“Paradise is Russia, of course!”
Chekov answered Scotty’s question, making him laugh out loud.
They were sitting at a table in the cafeteria, along with Sulu and Spock, waiting for their group to be called to beam down for shore leave. The atmosphere was pleasant and friendly, like it was usual when that group got together. Although Spock was usually quiet, he found listening to their conversations very comfortable.
They were the last group to leave before the Captain, who was still on the bridge, finishing some reports and was the one in charge of being the last one to leave the Enterprise.
“But Pavel, is paradise an actual location? Don’t you think it’s more like a feeling?”
“Hikaru, you say that because you haven’t seen Moscow in spring! Next shore leave I’ll ask the Captain to take us there”, he waved his hand.
“Ah, now wait a minute, lad. If we’re going somewhere near Earth, we’re going to Scotland, aye”, he spoke proudly. “Once you have haggis, you’ll know paradise”
“I’ll pass, Mr. Scott, I’ll pass”, he surrendered.
“Paradise is when the rays of the San Francisco sunset reach your face and you feel the breeze”, Sulu grinned, adrift in his childhood memories.
Scotty smiled, turning his look to the silent Vulcan on the corner of the table, curious.
“Do you have a definition of paradise, Mr. Spock?”
Spock looked at the engineer, tilting his head, reflective.
He had seen wondrous planets, splendid nebulae and magnificent supernovae.
He had stepped on inimaginable moons, he had gone to the top of the mountains and sailed across seas.
He had visited enormous castles, eaten apples from exotic trees.
He had traveled near the sun, he had fallen asleep staring at the night sky.
His definition of paradise?, Spock thought.
This morning with Jim, having tea.
“I do”, he replied, certain. “It’s a highly logical one”