The Rest of the Mission

Chapter 1: Shards

September, 2269

He sat before his firepot, and tried to concentrate. He felt splintered, as though he were in a million parts. He tried to find an analogy, something that his brain could latch onto, to begin to rebuild, and then it came to him. It was as though his memory had been written on a very large pane of glass, and something hard had come along, and hit it hard, shattering it into a million tiny shards. In order to put it back together again, he must first seize one shard, and then search among all the others until he found one that would fit against it perfectly. And so he must go, one shard at a time, until his memory was rebuilt. He sighed. This was a daunting task and would take much time. But he could do it. He would do it.

He sat there, searching for just the right shard to start with. One sparkled at him, gleaming as though sunlight was hitting it. In his mind's eyes, he grabbed onto that shard, and fixed it into place, and memorized all the sharp peaks and angles of it, and then began to search for another that would fit to it.

When he had reached the end of his strength, he carefully insulated the reconstructed portion of his memory, and rose from the depths of his mediation, awaking shaking and exhausted. And found her there, with hot tea waiting for him, and fresh fruit. He could not express how much this meant to him. And after he had eaten, and drunk his tea, she walked him into the shower, and washed his body, and dried him, and put him to bed, covering him up carefully, because he was already asleep.

She stood and looked down at him, feeling the great tiredness, the disjointed feeling that he was not himself yet, only barely begun on this long task. She sighed, and turned, and left his quarters, going to her own, to lie on her bed, and wonder how long it would take, and what he would be like when he had finished.

It was a nightly chore, but one that he did not shirk. Each evening he found more shards than fit onto what he had reconstructed. Slowly he began to find that he had whole memories, although there was no sequence to them at all. Nor were they connected in any way. It was like watching the flash of brightly colored fish in water with the sun glancing off. First they were here, and then they were there, and after a while they just seemed to disappear entirely. He despaired of ever being whole again, but he did not give up.

And every evening, she was there, seeing that he ate, and drank, and showered, and slept, when he had finished all that he could achieve for that night. But she did not hold him, and she did not lay down in his bed, and she did not kiss him, or tell him that she loved him. But she did not close down the link between them, either, even though it was not open very wide.

Slowly his bodily equilibrium returned. His posture improved. His gait was still stiff, but he did not appear to be staggering any longer. He began to stretch, not feeling that he could do more than that, but wanting to engage his muscles to the extent that he could. And he escorted her to the mess hall every morning for breakfast, and by now he ate much as he had used to, for that meal. His agility had not yet returned, however, and he knew it would be some time before it did.

McCoy still watched him critically, and Kirk as well. He knew that they watched him, but he also knew that they did not understand the depth to which he had been damaged. But Kirk did not assign him to landing parties now, and for that he was extremely grateful.

There came a time when he looked at his ka'athyra, and took it down from the padded clasp where he kept it, and ran his hands over the strings. It had been so long since he played it that the strings were loose, and untuned. With great care, he tightened the strings, and attempted to tune it. He could not get it right, and trembled with the effort. And she came, and sat beside him, and laid her hands on his, and together, the tuning was accomplished. And he played a scale, and then another, and a single tear fell from his eye. And she laid her face against his back, and her hands against his waist, and was still there, until he laid the instrument aside, and breathed deeply, in control of himself again.

On the bridge, he became proficient at his console once again, but found still that he could not volunteer information. Whatever was asked for, he provided, but he did not seem to have any initiative at all. He did not flail against this affliction, knowing that eventually it would pass. She sat calmly at her station, a beacon of light and hope to him, steadying him simply with her presence.

The days stretched into weeks, and he slowly reclaimed his memories, and began to find some order in them. The pane of glass grew first this way, and then that, assuming strange configurations, but it did grow. Slowly, carefully, but always larger, always more complete. But still he remembered almost nothing of what had happened on that planet. He despaired that he ever would. And he felt that he must know, in order to regain himself. So he persisted. And she was there, every night. But she never stayed. As soon as he slept, she left.

He found that he could play chess again, if not at his previous level. But Kirk was ecstatic when he appeared in the rec room, on the evening that they had always played, and gave him one game. He did not think that he could have played two. But it was another shard, locked into place. It was progress.

He began to go to the gym, to stretch, to do calisthenics. He walked on the treadmill. And eventually, he began to swim. His body improved, becoming more coordinated, slightly faster in his reflexes. He was satisfied with this progress, realizing that it would still be some time before he could even think of attempting suus mahna or any other martial art, or any type of sparing whatsoever. But it would come, eventually, he was sure of that now.

And there came a night when he asked her, in all seriousness, when she would forgive him for whatever it was that he had done. And she looked at him, and laid her hand gently on his face, and told him that she would forgive him when he forgave himself. He did not understand her then, but he accepted what she said. Perhaps when he had all the shards fused together again, he would know how to respond to her statement.