Simon gazed out the window, lost in the rhythmic swaying of a young sycamore tree in the schoolyard. The sudden weight of a hand touched his right shoulder. He jumped, and for an instant could actually feel the teacher's thoughts pressing in on his own. He struggled to reinforce the mental barriers his father had taught him to erect.

"Simon," she said, "you're daydreaming again, aren't you?"

His face burned with embarrassment. "Sorry, Mrs. Caprino," he mumbled, and turned back to his work.

It was a relief when she took her hand away. Mrs. Caprino was really a nice lady and she was pretty, too—but Simon hated it when she touched him, like today. He had even complained about it to his father, but Spock said that he needed to get used to being touched, even by strangers. He needed to exercise his barriers to make them really strong.

Simon stared at the science lesson on his desk monitor. Just yesterday he had done a special report on his recent visit to Vulcan, focusing on the planet's environment and culture. Father let him bring his great-great-grandfather's musical instruments to show the class. Simon talked about them and played a little something on each one. It was the only science project he had ever enjoyed, because it was more about music than anything else. The teacher had been happy with him—he could tell.

But in his report, he had not told everything about Vulcan. The way some of the children thought they were so smart and strong and superior. The way they played cruel tricks on him and called him names like "freak" and "Earther". Mom said he should leave that part out, that children everywhere could be mean. She said to only include things in his report that would "promote interplanetary harmony". After all, she had reminded him, he was part Vulcan, too.

Simon and his big sister T'Beth had the same amount of Vulcan blood, but she looked a lot more Vulcan than him. She was smart, too. T'Beth was twenty-four years old, and he bet she had never gotten a bad grade in her whole life.

He hunched down behind the student in front of him so the teacher couldn't see him. He tried hard to concentrate on his science lesson, but he got a sick feeling inside and his mind began to freeze up. He would never be as good at it as Father. Why couldn't he be as smart as a Vulcan, as smart as him? He wanted to make Spock proud.

"Simon."

At the sound of her voice Simon straightened and looked up. The teacher stared at him from her desk at the front of the room. He could feel the eyes of all his classmates staring at him, too.

"Come here," she said.

He stood up and nervously tugged at the gold uniform jacket he wore above his navy blue pants. Out of habit, his hand drifted upward. The V.H.I. crest on the breast pocket felt rough under his fingers. He like the way the embroidered crown of leaves curled around the school initials.

"Simon?" the teacher prompted.

Heart pounding, he approached the teacher's desk.

Mrs. Caprino looked deep into his eyes. In a kind, gentle voice she said, "Simon, what's the matter? Why aren't you doing your work?"

He hung his head, too ashamed to speak, too ashamed to tell her what he had been thinking.

"I know you can handle this material," she said. "Is something distracting you?"

He gave no answer.

"Simon, you need to learn this lesson for the test Friday."

Panic seized him at the thought of the weekly test. They just kept getting harder and harder.

Mrs. Caprino sighed. "Go back to your seat, Simon. Get busy."

oooo

Lauren did not know whether to laugh or cry. Back when her marriage was in ruins, she had been deeply upset to learn she was pregnant with Simon. But things were different now. Her married life was stable and fulfilling, and she had even spoken with Spock about having another child. She should be eager to share today's news, but instead she had kept it to herself, hoping to sort through her feelings before telling him. But the passing of the hours had not improved her emotional state. She came home tired from her work at the research department, her stomach a bit queasy and her nerves on edge. Simon was in a strange, clingy mood that left her with little patience. It annoyed her that Spock was late for the dinner that she had not felt like preparing. They were mentally bonded. Shouldn't he have sensed how much she needed him on this, of all days?

When Spock finally came home, she retreated to the bedroom and lay down in the dark. After a while she heard Simon start to practice his violin. A short time later the door opened. Quietly Spock walked in and lit his attunement lamp. With the dancing of its flame, the bedroom came alive with shadows.

Lauren turned onto her back and looked at him. Forestalling the inevitable, she said, "He plays beautifully, doesn't he?"

Spock sat down beside her. For a moment they both listened to the violin concerto rendered by their six-year-old son.

"Yes," Spock replied, "he is most gifted. Today his music instructor spoke to me about entering him in another competition. He feels it would give Simon valuable exposure beyond what he receives in the school orchestra."

"Simon seems to thrive on it," Lauren said. "When he gets up to perform, he slips into another world."

"His mind is remarkably focused for a child his age."

"He gets that from you."

Spock shook his head. "I was no musical prodigy."

The word made Lauren uneasy. Today there was no trusting her emotions. "Spock, is that what he is? A prodigy? A wunderkind?"

"I sometimes think so," Spock admitted. "It is as if he combines the mental acuity of a Vulcan with the human's ability to give music an emotional depth."

Lauren rested a hand on her stomach and stared into the shadows. "It doesn't even sound like we're talking about a child. A little boy."

"When it comes to music," Spock said, "he seems older than his years."

"But in some ways he's still just a baby."

"Hardly that," Spock remarked.

The soulful strains of Simon's music came to an end. In the brief interlude between pieces, Spock leaned over Lauren and gently touched her cheek. "You seemed rather angry downstairs."

"Just a mood," she said, meeting his eyes. Taking hold of his hand, she pressed it against her thudding heart. The bond between them hummed with a sweet music all its own as she added, "I have something to tell you."

Spock gravely studied her face. "You do not look at all well."

Her mouthed twitched in a fruitless effort to keep from smiling. "Do I look pregnant?"

His left eyebrow rose sharply and then a hint of a smile stirred his lips, too.

Working up her courage, she said, "There's more. One more, to be exact."

His eyes widened in astonishment. "Twins?"

She nodded.

Spock rose and turning from her, stood motionless in the shadows. The peculiar action confused Lauren. If he did not want to be near her, if he did not want her to see his face…

She sat up and swung her legs off the bed. "It's…it's a girl…and another boy—like my brother Larry and me. Spock…I'm sorry…"

He turned around and looked at her, his eyes dark and unreadable. "Sorry?"

"We already have two children between us. We'd only talked about one more…"

His mouth opened slightly. He tilted his head in the quizzical mannerism she had always found so endearing. Only now she was blind to everything but her own distress.

He said, "The idea of twins makes you unhappy?"

Her voice wavered with emotion. "It seems like it makes you unhappy."

"You are wrong." Stepping closer, Spock gathered her into his arms and she clung to him. "After seven years," he said softly. "Aisha…how could you know so little of me?"

The tender reproach loosed the tears she had been fighting, and Lauren began to sob. She felt relieved and blissful and utterly foolish to let herself get so completely out of control. Simon was playing the violin again. How would he take the news? He had been so strange and moody since their return from Vulcan.

When she was able to talk, she said, "I think we better wait awhile before we tell Simon."

Spock nodded his agreement and kissed her face gently. "Why don't you lie back down and rest? I'll look after him."

oooo

Spock went into Simon's room and sat watching him practice. Though his mind was heavily occupied by Lauren's news, he could not help but notice the intensity of his son's face as Simon played the violin. Musically, he had all but surpassed Spock. It was more than his grasp of the technical requirements; it was the boy's feel for the material. Tonight he was wringing such a depth of emotion from the strings that Spock wondered if Simon had picked up telepathically on his mother's feelings. Or on Spock's own.

Lauren's unexpected announcement had left him shaken and bemused. Twins. Two new children in the family. What would they look like? How would they behave? What would be their strengths? Their weaknesses?

Spock remembered how good it had felt to hold his infant son in his arms, and his pride in each of Simon's achievements, be it a new tooth or a new musical award. Now there would be another son, and the experience of raising a young daughter that Spock had missed during T'Beth's early years. Each child a unique blending of Lauren and himself. Each one cherished.

Suddenly Simon's bow went still and he lowered his violin. Fixing Spock with eyes that were blue like his mother's, yet deep-set like his father's, he said, "Vulcans are smarter than humans, aren't they?"

The question took Spock aback. "Simon," he said carefully, "I would not necessarily say that Vulcans are more intelligent. It is only that they process information differently than humans. Vulcan minds are more analytical and their memories are unquestionably superior. However, humans have other gifts that compensate—intangibles such as intuition and inspiration, which are both ways of using their emotions constructively."

"But Vulcans are smarter," Simon insisted. "Your brain is like an encyclopedia."

Spock shook his head. "If that were true, Captain Kirk would never have been able to defeat me in a game of chess. Yet over the years—due to his inspired strategies—he has done so."

"But I bet you've won a lot more games than him. And you could even tell me the exact number…and the exact dates."

"Never mind," Spock said. "Some things simply cannot be compared. There is an old Earth saying about apples and oranges. Have you ever heard it?"

Simon nodded, but something in the depths of his eyes remained stubbornly unconvinced.

The conversation troubled Spock far into the night. Some boys had ridiculed Simon when they were on Vulcan. Before the trip, Simon had never exhibited any feelings of inferiority. The school in which he was enrolled treated his mixed blood with sensitivity, and he was doing well there. The Virginia Hatch Institute emphasized music, but there was also plenty of attention given to academics. Simon had been reading since he was three. In all but one subject he was achieving well above grade level. It was rather disappointing to Spock that his son showed no aptitude for science, but Simon had no reason to feel inferior. No reason at all.

oooo

Friday morning, Simon did not get up when his mother called him. Finally she came into the bedroom and turned on the light.

"Simon," she said, "get moving. You're going to be late for school."

Simon's heart beat faster. Just thinking of the test today made him feel shivery and sick to his stomach. Pulling the covers up to his chin, he said in a small voice, "Mom, I don't feel very good."

Worry appeared in his mother's eyes. Bending over him, she pushed back his hair and pressed her soft hand to his forehead. "I don't think you have a fever," she said thoughtfully. "Where do you feel bad?"

Simon's throat was so dry that it almost hurt when he swallowed. He forced a cough. "My stomach…and my throat."

Mom looked at him with so much trust and concern that he felt eaten up with guilt. He reminded himself that he really didn't feel good at all. It was the truth. He got scared when she left the room to get her medscanner. She was a doctor. In a minute she would find out there nothing really wrong.

Father was with her when she came back. Simon closed his eyes and pressed his face into the pillow while Mom scanned him. He should never have done this.

"No fever," he heard her say, "no sign of infection, but his pulse is awfully rapid. If he really feels sick, he better stay home in bed. I'll call Mrs. Sakata."

She left the room, but Father stayed close by the bed, looking at him. He was quiet for so long that Simon finally had to peek. Spock's face was as trusting as Lauren's. Vulcans never lied, and they didn't expect their children to lie, either.

"You will probably feel better tomorrow," Father said gently.

Hot tears pricked Simon's eyes, and all of a sudden he threw up something yellow and bitter on his pillow.

oooo

In recent years it had become something of a tradition. When the first mountain snowfall heralded the approach of winter, Lauren packed a hearty meal and the whole family headed up to the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Simon had been looking forward to it for weeks, but now that the day had finally arrived, he was unusually subdued. When it came time to leave, Lauren found him standing in front of the bathroom mirror wetting down his dark hair and combing it forward. Each time, the curls sprang back as if they had a mind of their own.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

Simon startled at the sound of her voice. Looking decidedly guilty, he shrugged. "Nothing."

"Well, you've been awfully quiet. Are you feeling sick again?" If he was having another one of his stomach upsets, he might throw up in the skimmer. "Tell me the truth, Simon. We can always go to the mountains another day."

"No, Mom," he said. "I'm fine—really. Did you get potato salad? The hot kind?"

"Yes." Still eyeing him, she handed over a knitted cap and he pulled it down over his damp hair. "If you're sure then, we'll go. Everyone's waiting."

Lauren was glad T'Beth was able to join them, so she could ride with her brother on the sled they had crammed into the skimmer. Spock might be good for a ride or two, but this year Lauren was not taking any chances of getting hurt. And there was something else planned for this special day, too.

At their camp, Spock immediately built a fire. Though the day was clear and bright, it was almost noon before the sun edged the temperature above freezing. Soon it was time to prepare lunch, and a pleasant aroma of food mingled with the wood smoke.

Now that everything was ready, Lauren found that she was more nervous than hungry. Taking a deep breath, she sat beside Spock on a fallen log. "Okay, this is it. Who's going to tell them—you or me?"

Spock looked at her, and though a knitted hat covered half of his eyebrows, she knew one had lifted. "I thought," he said low, "that we had already decided that since pregnancy is a female condition…"

"I would do the telling," she finished for him. "Yes, I remember you saying that—as if you had nothing whatsoever to do with these little surprises of ours."

Simon's voice called out, "Surprises? What surprises?"

Lauren and Spock looked around and saw T'Beth laboring up the hillside, pulling Simon behind her on the sled.

"Remarkable," Spock muttered, "how voices carry in this mountain air."

A few minutes later they were together around the fire, eating in hungry silence. Lauren had told Simon that they would announce the surprise after lunch, and he was shoveling food into his mouth quickly. She noticed T'Beth's curious eyes lingering on her face, and on Spock.

Finally T'Beth said, "Alright, I can't stand this. It's something big, isn't it? You two always save big news for the campfire."

Lauren cast Spock a bemused glance. Obviously T'Beth was thinking about the stormy evening at Yosemite when they had announced their intention to marry. What a fiasco that had been, but T'Beth had changed. Lauren knew she would take today's announcement in stride. It was Simon who worried her.

She watched her young son hurriedly chew his food. She was the one who broke the news at Yosemite. This time, she would let Spock do it. Setting down her plate, she said, "Okay, your father has something to tell both of you."

She turned her head and met Spock's narrowed eyes with a bemused smile.

"This is not how we planned it," he objected.

"How you planned it, you mean," she countered.

"Come on—tell us!" T'Beth demanded impatiently. Across the campfire her hazel eyes became calculating. "Wait a minute. Does this have anything to do with Lauren not going on the sled? And why she's starting to wear clothes that are a little looser around the waist? Correct me if I'm wrong, but could this big news of yours be what's called a 'blessed event'?"

Spock shifted on the log. "There," he said to Lauren, "we have no need to tell her. She already knows."

A wide grin spread over T'Beth's face. Plunking her plate on the ground, she said, "You're kidding. Not another one."

Lauren could almost feel Spock cringing with embarrassment beside her.

"No, not another one," he said, staring into the fire. "Another…two."

T'Beth's smile broadened and she let out a laugh. "Two!" And then she laughed again. " 'They were fertile and multiplied'."

Simon looked around, confused. "Two of what? What are you talking about?"

"Babies, silly!" T'Beth told him. "Your mother's pregnant—with twins!"

oooo

Simon glanced up warily from his desk and checked on the teacher. Mrs. Caprino was busy with something off in a corner of the classroom. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach as he looked back at the science questions on his monitor. Pretending to be sick hadn't solved anything. Mrs. Caprino always made him take the test anyway, and he did just as badly.

Father kept telling him that he needed to study harder. He had offered to help with a teaching meld, the same as when he taught Simon the Vulcan language. But this time Simon had said no. He was afraid to let his father see that he had lied about being sick. He was ashamed to let him see how he really felt about the new babies. He didn't want them. He didn't want to share his parents with anyone but T'Beth. What would happen if the babies were born looking like Vulcans? Father would like them a lot better than Simon.

Brushing a tear from the corner of his eye, he stared at the science test on the screen. He had to put down the right answers this time. He had to show his father that he was as smart as a Vulcan.

Simon sneaked another quick glance at the teacher. She was still busy. Very slowly he unclenched his left fist and peeked at the palm of his cupped hand. Sweat had made the ink smear, but he could still read most of it. This is wrong, he thought. It was the worst thing he had ever done, even worse than playing sick to get out of school. But he had to pass this test.

His heart thumped in his chest as he quickly copied the answers. It didn't take long. As soon as he was finished, he went to the restroom and washed his hands and tried not to think about what he had just done.

oooo

Spock read the weekly report on Simon's school progress with surprise and pleasure. "You did considerably better in science," he said. "Very good, Simon. It seems that all you needed was a bit more effort."

Simon looked at him, unsmiling, and then lowered his gaze.

Spock studied his son's face. "Are you angry with me for expecting you to try harder?"

Simon shrugged and stared at the floor.

"That is no answer," Spock told him.

The boy sighed. "I just want you to be proud of me."

Spock's eyebrow crept upward. "Simon," he said sincerely, "I have always been proud of you—and you should be very proud of yourself for improving in science. You must have worked very hard."

oooo

Shrill screams ripped Lauren from a deep sleep, and she was out of bed almost before realizing she was awake. For once she had reacted even faster than Spock. She saw his dark shape rising off the pillow as she hurriedly slipped into her robe.

"Simon?" he asked in a shocked tone.

"Probably a nightmare," she said, although Simon had not had a bad dream in years. "I'll take care of it."

The screams turned into sobs as she opened Simon's door and raised his light. At the sight of her, he sat up, eyes wide from some inner terror. "Mom!" he cried.

Lauren hurried over. "It's alright, honey, I'm here." She sat on the bed and he clutched her, crying hard as she ran her fingers through his dark, wavy hair. "Was it a bad dream?"

His head nodded. "Uh-huh."

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

"No," he said, quieter now. Then, with a sniffle, "T'Beth told me that parents on Vulcan can divorce their children—that one time Father was going to divorce her because she was so bad."

Lauren held him close. "Is that really what T'Beth said? Were those her exact words?"

Simon thought for a moment. "No. Not exactly. But she said he was thinking about it."

"Yes," Lauren said, "but not because she was bad. You see, Spock didn't know T'Beth until she was eleven years old. For a while they couldn't seem to get along, and he thought that maybe she would do better with a different father. It was because he loved her, Simon, and wanted what was best for her. He didn't really want to give her up."

"But Vulcans can," he persisted, "if they want to."

Lauren looked down into his tear-tracked face. "Simon, why are you worried about this? Is it because of the babies? Your father would never give you up for anything, and neither would I."

Wiping his eyes, Simon pulled away and stared somberly at the bulge showing under her robe. "But what if they turn out Vulcan? What if—"

"We've told you it won't make any difference how they look. No one will ever take your place or take away the special love we feel for you. Think about it—you even have your father's name, don't you? Simon Spock."

"But what if they're better than me? What if they never do anything bad?"

Lauren gave him a hug. "Then they wouldn't be children—they'd be angels."

After Lauren left him, she went back to bed and snuggled up to Spock's warmth.

"Damage report," he said.

His attempt at humor brought a much-needed smile to her lips. "Funny," she murmured, but then her smile faded. "He's still worried about the babies…"

oooo

By now it had become a regular Friday routine. As soon as Simon got to school he went into a restroom stall and copied science facts from a piece of paper onto his palms. Then he flushed the paper down the toilet. The teacher never asked to look at his hands. Maybe she didn't think anyone would ever try something like that, or at least not him.

Simon settled into his desk and waited for the weekly test to appear on his monitor. Then he checked on the teacher. Today she stayed at her desk, which made it especially easy to read the answers, since the monitor hid what he was doing.

He was halfway through the test when a little wad of paper hit the right side of his face. Startled, he turned. The boy in the next seat glared at him. Collin was nine years old and played the piano. They had never really been friends.

Collin's brown eyes narrowed with scorn. "Cheater!" he hissed.

Mrs. Caprino looked up from her desk.

Simon dropped his hands into his lap. Heart slamming, he rubbed his palms vigorously against his blue uniform pants. He had to get all the ink off, fast.

The teacher stood and walked down the aisle toward them. "Collin," she asked, "did you say something?"

Simon met the animosity in the older boy's eyes and glanced away, helpless to stop what he knew was coming.

"He's cheating," Collin accused loudly. "Simon has the answers written on his hands. I saw it."

Simon's face went hot with humiliation and he scrunched down in his seat. Everyone in the class was staring.

Mrs. Caprino loomed over him. "Is that true, Simon?"

Simon swallowed hard. "No," said in a small voice.

"Yes, you were!" cried Collin.

Mrs. Caprino's attention never left Simon. "Stand up," she ordered.

Feeling sick, he got to his feet.

"Show me your hands," she said.

He extended them, palms down and trembling.

Then she said, "Turn them over."

He couldn't do it, so she reached out and turned them herself. When she touched him, he could feel her dismay at the smudged words on his hands. Tears blurred his eyes.

Mrs. Caprino sighed and turned off his monitor. "Sit down, Simon. I'll speak to you—and your parents—about this later."

oooo

Spock could remember when his son used to meet him at the door with a childish, exuberant hug. As Simon grew older, the greetings had become more restrained. Today, Simon was nowhere in sight when Spock returned home from his day at Starfleet Academy. The house was strangely quiet. No voices, no violin, no sounds of play. One would almost think it was still Little League season and Simon was off at practice.

He found Lauren stretched out on the living room sofa, reading from a Padd.

"Where is he?" Spock asked.

She pointed a finger toward the staircase. "Upstairs. Mrs. Sakata said he came home from school moping. I don't know what's wrong. He won't tell me."

Spock thought over the situation as he undid the fastenings on his uniform jacket. "Perhaps he had an altercation with one of his friends," he speculated.

Just then the living room phone rang. Spock went over and ordered the call onscreen. A young, pleasant-looking woman appeared. It was Simon's science teacher. Perhaps she had phoned to discuss Simon's splendid improvement.

Not bothering to sit, Spock said, "Mrs. Caprino."

Lauren came over and stood beside him.

The teacher gazed at them with a rather apologetic expression. "I'm glad you're both home. I need to talk to you about Simon. Did he say anything about the trouble at school today?"

Spock exchanged a quick glance with his wife. A fight, he automatically thought. Simon has been in a fight.

Then Mrs. Caprino said, "I caught Simon cheating on a test."

"What?" cried Lauren with a shock that clearly equaled Spock's own.

He did not believe it—or more accurately, he did not want to believe it. Why would someone with Simon's intelligence be tempted to cheat? "Perhaps there has been some mistake," he suggested.

Mrs. Caprino shook her head. "I caught him red-handed—or should I say blue-handed? He'd written the science facts on his palms. I've already talked to him about it, and I don't think we should overreact, but it is very important that Simon understand why cheating is unacceptable."

"Yes," Spock agreed. "Be assured, I will speak to him."

Mrs. Caprino's eyes focused on Spock, and she was silent for a moment. Then she said, "Captain…I am aware of your fine reputation in the field of science. I mean no offense, but I can't help wondering if perhaps…you might be pushing your son a little too hard."

In the periphery of his vision, Spock saw Lauren stiffen.

"My husband does not push Simon," she said coolly. "He encourages him."

"Of course," the teacher said quickly, and smiled at them both. "As I said, I was only wondering. Sometimes, if children feel unduly pressured…"

Spock knew Lauren was growing angry and brought the conversation to an end.

As the screen went blank, she hotly said, "If anyone's pressuring Simon, it's himself! He's so darn competitive."

Spock shook his head, perplexed. "One can only guess at his motivation. But I admit that I am very disappointed in him."

"Well, I suppose we should look at the bright side," Lauren said in a calmer tone. "At least now we know why he's been holed up in his room."

Spock took a moment to collect his thoughts, then went to the foot of the stairs and called Simon down. It took longer than usual for the boy to appear. Slowly he walked down the steps, his face pale, his eyes brimming with tears. At the halfway point he stopped.

"Come here," Spock said.

Simon descended the rest of the stairs and stood before Spock, his head hanging.

"Mrs. Caprino caught you cheating today," Spock said, pained by the very sound of the words.

Simon did not react.

Spock looked at Lauren. The sight of their son's misery had clearly aroused her maternal sympathies. Moist-eyed, she sank into a chair and took on the role of observer. It would be up to Spock to discipline him. Very well.

"Is it true?" he asked Simon. "Were you cheating on the science test?"

Simon's lower lip quivered. Fresh tears began to stream down. "Yes," he choked. "I…I only wanted to make you proud."

"By cheating."

Simon's face contorted. A low, distressing wail rose from deep in his throat. Spock pressed his lips together and gave Lauren another glance. Now there were tears on her face, too, but Spock refused to be swayed by any displays of emotion.

Sternly he questioned Simon. "Is this why your grade has improved? You have been cheating on your science examinations for some time, haven't you?"

The boy nodded.

"You have been taking credit for invalid accomplishments. That is the same as lying. Simon, I am not pleased. I do not expect you to excel in every subject, but I do expect you to try your honest best. I offered to help you with your studies, but you refused. That is alright. You wanted to achieve success completely on your own. But Simon, when you cheat, you achieve nothing."

Simon began to sob hard. "I'm sorry...I won't…ever do it…again...I promise."

Spock could see what it cost Lauren to hold back from comforting the child. Later, she could go to him. As difficult as it was, Spock had to make this clear. "I hope that is a promise you intend to keep. This time I will give you some supplemental assignments to hand in to your teacher. But…" he paused meaningfully, "this must never happen again. Do you understand?"

"Yes…sir," Simon force out.

"Then that is all," Spock finished. "Go back to your room now and think about what I have said."

As Simon turned and ran upstairs, Spock very nearly sighed in relief. It was the first time Simon had ever done anything seriously wrong. Correcting him had proven far more difficult than Spock had anticipated.

Lauren wiped the tears from her face and looked at him. "I'm glad you handled it. One look at that sad little face and I was ready to cave in."

"He has to learn," Spock said as much for his own benefit as hers.

"Yes, I know," she conceded wistfully. "If only the learning didn't have to be so painful." Leaning forward, she doubled her arms against her thickening middle, as if the whole thing had upset her stomach.