Beyond Dreams 2

OUT OF PRINT

First Published in March 2000
Winner of Five Philon Awards and Three Stiffie Awards
232 pages
Eleven K/S Stories
Cover by Shelley Butler
Six pieces interior art by: Marianne Mueller, Jackie Zoost, Liz, Kir'anne
Poetry by S.R. Benjamin, Kir'anne, Jin Katkin and Jenna Hilary Sinclair

From Snowman by Michele Arvizu

It was dusk, and Captain James T. Kirk—frosty breath billowing out from his handsome, rosy-cold face—stepped up on the cabin porch from around back, his arms hugging a hefty load of firewood that he’d actually chopped himself. He stomped his hiking boots twice to knock the snow off, pushed open the front door with his elbow, then kicked the door shut behind him. At the fireplace hearth, he knelt and let the loose bundle tumble from his arms. He would make himself a substantial fire tonight and watch it slowly burn down to embers as he drank Saurian brandy out of a tin coffee mug, pondering his losses…his defeats. He was alone. Two days ago, he’d arrived for ten days’ shore leave with Spock, but his companion had been immediately called away in an odd command from that big orange planet he called home.

James Kirk sighed loudly, tired of being alone, without distractions. Well, Spock would be back here in another day, maybe less if he were lucky with his travel arrangements, and then they could get back to hiking and cross-country skiing or just enjoying each other’s company amid the quiet sturdiness of the three-room cabin nestled deep within the pines. Hmmmm, just another twenty-four hours of being alone, fourteen hundred forty minutes, eighty-six thousand four hundred seconds….

During his reverie, Kirk had let it go dark in the cabin, so that when the sudden, sharp burst of cobalt-blue light—as though someone had lit a landing party carbon flare—flashed from the back bedroom, he was on instant yellow alert. He instinctively reached for the weapon at his belt, but there were no phasers here. No security teams or even uniforms. This was vacation, after all. If the cabin were being robbed, he had only his wits with which to defend himself. A master at using whatever raw materials were at hand to defend either himself or his ship, James Kirk gingerly picked up a thick piece of firewood in each hand. These rough pieces of crude wood would just have to do.

“Who’s there?” he demanded. The cabin owner maybe? A delivery man? A resident raccoon with a lantern?

While Kirk tiptoed into the darkened bedroom, there came the second flicker of light…solemn and ochre, as one of the old oil lamps was carefully lit. The flare of the match made a slight whoosh as it caught.

“It is I.”

James Kirk could see the profile of the man: the familiar round head, the angled cheek bone, the hint of elegant pointed ear.

With sudden caution, Kirk picked up the lamp and moved it closer to the man. Then he almost dropped it. His eyes grew large at what he saw. Spock’s own clothes were…well…not Starfleet, not even Vulcan. Not anything Kirk had ever seen before. And there was something else. Not only the clothes were unfamiliar. In the dim light, Spock’s body seemed thicker, heavier, like a different version of himself.

“You’re not Spock. Who the hell are you? How’d you get in here?”

The Vulcan man stood up slowly, carefully laying aside the precious gold tunic. “I am Spock,” the man repeated. “You are James Kirk.”

The stranger took one step forward.

Captain James T. Kirk took one step back.

BACK TO TOP

From A Meal to Remember by kira-nerys

I watch as Spock serves us both. This is always exciting, tasting and trying new foods. As an adventurer this is only another way of indulging that side of myself. Being able to share these meals with Spock is as sacred to me as our private chess games. Admittedly, part of my enjoyment comes from having him all to myself with no interruptions.

"All right. How do I eat these?" I ask and look down at my plate. Spock serves me five of the Sa'tai-is, as well as a generous amount of the other vegetables. My mouth waters and I realize that I'm famished.

"Traditionally, they are meant to be eaten with your hands. Thus, there is no cutlery, and the scented cloth is for wiping your fingers before you eat and when you are finished. Just observe me and do the same."

I watch Spock's long-fingered hands as he wipes them off on the cloth. Then he takes hold of one of the Sa'tai-is and lifts it to his mouth.

Time suddenly freezes, or maybe my heart stops in my chest.

Spock opens his mouth wide, leans his head back, and takes the vegetable into his mouth. It must be about six inches long and Spock just keeps feeding it into his mouth, between those gorgeous lips, down his throat…. I hardly notice that he chews and swallows; the image of his lips closing around the vegetable is burnt into my eyes.

I'm instantly, achingly hard. Images of Spock taking me into his mouth flash through my mind, and I have to close my eyes not to moan aloud. The shock of my sudden, instinctive reaction is indescribable, so unexpected, like a blow to my stomach.

Spock's got four of those things still on his plate. I can't imagine excusing myself, and I can't tell Spock to cut the Sa'tai-is up to eat them. They are supposed to be eaten like this…. Yet I can't imagine how I'm possibly going to be able to endure eating this way in front him, watching him repeatedly. Spock chews and swallows. I'm falling to pieces. He seems completely unperturbed, however, and waits patiently.

"Now you try, Jim," he says calmly. "You will find them to your liking, I am sure."

From I'd Dye for You by M.Stewart, L. Jennings, C. Lowell, and B. Villa

The appointment had taken longer than usual, so Kirk was running late. As he hurried past the shop windows, a lovely pair of Deltan pleasure boots caught his eye. Maybe the two-inch heels would not only raise him lip-to-lip with Spock, but do something to make his calves look shapelier. Catching his reflection in the shop window, he was pleased to notice that the hours spent on the Buns of Neutronium trivid were finally paying off. Of course Spock hadn’t noticed yet, but he was sure to do so soon. Matter of fact, now that he thought about it, Spock hadn’t been noticing much about him lately.

He quickened his pace and came at last to his own block. As always, his eye was drawn to the pleasing symmetry of the rose-covered arbor and the repeated motif on the arched doorway they had found in that charming little architectural salvage shop in Connecticut. He walked along the winding cobblestone pathway and was pleased yet again that the cunning curves on the house could be found even here, underfoot. God, he loved symmetry!

“Honey, I’m home!” Kirk called out cheerfully. There was no response and that was when he noticed the table set for two, the gorgeous European damask tablecloth covering the French provincial honey pine dining table they had purchased together on their first anniversary. That and the Lenox tureen, the last piece from their bonding registry at Williams Sonoma, made him realize that this was a date he should not have forgotten. A step closer revealed the plomeek soup was no longer in liquid form. It was going to be a bitch to get the stains out of the fine bone china.

Kirk dropped his package from F’red’rik’s of Vulcan on the floor and buried his face in his hands. “My God, what have I done?” It was then that he noticed the faint aroma of rose water emanating from the recently renovated master bath. Originally, it had been done in a revolting avocado green and brown and now was in a lovely shade of teal and mauve which complemented both of their skin tones during midnight baths in the oversized Jacuzzi tub. He was glad they hadn’t opted for the ornate gold fixtures in the bath. It would have been just too much.

From Confidential File by Gena Moretti

Stardate 10289.6. Personal log: Spock
If my ancestors are observing me I must, in all honesty, presume they are dissatisfied with what they are seeing. I share their dissatisfaction. By the time I attained my posting to the Enterprise, I had sufficient experience with other races to serve Captain Pike and the Enterprise with at least a reasonable degree of contentment. I experienced no difficulties which did not yield to deep meditation. I could efficiently move among the officers and crew and function in a manner compatible with the various races in the crew as well as with my Vulcan training.

The Enterprise has had her new captain for only six point two months. My contentment has dissipated. My attempts to discern why have only led to more frustration. Meditation, no matter how deep or prolonged, is non-productive. I seem to want something, but I cannot ascertain what it could possibly be. Since I cannot find the reason for this disturbance within myself, I have reluctantly determined that my next attempts to understand must involve outside sources.

Stardate 10299.6. Personal log: Spock
I have begun my research on my previously mentioned problem by observing more closely the actions of the ship’s crewmembers, especially the Terran humans. I believe I have made slight progress. My interest seems to sharpen when I observe them touching each other. I now recall that during my first years at the Academy, this continual touching attracted much attention from me. I found it repugnant until I became accustomed to this behavior over the years. Indeed, I am certain I ceased to notice it within no more than two years after I joined the Enterprise crew. This, of course, raises the question to be answered of why this behavior is again attracting my attention. I can only hope tonight’s meditation will enlighten me.

From The Healing by Islaofhope

I felt immediately uneasy when Prime Minister Mauro greeted us. Although he barely seemed to notice the rest of the deputation, his eyes lingered over Jim, and Mauro seemed reluctant to let go of the hand that Jim extended in greeting. Jim was certainly not too innocent to notice Mauro's hungry regard. In spite of protestations to the contrary, Jim was not above using his charm and beauty to obtain a desired outcome. In spite of my certainty that Jim felt no attraction to this man, I found myself suffering an attack of jealousy—a most intriguing experience.

My mild discomfort increased when the prime minister seated us in his reception area with what appeared to be several guards surrounding us. Jim's smile faltered slightly when the prime minister took his hand again. Again, Mauro seemed entirely unaware of the presence of anyone else in the room. "What a distinctive ring. Perhaps you would be willing to make a gift of it to me as a show of good faith to begin our negotiations."

I had managed to ensure that I was seated next to Jim, so his eyes did not have to travel far to swiftly meet mine before he looked back at the prime minister. "Thank you for the compliment, but I'm afraid that I couldn't be persuaded to part with it. It has a great deal of sentimental value to me." The ring in question was one that I had given him. The ring had been in my family for years, but it suited his well-shaped hands far better than it did my long, rather bony fingers.

"Well, it does look rather good where it is. Perhaps I would prefer to possess your entire hand.”

Jim's smile widened as he attempted to extricate his hand. "You have a rather odd sense of humor, sir." The prime minister did not release Jim's hand and, from the ever so slight shift in Jim’s expression, I realized that Mauro had clamped down on it punishingly.

From How High is the Sky? by Robbi

"Shit!"

"Precisely."

Kirk smiled at Spock's unmistakable agreement, then looked up at him. "What am I supposed to do without you for six months?"

"Your job, Jim, as I shall do mine."

That was not the "precisely" Kirk would have preferred to hear. "I need you here. We've only had the ship out for a month and we're still a long way from finding all the bugs." The Vejer mission had given them a good head start on what the refitted ship needed to have fixed or just brought up to Scotty's demanding specifications.

Curious brown eyes glanced down again at the hardcopy still in his hand. "I should like to know why I was chosen to be the one to take over command of the Galaxia."

It always amazed Kirk how someone with Spock's accomplishments could remain so unassuming. "Unfortunately, I can't think of anyone else better for the job. If I could, we might have had a chance of talking our way out of this." He'd tried, but in his short conversation with Command he’d found himself drowning in futility. "With the resignation of their first officer so soon after Captain Rath's death, their third-in-command still in recovery and a newly-commissioned lieutenant left in charge, the ship is badly in need of an experienced commander with a heavy scientific background. You're it. I just wish…."

Spock waited for Kirk to continue. When it didn't look as if he would, he gently pushed. "What, Jim?"

Kirk rubbed his lips as if trying to force them not to form the words, but they proved to be as stubborn as he was himself. "That I could go with you."

A smile formed in the beautiful alien eyes. "You would miss your ship and all that is required to get her in shape for the upcoming war games you are devising." He set the unwanted copy of his orders onto the desk.

"I know." Kirk smiled up at his friend of nearly eight years, a short lifetime of knowing the best there is. "This is going to sound ridiculous and you have my permission to tell me I'm being completely illogical, but I just have this feeling you're going to get yourself into trouble and I won't be there to get you out."

From The Preview by Gena Moretti

Kirk, rather than getting discouraged by Spock’s constant refusal to buy or try anything on, was actually getting more insistent. He was also dragging out increasingly sexy garments. Finally he found something that excited him to the point where he refused to accept Spock’s rejection. The Vulcan instinctively placed his hands behind his back in addition to his verbal veto.

At Kirk’s continued insistence, Spock finally took the shimmery, slithery little scrap-of-nothing in his hands, attempting to discern how it would be worn on the part of the body it was meant to enhance but not to conceal. This was difficult. It was not, however, at all difficult to discern the effect this sexy undergarment was having on Kirk. Stifling a desire to sigh, groan, or do both, Spock asked with as much patience as he could manage, “Jim, where is the logic in purchasing such an article of clothing when the results of wearing it are so predictable?” Spock thrust it back into his mate’s hands.

From Once and For All by Rosemarie Heaton

Once the initial shock of the Vulcan's unexpected return from Gol had dissipated they had slipped into their old professional relationship, but neither of them had made any attempt to regain their previous intimacy. In fact, except for that moment when they had held hands in sickbay they could have been strangers rather than old friends and one-time lovers. Later when dreams he had thought contained had surfaced, Kirk had started to avoid Spock but knew that could not continue. Last night's episode had been the most explicit yet, and he had awakened, sticky with sweat and semen, drained but exhilarated. He shifted his position. Now even the thought of the Vulcan was enough to arouse him. It was definitely past time that he talked to Spock.
Turning thought into action he touched the comm unit.

"Get me Commander Spock," Kirk requested.

After listening to dead air for a moment, he heard, "Commander Spock is not answering his page."

"Damn," Kirk muttered.

"Please repeat your request, Admiral."

"Keep trying," he ordered. Turning away to get a glass of water, he caught a glimpse of something out of place. No. Something that should not be there. On his desk, set almost dead centre, was a large, shiny brown object. Forgetting his drink, he picked up the item and examined it.

"A pine cone," he murmured. "What'n hell?"

A memory stirred—a vision of bright sunlight, blue sky, crisp, clear air, ancient stone pine trees, hard, dry ground littered with cones, needles, ants and…Spock. More buried memories rose to haunt him. He put the cone down very carefully.

"Computer," he asked, "where is Commander Spock?"

From Reflections by S.R. Benjamin

In pain, in emptiness the Horta had left the little hideaway and hastened toward the Hall of Tomorrow. At least this way she would meet her death among her own kind. She entered the tunnel that led to the Hall, aware again of the crushed shells and shattered hopes. She came to rest among the fragments, despairing.

The life form that entered the hall held the burning weapon. At first she moved to defend her eggs, but the memory of pain was too strong. When the weapon was raised, she retreated. A second life form entered. The two spoke in a language strange to her, while she fearfully guarded her eggs against the atrocities she knew must come. Then, to her utter horror, the second life form approached her telepathically. She felt the opening touch to her mind with frozen dread. They had already taken her children. They had maimed her with the phaser-wound, which was slowly dimming her life. In all of this taking, what more could they possibly seek to wrench from her? Desperate and enraged, she flooded the telepathic connection with pain. She wanted no contact with those who were the instruments of her death and who would now be its only witnesses.

Spock cried out. The pain was blinding, but somewhere within the shock of agony it contained a name. It was her grown name, Brill. It was the sound of fringes moving over newly-etched rock, opening caverns into new sources of nourishment. It was the sound of what the miners unthinkingly called "silicon nodules" slipping from her body onto the supporting rock in the Hall of Tomorrow. In her language of rustlings, hissings, taps and telepathy it meant "life-giver." It was not what he needed to help the others. It was not the recirculating pump. But it was something.

From … And On the Sixth Day by Bersakhi

Kirk stopped twice to throw himself into the water to cool off. Each time he watched Spock standing patiently on the shore as if at attention and was rewarded with a hint of a smile he knew only Spock would let him recognize, one that showed he could enjoy himself without likewise plunging into the element.

There was a smudge of angry indigo beneath the clouds now, a virtual wall of rain. It appeared to be heading their way. Preceding the storm came a mass of cold air, brushing across the surface to create growing white-tipped ripples. Moments later it came against the two officers like a soft cushion and offered sudden relief from the heat. A needle of bright light split the sky vertically, and Kirk's pulse quickened with the kind of excitement that oncoming storms used to bring to the plains of childhood Iowa.

They turned and increased their speed back to the bungalow.

It seemed as if the storm had picked up momentum and in moments the first raindrops came down, large bulbous ones, deliciously cold against Kirk's skin. Kirk glanced at the Vulcan, who, Kirk guessed, was busy calculating and comparing their speed with that of the storm cloud, which could be now heard to rumble ominously. They picked up their pace and were practically running before they became soaked through their clothes.

Kirk stood panting beside Spock once they reached the verandah of their temporary home. Glasses in hand, he stepped out from under the awning, face tilted up, eyes closed, a picture of joyful defiance against the elements.

"Jim?"

"Isn't it exhilarating?" Kirk cried out over the din of the downpour. "Come and see for yourself." He dragged Spock to stand beside him and watched as his friend's composure literally melted off him. In seconds Spock's hair was plastered to his skin in dark strands, his eyelids squelched shut at the onslaught. His chest was being pelted with droplets that pressed his shirt tightly to his skin. Kirk could clearly see his chest hair beneath it and smiled at the sight. He felt success at momentarily de-Vulcanizing Spock. No, he corrected quickly, it was not Spock's humanness he had tried to reveal. He realized he had been curious to know Spock completely differently, to see him not as part of a larger contingent, not as an officer, but purely as the friend he had come to be to him, as someone who would partake of his own brash sensation seeking.

Kirk had the impression that Spock would remain in the downpour unless he himself moved, so he took hold of his arm and both stepped under the shelter of the rooftop, dripping and gasping.

"Did that amuse you, Jim?" Spock asked, water sputtering off of his lips.

Kirk grinned wickedly. "Yes, I enjoyed it. I found it…intriguingly wonderful." Something about Spock's gaze made Kirk look away, the cause of his sudden embarrassment elusive.

From All That We Shall Be by Anna S. Greener

Elegant and poised, the woman glided past him, paused in front of the door—which seemed, to McCoy’s overheated imagination, to slide open just a little more quickly and silently than it would have for the average mortal—and disappeared into the hallway. He had an overpowering urge to follow her. Instead, he turned back to Kirk.

“Well?” McCoy demanded.

“Well what, Doctor?”

“You know perfectly well what! It’s been less than six months since that Vulcan priestess put Spock’s mind back into his own body. He’s been through a lot—we all have! I know things between you and him haven’t been exactly what they used to be, Jim, but that’s still no excuse for you to bring that woman in here! What the hell did you think you were doing?”

“You’re jumping to conclusions, Bones.”

“Am I? First Spock runs past me without a word, in such a hurry he nearly knocks me over. Next I walk in here and find you standing right beside a beautiful woman who’s naked as the day she was born. I didn’t have to jump very damn far to figure out exactly what was going on!”

Kirk bowed his head and began to massage the bridge of his nose as if he was trying to stave off an incipient headache. “Spock brought her in here,” he said.

“Blast it, Jim, stop mumbling! I thought I heard you say that Spock brought her in here.”