The isolated glimpses of things I saw when I touched Kelinda’s mind are beginning to coalesce in my consciousness. The Kelvans have superior intellectual capacity. To achieve it, they’ve apparently sacrificed anything which would tend to distract them - perceptive senses such as taste, touch, smell, and, of course, emotions.
Spock acted in the only logical manner open to him. One does not thank logic, Amanda.
Spock: Emotional, isn’t she?
Sarek: She has always been that way.
Spock: Indeed? Why did you marry her?
Sarek: At the time, it seemed the logical thing to do.
After a time, you may find that having is not so pleasing a thing after all as wanting. It is not logical, but it is often true.
[Chekhov screams again.]
Your Agonizer, please.
Poetry, Captain? Non-regulation.
Hail, hail, fire and snow.
Call the angel, we will go.
Far away, for to see,
friendly Angel come to me.
Nyah Nyah Nyah Nyah…
Bonk Bonk! On the head!
Is that a girl?
That’s a girl!
My oath of celibacy is on record, Captain.
Of course you should come! The splendor of fighting and killing; a bloodbath in the cause of vengeance - who wouldn’t want to come?
You bleed! You bleed, Kirok! Behold a god who bleeds!
What does God need with a starship?
I didn’t mean to say that the Enterprise should be hauling garbage. I meant to say that it should be hauled away AS garbage!
Commence station security log, stardate 47282.5 - At the request of Commander Sisko, I will hereafter be recording a daily log of law enforcement affairs. The reason for this exercise is beyond my comprehension, except perhaps that Humans have a compulsion to keep records and lists and files. So many in fact, that they have to invent new ways to store them microscopically. Otherwise their records would overrun all known civilization. My own very adequate memory not being good enough for Starfleet, I am pleased to put my voice to this official record of this day. Everything’s under control. End log.
You don’t have the lobes.
Heh-heh-heh. I never answer questions from plebes, Jimmy Boy.