure that that makes much sense, because isn't everything a space-time continuum? But I’m not exactly an astro-physicist.

McCoy doesn’t know why Marvick died, either. ‘He evidently could not live with what he saw.’



‘Position report, Spock?’ Kirk asks.

Poor Spock. Hasn’t he just asked him this in the form of, ‘Where are we?’

Again, Spock is patient. ‘Impossible to calculate. We lack data to analyse. Our instruments appear to be functioning normally, but what they tell us makes no sense.’



This is just because Spock is pretty as he explains to Kirk exactly why they can’t find their way back.



Let’s have a Chekov and Sulu moment.

‘A madman got us into this, and it’s beginning to look as if only a madman can get us out,’ Chekov mutters.

‘An entertaining suggestion, Mr Chekov, but not very helpful,’ Spock admonishes him.

Gosh, if only they had a being renowned for being an expert navigator aboard...



Aha. Kirk remembers about Kollos. Spock is intrigued by the idea of ‘becoming’ Kollos via a mind link. It’s rather lovely hearing him talk about this. But he knows Dr Jones will be reluctant to let him do it. Marvick wasn’t the only jealous one on board the ship.

‘If it is at all possible, her mind must be so engaged that no thought of what I am doing shall intrude,’ Spock warns Kirk.



‘I – think that could be arranged,’ Kirk muses. (Faintly, in the distance, we hear ‘boom chicka-wah-wah’ drifting from an undisclosed location.)



So, what can Kirk do to distract the doctor? Engage her in academic discussion? Show her his stamp collection? Try to seduce her with a room full of flowers? Kirk goes for number three, of course.



Roses. Very romantic. But of course roses also have thorns, just as beautiful women are dangerous.



Kirk takes the opportunity to hold her hand with, ‘I was hoping to make you forget about this today.’

‘It doesn’t hurt any more,’ she tells him rather coldly. How many times does she have to let him know that she’s not interested?



‘You mustn’t blame yourself because Marvick loved you,’ Kirk tells her, the implication being that it’s impossible for men to not love her. Oh, Jim. We already know he’s not the best psychologist after his performance with Marvick in Engineering.

‘I didn’t want his love,’ she replies. ‘I couldn’t return it.’

Kirk’s not having that. ‘Well, some day you’ll want human love and companionship,’ he tells her paternalistically. Of course. Some day you won’t be a lesbian any more. Some day you’ll get over those silly gender issues you have, etc etc.

‘Shall I tell you what human companionship means to me?’ she asks. ‘A struggle. A defence against the emotions of others. At times the emotions burst in on me. Hatred, desire, envy, pity. Pity is the worst of all. Now, I agree with the Vulcans. Violent emotion is a kind of insanity.’



While this is going on, Spock is on his way to the Medusan’s quarters.



Jim is still arrogantly trying to persuade Miranda that in the end she won’t want to spend her life with the Medusans. She’ll want ‘someone who isn’t ugly.’

Miranda is rightly annoyed by this.

Would he be having this conversation with a man?



Ever since she came on the ship and all through this conversation Miranda has been repeatedly showing that she’s not interested. So Kirk talks about how romantic the setting is, wishes there were moonlight, and tries to kiss her. This is the second time she’s had a kiss forced on her in one episode. Really, this is abhorrent. It’s even worse in a way because he’s only doing it to distract her from Kollos.



It doesn’t work. As soon as Spock is in the room with Kollos she realises what’s going on, and protests, saying that Spock is doing something terribly dangerous.



She arrives too late. ‘The Enterprise is at stake,’ Spock tells her flatly. ‘It is not possible for you to be involved.’



They all seem to gang up on her at this point, forming a wall between her and the Ambassador’s quarters. Miranda asks why she can’t link with Kollos herself. She can learn the controls of the ship.



This is where McCoy drops the bomb.

‘Now, hang on a minute. I realise you can do almost anything a sighted person can do. But you can’t pilot a starship.’



Oh, Spock. This isn’t exactly polite. But she’s been exposed. Not only is she a woman, and prone to all the weaknesses of having a womb, but she’s a blind woman. 

‘You are blind, and there are some things you simply cannot do,’ McCoy tells her. One can’t help but feel that she can’t do this only because they think she can’t do this. There’s no evidence that she would have any trouble at all with it.



Her dress is a sensor web. And Spock’s hands are pretty.



Suddenly all three of them are full of pity, despite the fact that all through the episode she has never shown a moment’s problem. No wonder she hates that emotion so much. Spock fails to understand why she hides her blindness. They’re displaying exactly why right now. She tells Kirk that she could play tennis with him. She can judge distance exactly. She can tell how fast his heart is beating. But still they won’t let her pilot the ship.



Spock continues to be pretty as they tell her she will have to talk to Kollos so he can persuade her that Spock must make the mind link.



It really is rather disappointing that when she goes into the room to talk to him we hear her scream. It seems more a scream of fear than anger. Would she really scream because Kollos disagrees with her? Especially since she’s perfectly composed when she comes out.



The Enterprise is still hanging in this weird void...



Kollos is on the bridge, behind a shield. Spock goes to meld with him...



Yep, it worked.



Spock is a rather beautiful mix of the two of them, emoting but logical, able to respond to beauty and express his feelings. He speaks of his friendship for Jim. He even quotes poetry at Uhura. ‘She walks in beauty like the night.’

‘That’s not Spock,’ McCoy asserts.

‘Are you surprised to find that I’ve read Byron, Doctor,’ Spock asks him.

‘That’s Spock.’



It seems that Kollos returns Miranda’s feelings, as he sees her and quotes from The Tempest with a great deal of tenderness.



Let’s have a little bit more of Spock smiling.



And a little more.



Is this what we need to see to understand the love between two beings? Flesh touching flesh? Humanoid bodies together? This episode echoes Metamorphosis, where the Companion’s love can only be truly realised once she takes human form. Perhaps this one goes a step further if it can be accepted that Miranda and Kollos can share something without looking the same.

When he apologises to Kirk for the trouble he’s brought to the ship he sounds curiously like Quinto-Spock.



We get to see Spock in the helmsman’s chair as he makes the calculations for returning home.



Hands again...



Enterprise at sunset? I don’t know why the edge of the galaxy should look like this, but apparently it does.



When Spock asks for their position Chekov responds with ‘Bullseye, Mr Spock,’ and gets a rather lovely smile in return. It’s not often I can take Spock smiling, but he does it nicely in this episode.



But then he has a little philosophising moment, as Kollos, and doesn’t look so pretty.

‘How compact your bodies are, and what a variety of senses you have. This thing you call – language – though. Most remarkable. You depend on it for so very much, but is any one of you really its master? But most of all, the aloneness. You are so alone. You live out your lives in this shell of flesh, self-contained, separate. How lonely you are. How terribly lonely.’

This is a nice moment. All episode Kirk and others have been at pains to remind Miranda how ugly Kollos is, how he cannot offer her what a human can. This lets us see it from the other side. Kollos pities corporeal beings, sees them as strangely as he is seen by them. All of the human arrogance in the episode is put into context here.



That’s enough for Kirk. ‘You must dissolve the link,’ he tells Kollos. ‘There must be no delay.’

One can’t help but feel that Kollos has struck a little too close to home.



Who can spot the deliberate mistake?



Oops.



Kirk is a little concerned.



He looks genuinely horrified at the thought that Spock has gone mad. One of Shatner’s more subtle and effective pieces of acting.



Yep. He’s mad. Or is morphing into Kenneth Williams. One or the other.



You can tell he’s mad because of the distorted view from the camera.



Kirk tries to reassure him. You’d find this reassuring, right? I mean, it worked so well with Marvick.



It’s interesting that ‘mad’ translates to ‘dangerously violent’ in this episode, and in quite a few other Star Trek episodes. The writers are obviously Daily Mail readers. Kirk has no option but to stun him.



In sick bay, Miranda is doing what she can for him... Apparently...



Meanwhile, Kirk and McCoy are waiting in the corridor. McCoy is pessimistic. Kirk doesn’t trust Miranda or Vulcan mind techniques now that the fate of his friend is relying on them.



So Jim decides to go in, against McCoy’s advice.

‘Whatever happens, Bones, don’t interfere,’ Kirk tells him.

Poor McCoy. Kirk stopped him helping Marvick, now he’s telling him not to interfere with a patient in his own sick bay. Why?

She’s not wearing her sensor web and he lets her flounder for a while, asking who’s there, before he speaks.



He uses this time to attack her for her frigidity again.

‘No doubt you think I can wake him with a kiss?’ she asks, and his response is along the lines that maybe she can, because he’s half human, ‘far more human than you, apparently.’

Because she won’t succumb to him romantically? He goads her, suggesting that she wants Spock to die, that she caused him to forget the visor on the bridge because Spock is a rival.



To get her to actually help Spock he employs his special Kirk-psychology, taunting and goading her, making her ‘hear such ugliness that Spock saw when he looked at Kollos with his naked eyes.’ In short, he’s furious with her and will say anything to get her to help Spock.



So Kirk stumbles out wondering if he’s pushed her too far, wondering if Spock dies will it be his fault? He is desperately worried about his friend, and completely unable to deal with Miranda without her sensor web. It’s interesting that disability frightens him so much.



Back in the sickbay, Miranda first gives Spock a little breast massage.



A little Sleeping Beauty moment as she initiates the meld. We don’t really need to see the confused flashback sequence that Spock goes through.



He reaches out for her mind. That must be a good sign.



It was! He’s alive! He’s on his feet! Just.



He obviously feels like sh*t. I find this scene rather adorable.



I’d like to explore this moment. How does Spock feel as he staggers into sickbay after such a traumatic experience?

While Spock collapses into the chair, Kirk runs off to find Miranda.



Isn’t this pretty? I do like the remastered versions. Presumably Miranda was fine, since we skip straight to Kollos leaving the ship.



Spock is all better too, and wearing the IDIC again.



They’re all there in the transporter room to say goodbye.



It seems as if the men have finally come to terms with Miranda’s sexual orientation (xenosexual, maybe?)

‘You have what you wanted most,’ McCoy says.

‘I am one with Kollos,’ Miranda replies, sounding serene. Funny how she’s fine once she allowed to love who she wants to love.



Now it’s Kirk’s turn. Miranda is grateful to him. ‘Your words enabled me to see,’ she says, somewhat tritely.

Just as trite is the rose he’s brought for her. ‘I suppose it has thorns,’ she asks.

‘I never met a rose that didn’t,’ he replies.

There’s a moral in there somewhere. Maybe the moral is for Captain Kirk.



Now Spock. Miranda tells him, ‘I know now the great joy you felt when you joined minds with Kollos.’

‘I rejoice in your knowledge, and in your achievement,’ Spock returns.

I find this a bit odd. The implication is that she has never melded with Kollos until now, which isn’t the impression you get for most of the episode. And why has she managed it only now, after the crisis with Spock?



‘I understand, Mr Spock. The glory of creation is in its infinite diversity,’ she says, noticing his IDIC.

‘And the ways our differences combine to create meaning, and beauty,’ Spock replies.

I feel that this is a lesson Kirk and McCoy have learnt through this episode, more than Miranda Jones.



She still can’t do the ta’al.



Spock can.



 So off she beams. I hope Kirk has his eyes closed, because there’s no sign that he’s left the room.



Once she’s gone Spock has something of a ‘thank god that’s over,’ look.



Kirk must have had his eyes closed, because there he is, still in the room.

And there it is. She’s gone, and now he can go back to his quarters and share a drink with Spock and talk about women and how difficult they are. Moral of the story? Women. Sigh...