James Tiberius Kirk (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
boldygoing) wrote2018-08-26 03:13 pm
boldygoing) wrote2018-08-26 03:13 pm
Gather the Rose of love, whilest yet is time [2/3]
[Part One]
An endless forest of green and yellow stretches from horizon to horizon, a garden overgrown and gone wild with life. A rainbow of color dots the canopy like party lights, flowers and fruits for which Federation science has no names, fluttering pollinators flitting from branch to branch, carried on the soft breeze.
The quiet trickle of a nearby creek joins its voice to the gentle hooting of the flighted reptiles as they zip by overhead, chasing their flower-dusted prey. One finds a perch on a broad stretch of yellow cloth, thoroughly alien to the landscape, rising and falling softly with every breath of the man who wears it.
Jim watches as the lizard leaps skyward from his shoulder, iridescent wings carrying it past one of the tall bushes that shelter beneath the trees, decorated with yellow-edged red flowers. Behind him, the soft footfalls of the landing party wander to and fro, tricorders whirring and laser trimmers humming as samples are taken for further shipboard analysis.
"Captain." Spock's voice announces his approach, as the Vulcan draws up next to his elbow. "Preliminary scans are complete. As orbital scans indicated, there do not appear to be any signs of civilization on the surface of this world, merely nonsapient plant and animal lifeforms."
"Thank you, Mister Spock." Jim's response is slightly absent, distracted, his attention still on the greenery where the little flying lizard disappeared. More accurately, the flowers adorning its hiding place. He steps forward, the heady sweet perfume of rose blossoms carried on the light wind, and reaches out a hand to touch them. Hesitates. "Do we know if these are poisonous?"
"They are not," Spock affirms, a note of curiosity in his voice as he watches his captain pluck one of the blooms from its anchor, and bring it closer to smell it. The captain, of course, offers no explanation. Lost in his thoughts, Jim slowly spins the flower by its stem, and he can't help but wonder where Hunter is right now.
"...captain?"
The Vulcan's voice cuts through his thoughts, and Jim looks over at him, shaking himself free of the rose-scented trance. He can't ignore his duties, can't stop being the captain. He has a job to do, and a ship full of people relying on him to do it. "Tell the xenobiology department they've got three days to take all the samples they want." But... his gaze returns to the flower held between his fingers, unable to set his thoughts completely aside. "And... if they could get me a cutting of this, I'd be grateful."
Spock's eyebrow rises sharply towards his hairline, but he does not comment, ever the professional. "Yes, captain."
His footsteps fade away. Jim looks out toward the horizon, the rose-scented flower held in careful hands, and thinks of Earth's natural parks.
So passeth, in the passing of a day,
Of mortall life the leafe, the bud, the flowre,
Ne more doth flourish after first decay,
That earst was sought to decke both bed and bowre,
Of many a Ladie, and many a Paramowre:
Gather therefore the Rose, whilest yet is prime,
For soone comes age, that will her pride deflowre:
Gather the Rose of love, whilest yet is time,
Whilest loving thou mayest loved be with equall crime.
-Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene
[Part 3]
An endless forest of green and yellow stretches from horizon to horizon, a garden overgrown and gone wild with life. A rainbow of color dots the canopy like party lights, flowers and fruits for which Federation science has no names, fluttering pollinators flitting from branch to branch, carried on the soft breeze.
The quiet trickle of a nearby creek joins its voice to the gentle hooting of the flighted reptiles as they zip by overhead, chasing their flower-dusted prey. One finds a perch on a broad stretch of yellow cloth, thoroughly alien to the landscape, rising and falling softly with every breath of the man who wears it.
Jim watches as the lizard leaps skyward from his shoulder, iridescent wings carrying it past one of the tall bushes that shelter beneath the trees, decorated with yellow-edged red flowers. Behind him, the soft footfalls of the landing party wander to and fro, tricorders whirring and laser trimmers humming as samples are taken for further shipboard analysis.
"Captain." Spock's voice announces his approach, as the Vulcan draws up next to his elbow. "Preliminary scans are complete. As orbital scans indicated, there do not appear to be any signs of civilization on the surface of this world, merely nonsapient plant and animal lifeforms."
"Thank you, Mister Spock." Jim's response is slightly absent, distracted, his attention still on the greenery where the little flying lizard disappeared. More accurately, the flowers adorning its hiding place. He steps forward, the heady sweet perfume of rose blossoms carried on the light wind, and reaches out a hand to touch them. Hesitates. "Do we know if these are poisonous?"
"They are not," Spock affirms, a note of curiosity in his voice as he watches his captain pluck one of the blooms from its anchor, and bring it closer to smell it. The captain, of course, offers no explanation. Lost in his thoughts, Jim slowly spins the flower by its stem, and he can't help but wonder where Hunter is right now.
"...captain?"
The Vulcan's voice cuts through his thoughts, and Jim looks over at him, shaking himself free of the rose-scented trance. He can't ignore his duties, can't stop being the captain. He has a job to do, and a ship full of people relying on him to do it. "Tell the xenobiology department they've got three days to take all the samples they want." But... his gaze returns to the flower held between his fingers, unable to set his thoughts completely aside. "And... if they could get me a cutting of this, I'd be grateful."
Spock's eyebrow rises sharply towards his hairline, but he does not comment, ever the professional. "Yes, captain."
His footsteps fade away. Jim looks out toward the horizon, the rose-scented flower held in careful hands, and thinks of Earth's natural parks.
Of mortall life the leafe, the bud, the flowre,
Ne more doth flourish after first decay,
That earst was sought to decke both bed and bowre,
Of many a Ladie, and many a Paramowre:
Gather therefore the Rose, whilest yet is prime,
For soone comes age, that will her pride deflowre:
Gather the Rose of love, whilest yet is time,
Whilest loving thou mayest loved be with equall crime.
-Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene
[Part 3]