#essentially

Captain’s Log, stardate 2268.04

[7 hours missing]

First officer Spock, acting commander.

I have taken command of the Enterprise after the sudden and unexplained disappearance of Captain Kirk. What began as a routine training scenario has escalated into a search and rescue operation.

The Captain had expressed an interest in joining the cadets on a tethered, open-space exercise. When he and the selected crew had ventured beyond the hull of the ship, a phenomenon of unknown origin occurred.

Without warning, we were struck by an undetected source, resulting in minor damages to our shields. Chief Engineer Scot is currently investigating whether the cause was a system failure of some sort. I, however, suspect a solar energy storm may have passed through the quadrant, though I cannot be sure at this time. And, admittedly, it does seem rather strange that we were unable to detect it beforehand if that were indeed the cause.

In any case, those outside the safety of the ship were more severely affected, though none have reported damages beyond moderate bruising.

According to witness accounts, Captain Kirk had ensured that each crew member returned to the safety of the ship before he followed behind them.

Only, he did not return to the ship.

The crew claimed that the Captain was directly behind them, but upon looking back, he was no longer there. The words ‘vanished without a trace’ was used multiple times, by multiple witnesses.

This particular part of their statement is frustratingly accurate—Captain Kirk has left no evidence behind. No body. No residual energy signatures. No warp trail.

Chief medical officer McCoy has expressed concern that the Captain may be deceased, but that is not possible.

We will remain in orbit and continue the search until I can be certain.

—

Captain’s Log, stardate 2269.12

[12 days missing]

We have plotted a course for the ninth planet from its primary star, with an arrival time of seventy-three hours, where we will continue our search for any trace of Captain Kirk.

It has been twelve days since his disappearance.

We have conducted thorough searches of three prior planets, to no avail, and enlisted the aid of a nearby starship, the U.S.S. Midway, to assist us in our efforts. They have deployed a new probe prototype that is capable of detecting signatures that our current instruments cannot. I await their findings.

The crew remains hopeful, though I can sense their growing doubt. Morale is dropping quicker for some than others.

I have no reason to doubt, however.

Though I am oathbound to silence at this time, I can say with utmost clarity that Captain Kirk remains alive. The evidence that I alone possess is irrefutable.

Our search continues.

—

Captain’s Log, stardate 2269.21

[21 days missing]

Though I remain serving as acting Captain of the Enterprise, there have been indications of mutiny.

An admittedly disappointing development.

I have never been particularly adept at cultivating loyalty amongst others—save, perhaps, the humans I interact with on a daily basis.

But even they are losing confidence in my ability to locate and retrieve Captain Kirk.

I had hoped that their loyalty to him would steel their nerves, but I suppose what I ask of them is… difficult. Particularly in the absence of my full disclosure.

It is with trepidation that I must now consider breaking Jim’s confidence in exchange for the continued support of the crew, along with that of the U.S.S. Midway.

But that time has not yet come.

For now, our search continues.

—

Captain’s Log, stardate 2270.03

[6 months missing]

I have acquired a new vessel.

It is of Vulcan design. Highly advanced. Configured for long-range space travel and capable of being piloted by a single individual. What it lacks in comfort, it compensates for in durability.

I have assigned her the name Tokmar; a reference to an ancient Vulcan ritual intended to bring lost ones home.

I am grateful to my father, from whom it was gifted to me. Though we have had our many differences over the years, he has been my sole support in my so-called ‘fall from grace’.

The mutiny aboard the Enterprise occurred shortly after I made the error of revealing to the crew the reason for my certainty that Captain Kirk is still alive.

Unfortunately, it served to only make matters worse.

Revealing that Jim and I had an established mating bond between us was meant to reassure them. Instead, it was taken as evidence of my being emotionally compromised.

They could not accept the truth; that I would have physically felt my bond with Jim severing in my body had he truly perished.

They concluded that my judgement was impaired, and therefore unable to perform my duties as acting Captain without biases.

The ordeal was… frustrating.

Admittedly, it can be difficult to convey the complexities of a mating bond to a group of humans who do not naturally form such connections. Especially when they had already made up their minds.

I will admit to feeling a particular bitterness towards the ones I had called my friends when I was forcibly removed from command and placed in the brig shortly thereafter.

The trial, at least, was not drawn out.

My father had argued in the tribunal that I had suffered a mental and psychological break after losing my mate, as Vulcan’s are sometimes known to do.

It was believable enough for the deciding entities to rule my actions as… an unfortunate incident within another unfortunate incident.

I am ‘honourably discharged’—though I fail to see what is so honourable about everything that has transpired. The spectacle of it all…

Perhaps I remain embittered.

My search for Jim, at least, has been able to resume.

Simply being in the same solar system once more is a sharp relief. Our bond had stretched so painfully thin while I stood trial light years away, making it difficult to function.

I find myself reaching through our bond with increasing frequency, as a sort of reassurance, perhaps.

It pulses—warm, intact and content. While Jim’s thoughts and emotions remain unavailable to me, his quiet and enduring presence is a sufficient comfort.

I can only hope that wherever he is, he knows I am searching for him.

—

Captain’s Log, stardate 2274.04

[5 years missing]

I have successfully launched an additional six probes, each on an independent course to the outer reaches of this system. They will remain a constant source of incoming data which will alert me should they detect anything unusual.

Additionally, I have begun development on an upgrade to allow future probes to enter stable orbit around the local planets where they will remain indefinitely. As this has previously been undiscovered country, it remains virtually uncharted.

Once, the opportunity to map unexplored worlds and potentially encounter new civilizations would have been of particular interest to me. But, now…

I fear I have lost much more than just my bondmate.

A solemn discovery on its own.

Still, I persist. The bond remains, and so too must my hopes.

—

Captains Log, stardate 2279.01

[10 years missing]

It has been over ten years since Jim was lost to me.

Illogical as it is, I find it particularly difficult to articulate the words aloud. As through lending it my voice might cause further sorrow. A foolish thought…

Perhaps it is one of the ramifications of a life lived in isolation. It is unhealthy for a Vulcan to be separated from their bondmate for such extended periods of time. It has historically been described by others as an empty, hollow feeling that drains you of your energy. I have found that I am, regrettably, no exception.

I can only hope Jim is not feeling the same strain. There are no records of how such a feeling might translate to the human experience.

Despite my constant fatigue, I find myself seeking meditation more often than true rest. During sleep, unable to fully suppress my intrusive thought patterns, which then turn into nightmares.

Scenarios where I am forced to witness my Jim die, and subsequently perceive the severance of our bond. Scenarios where I watch him suffering in the vast emptiness of space, cold and alone. In some instances, I imagine him lost on one of the many planets below, struggling to survive, without means of communication. Worse still are the scenarios where he believes I have abandoned him.

I wake in a deregulated, emotional panic. It is only after several moments of forcing myself to slow my breathing that I am able to turn my senses to our shared bond. Only then can I regain my composure.

Meditation carries no such risk.

I committed the grave error of sharing this information with my mother, who has begun contacting me with increasing frequency. Unlike my father, she lacks the innate skill natural-born Vulcans possess when it comes to the mind-meld technique. She is therefore unable to understand that my bond with Jim remains intact.

She has urged me many times to abandon my search and return home to Vulcan where I might properly mourn my loss.

She simply does not understand—my home is not on Vulcan.

It is with Jim.

I cannot cease my search for him. Not when I can feel him so clearly. What else could be more worthy of my time than to spend it in search of my mate? Simply put, there is no more logical use of my energy.

For all her years entrenched in Vulcan culture, she remains skeptical of many of the higher functions of our race.

But, I will endeavour to be more patient with her. Like my Jim, she is only human.

Perhaps I should strive to increase my physical durability sessions to induce exhaustion. This may lead to a deeper rem cycle, and bypass my higher brain functions.

As always, my search continues.

—

Captains log, stardate 2294.9

[25 years missing]

Much has transpired these past years.

Regrettably, none of it has resulted in finding Jim, nor any sign of him. Still, our mating bond remains as securely in place as the day it was formed, thus I remain ever hopeful.

No, my recent efforts have resulted in initiating first-contact with a previously isolated society within the system.

What’s more, they were on the cusp of achieving warp capabilities, so it was only logical for me to usher them forward into joining the Federation.

They call themselves the Zel'Thraxians, of the world Zel’Thraxia. They are an insectoid-species. Bipedal, oxygen-breathing, with an exoskeletal frame. Adapted to a harsh, desert-like climate—similar to Vulcan.

For the majority of their evolutionary development, they functioned within a hive-mind based-society, operating as little more than drones. This was until an environmental-shift occurred sometime in their history, one that encouraged independent thinking—a shift that fundamentally altered the trajectory of their species—a truly remarkable and highly cooperative one.

Translating their language, which consisted mostly of chittering clicks, was a challenge. One that became considerably less so after I requested the aid of my former colleague, Lieutenant Uhura.

Despite her retirement, she seemed quite eager to offer me her services, indicating that this might be a way for her to ‘make up’ for what happened twenty-five years ago.

I assured her that, as a Vulcan, I lack the ability to carry a grudge.

Her work was exemplary, as I expected. Communication was successfully established, and the subsequent developments will be public record.

She truly is a testament to the calibre of our former crew, and not for the first time I longed to return to that period of my life. I expressed as much to the Lieutenant, and she echoed them.

‘The time of my life’, she had said.

It is difficult to put into words what working alongside her again meant. I will not attempt it. But it has put something right in me, I believe.

Perhaps, as a Vulcan, I was unable to hold a grudge, but this does not account for the human half of me.

Or, it is possible that I have simply grown ‘soft’ in my advanced age.

Jim himself will be nearing sixty-one years of age. For a human, it is considered… older. An age at which one considers retirement—though, I cannot conceive of any age in which my Jim might consider slowing down.

I do not deny that I mourn the years lost between us. The chasm ever widens between him and I.

It serves only to sharpen my resolve in continuing on with my search—that I might ensure the latter half of his life is an enjoyable one.

My network of probes spans 78.3% of this galaxy. Every charted planetary body, both full-sized and dwarf planets alike, maintains an active beacon within its orbit. The work-load increases exponentially. Still, it is insufficient.

Blind spots remain.

The road that lies ahead of me remains clear. I will not stop until I am successful.

—

Captains log, stardate 2311.02

(42 years missing)

I have received word that my mother has passed.

A shuttle accident, my father informed me.

She… she was quite old for a human, though she maintained much of her health.

I have suffered losses before, of course. But it cannot be understated how keenly I feel her absence. A tether to my katra has been torn free of me—one I have known no life without.

…

I find myself fixating on Jim’s physical absence during this time.

His bond remains warm and steady, and indeed, a comfort…

But… perhaps it is the human side of me that longs for the physicality of comfort, rather than simply the intangible. The simple feeling of being touched—embraced…

The desire for it overwhelms me at times.

…

Perhaps I should… perhaps such things are not helpful to record.

It changes nothing.

I regret being unable to attend the ceremony and extinguish the coals of her life alongside my father, but my search for Jim remains my priority.

I will enter into a season of mourning. I know not when I will ever find the strength to leave it.

—

Captains log, stardate 2320.08

(51 years missing)

I have acquired additional assistance in my search.

The Zel’thraxians have taken well to space travel, and as a gesture of appreciation for my various technological contributions over the years, they have pledged one fully manned starship to aid me in my search for Jim.

From what I gather, it is mostly a ceremonial assignment. A pilgrimage, of sorts. It seems I have unintentionally become a figurehead of these people. A symbol of their progress.

The irony of it does not escape me. I, who have spent most of my life in pursuit of that which was lost to me, unable to pursue any other course besides the one before me, while the rest of the galaxy, including the Zel’thraxians, move ever onward. Past me.

They refer to me as Ambassador. I have not disputed the title, though it was never my intention to assume such a role. I am… humbled by the level of regard in which they hold me in.

I am quite certain Jim will, as he would say, ‘get a real kick out of it’, once I explain the situation to him.

…

Jim.

In the quiet moments when my thoughts inevitably turn to him, I feel…

I feel.

It is difficult to fully articulate the depth of my longing. It is an ache that never ceases. The most sacred part of me—a love I have sheltered within the harbour of my chest—never leaving me. It urges me forward, and yet, it is the source of my greatest pain.

When I find him… It will be worth the cost. Of this, I am certain.

I need only stay the course.

—

Captains Log, stardate 2345.8

(76 years missing)

My father has come to visit me.

I was aboard his cruiser for several hours before returning. I knew he had grown older, but it remained a shock to see the effects the years, and possibly grief, had on him.

I am quite certain he felt the same when he looked upon my own face.

My father spent many of our hours together trying to urge me to go with him, back to Vulcan, so that the elders might sever my connection to Jim.

It is, of course, out of the question. To stop now, after all of this time—to truly abandon Jim, condemning him to whatever treachery that keeps him from me… No. What he asks of me is unthinkable.

Jim is so deeply woven into my katra, that were he to be rooted out, I believe only an emptied out shell of myself would remain.

He has, however bluntly, given voice to an uncomfortable truth that I have avoided confronting for many years. Jim’s human life span is nearing its natural end; over a hundred and ten years old.

Though many modern humans live well beyond a century, I find it unlikely that he would have had access to the advancements in medical care necessary for such longevity, while lacking access to a device to signal for help.

And yet, against all odds, my mating bond remains intact, as robust as ever. My father confirmed as much. Though I know he was dissatisfied with my final decision, he said no more on the matter.

He provided me with several additional upgrades for my ship, along with the means to repair the malfunctioning probes. Perhaps more, if I get… creative.

Before he left, my father also presented me with the amulet that my mother often wore around her neck. The vibrant blue of the vokayan stone bears a striking resemblance to the colour of her eyes—a detail I had never noticed while she was alive.

The amulet now rests at my own neck.

Though I recognize the sentiment to be illogical, the weight of it grants an illusion that she is still with me. And perhaps she is. There are many things in the universe that remain unknown to me. Life after death remains one of them.

And as always, my search continues.

—

Captains Log, stardate 2367.09

(98 years missing)

Age has finally begun to catch up with me, it seems.

My hands in particular have slowed, and now exhibit a persistent tremor—one that is increasingly difficult to ignore. It is enough of a hindrance to impede my ability to keep up with the workload I am required to handle.

Additionally, I wake with aches throughout my body that never fully leave me, regardless of how thoroughly I stretch. The ship's narrow passages and various ladders I must climb between levels has also become increasingly taxing.

I find myself relying more and more on the auxiliary unit I built some years ago. It has been most efficient in performing repairs and keeping up with maintenance aboard the ship and the occasional damaged probe.

It does, unfortunately, have a tendency to get underfoot. But as long as it stays out of my path, I find I do not mind the background activity.

It is… enjoyable to have company aboard the ship, even if the unit is void of any personality programming.

When I served aboard the Enterprise, Jim and the others would often remark that I would make for a very fine computer. Perhaps to them, I was very much like this bot is to me.

Still, I would give most anything to relive those years.

Particularly the months in which Jim and I entered into our courtship, and subsequently our period of being bonded as mates.

I will not deny that the secrecy of it all was part of the thrill. From across the bridge I would feel the moment his eyes landed on me. Through our bond, I could feel how he yearned for me, and I, in turn, yearned for him.

How we would collapse into one another’s arms the moment the doors slid closed behind us. How he took special care to kiss me in my way—with his hands.

So much touching. Something I had always felt a distinct repulsion towards… but with my mate? I never wanted Jim to stop touching me. The exchange of emotion was like a stimulant that I could not seem to consume enough of. Even now, having lived far longer without it than with it, I feel I remain addicted to his touch.

My Jim is still out there. Still waiting for me. I feel him. Though the years pass us both by, that truth remains a constant.

I will never cease my search for him, so long as I remain able, and he remains missing.

—

Captain’s Log, stardate 2387.62

(119 years missing)

Another four probes have malfunctioned, with two going offline entirely. This was inevitable, given their age. The remaining two hundred and thirty-eight remain functional, reporting back to my ship at two-hour intervals with consistent efficiency.

I have delegated the maintenance and refittings of the malfunctioning units to the Zel’thraxian ship—aptly named the Tiberius. Their reports, written in their sharp and jagged scripts, are transmitted to me every twelve hours.

My system blankets the solar system, never sleeping. I have, as the saying goes, ‘left no stone unturned.’ Now it is a matter of maintaining the web, and responding accordingly.

On a separate matter, it has become clear to me that wherever Jim is, he must be suspended in some sort of limbo, where he is affected by time differently. As he has far surpassed the upper limits of the human life-span, this remains the only logical theory.

I can only hope that my health and physical abilities remain what they are. That my own life-span will prove adequate.

Perhaps I will speak to the Zel’thraxians on this matter. Though I am reluctant to impose further on these people’s goodwill, I suspect they would not need much convincing to pledge a continued search party for my Jim after I am no longer able.

Such morose thoughts to give voice to.

Ones I do not wish to dwell on for longer than need be, so I will end this here.

My search continues.

—

Something strikes the hull of the Tokmar. The vessel lurches nearly onto its side before the stabilizers compensate for it.

The force of the blow is nearly enough to throw Spock from his bed in a violent awakening. Thankfully, he managed to partially catch himself, grabbing hold of the rails he had installed some years ago for this very purpose. Still, his lower half crashes onto the floor, causing pain to radiate from the impacted area.

The auxiliary unit whirls behind him, emitting a series of rapid chirps.

“I am uninjured,” Spock says, voice strained, “resume your tasks.”

The bot complies, quieting only marginally as it zips away.

The emergency lights flash red, accompanied by various alarms sounding throughout the ship, converging in the cockpit. The place he needed to get to, and fast.

It takes Spock a frustratingly long time to line his now bruised limbs into a position where he can lift himself.

A series of further chirps sounds directly behind him as he slowly manages to get to his feet. Stubborn thing…

“I repeat, I am uninjured, thus do not require medical intervention,” Spock says, catching his breath, “go, I will not repeat myself a third time.”

It rolls away, though not as quickly as it ought to, bound for one of the sparking control panels along the hull.

Spock assesses the damage on his ship as well as his own person as he makes his way through the narrow corridors of the Tokmar, hands trailing along the bulkhead for support.

Life support remains operational, as does the propulsion system, which means he is not in any immediate danger, at least. He keeps the weight off the leg he had fallen on, but even when he puts pressure on it, it does not feel broken, only bruised. Spock counts himself fortunate.

As he carefully lowers himself down into the captain's chair he is greeted with a sprawling sea of blinking alerts. His probes have also suffered some damage, it seems.

He exhales slowly, feeling the weight of it. Not only will repairing the damage take time, it leaves vast stretches of space completely offline until such repairs are complete.

He quickly hails the Tiberius and confirms that they are functional and unharmed before setting to work.

One by one, Spock begins logging the errors, sorting them by priority. Most will simply require recalibration and reactivation, with only a few that seem entirely offline. Perhaps better as scrap than as a functioning unit.

He presses the alert button, prepared to receive one of the automated responses—when something else comes through.

“…in, Enterpr—…tain Kirk, come in, Enterprise. Do you—…”

Static overwhelms the feed, cutting it short.

For a fraction of a second, Spock is rendered paralyzed. Immediate doubt sparks in his mind—did he imagine it? Has he finally gone mad, as they all predicted he would?

The remaining fraction of time passes.

Then, Spock’s hands spring to life. He isolates the signal, then amplifies it.

He prays to ancient Vulcan deities he had never once put any faith in for a miracle—

Then the voice breaks through the static again, this time loud and clear.