Vulcan's expression became somber, the jovial craftsman replaced by the ancient, weary philosopher.
He finished the Arbiter he was working on and started another, his movements now more methodical, less inspired.
"The chasm between us and them is not a distance to be crossed," he said, his voice a low, heavy rumble that seemed to carry the weight of all the failed ascensions in history.
"It is a difference in kind. Imagine a goldfish, born in a small, comfortable pond. It can grow, become the king of that pond. It might even, through some miracle of will and power, learn to splash a bit of water onto the shore. But can it, no matter how hard it tries, no matter how much it grows, splash water on the sun? Can it even truly comprehend what the sun is?"
…!
The analogy was a crushing weight, a beautiful, poetic dismissal of his entire life's struggle!
He shook his head, a gesture of profound, absolute futility. "No. That level is far too vast. But…"
