Spock stood on the balcony outside his study and watched evening descend over San Francisco. He sometimes came here to think. The multi-level house was more than a century old and situated high on the side of a hill. On fog-free nights it offered an excellent view of the city lights. In the daytime he could look down upon the neatly terraced gardens tended weekly by their old groundskeeper, Yoshi Sakata. All things considered, it was a pleasant place to live.

Spock's sensitive ears picked out the sudden cries of his infant son in the first floor nursery. A short time later the cries abruptly ceased. No doubt Lauren had left her laboratory and put him to breast. She was an attentive mother, and had only recently extended her leave from Starfleet in order to conduct her personal research at home, close to Simon.

Thinking of his estranged wife so near stirred the old ache of loneliness. In some ways this arrangement they had worked out last June was even more difficult for him than when they lived completely apart. There were nights when he lay in his second floor bedroom—the floor he shared with his daughter T'Beth—uncomfortably aware that Lauren was sleeping downstairs in the nursery.

Pushing his hands deeper into his coat pockets, he leaned against the balcony railing and thought about the ugly incident that ended their brief marriage. As he was recovering from pon farr, Lauren had tried to step out of their shipboard cabin—that was all. But his territorial instinct had been aroused and he saw her as his possession. She belonged to him, so he had exerted his right of ownership by teaching her a hurtful, humiliating lesson. Remembering that hour, he wondered how it was that he dared show himself in her presence, let alone share the same house. Was it an unconscionable display of arrogance? Or was it a natural drive instilled in Vulcans to draw them back to their mates after pon farr, thus ensuring the survival of a savage species?

Yes—despite outward appearances he was, in his innermost being, nothing more than a raging Vulcan savage, every effort at control hampered by his human half. He had proven that weakness most graphically to Lauren, to himself, and to young Reesa Weller on Mega Morbidus.

A tapping at his study door roused him. Spock left the damp cold of the balcony and went inside, closing the French doors behind him. Draping his coat over a chair, he summoned his visitor to enter.

Lauren came in holding Simon in her arms. Their son was now three and a half months old, and had begun to interact socially.

"Spock, watch this," Lauren said, her blue eyes sparking with excitement. Gazing lovingly at Simon, she spoke the foolish sort of babble that humans referred to as "baby talk". Little Simon wiggled and cooed back at her.

"Here." Lauren held out the baby to Spock. "You try."

Spock's eyebrow climbed. By now he had grown quite comfortable holding his son, but he had no intention of embarrassing himself by speaking a bunch of nonsense. Taking the baby into his arms, he quietly studied Simon's face. The baby grew very still and stared up at him in wonder.

"He always does that with you," Lauren said. "Just like T'Beth's kitten."

Spock gently stroked Simon's head. The baby had almost entirely lost the dark fluff he was born with; it was fast giving way to an equally dark cap of hair that showed signs of acquiring Lauren's natural wave. Spock asked her, "Are you disappointed that he is not blond like you had hoped?"

"Are you kidding? With that dark hair and those mysterious blue eyes, he's going to be a knockout." Seeing Spock's puzzlement, she explained, "Very attractive to the opposite sex."

Uncomfortable with the sexual reference, Spock addressed his son in plain Standard so the boy could learn to speak properly. "I am glad you inherited your mother's eye pigmentation. Genetically, the chance was improbable. Would you like me to quote the exact odds?"

Lauren laughed. "What are you trying to do—turn him into a scientist already?"

Spock glanced up at Lauren and caught sight of T'Beth standing beyond her in the open doorway. It would not hurt, he thought, to have at least one of my offspring make something of their abilities. Aloud, he said, "T'Beth. There is a matter I need to discuss with you."

"I'll be in my room," she said sullenly, and left. There was the sound of a door banging.

Lauren's eyebrows drew together with concern. "School has barely started. Problems already?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Spock handed over the baby, brushing against Lauren in the process. The fingers of her right hand lingered on his sleeve.

"You didn't come downstairs to eat," she reproached him.

Spock looked aside. Dining was, for him, the single most awkward part of their living arrangement. From the first, Lauren had rejected his suggestion of buying a food replicator. She preferred to prepare the meals herself, using her own ingredients, but he did not feel that it was proper for her to serve him in that way. Most often he stayed over and ate at the Starbase, or picked up some takeout food for himself on the way home.

"You know," Lauren said, "one of these days I'm going to stop fixing you anything, and you'll come home hungry and find the cupboard bare."

"Well," Spock wryly remarked, "as you would say, 'that would serve me right'."

She shook her head, exasperated, but still smiling.

Not for the first time, he wondered at her good-natured attitude. How could she even tolerate his company? Only a year ago she had despised him. He had to guard his behavior carefully, for their bond was still intact. At moments like this he could easily forget his resolution to end their marriage permanently.

Tightening down on his emotions, he said, "Perhaps I will eat something later. First I must see to T'Beth."

oooo

T'Beth flung open her bedroom window and hung out, letting the crisp night air soothe the angry burning of her face. Seeing the attention her father lavished on Simon made her ache with jealousy. Not once in her infancy had Father ever held her; not once had he ever spoken to her in that tender voice, as if she were the most important thing in his world. He was not even around when she was a baby. He had never even tried to be there.

T'Beth sighed. The sound of the crickets chirping made her feel lonelier than ever. She had been so happy when Spock told her that she had a brother on the way. She had thought that at long last she would have someone who really belonged to her. What a joke. The very day Simon was born, Father made it a point to exclude her, making her wait hours to see the baby, as if she was some kind of outsider. Later, when they all came to this house to live together, the bitter irony of the situation struck hard. All those miserable years, all those excuses Spock had made for leaving her with relatives—and now here comes little Simon, and suddenly it's just fine for him to settle down and be a full time father.

That, more than anything, was what galled her. Never mind that Simon had the rounder ears and those gorgeous blue eyes, never mind how he puckered up and squalled every time she tried to hold him—the little prince had usurped the place in her father's heart that she never even had a chance to hold, and for that she would never forgive him.

T'Beth startled at a sudden rap on her door.

The door opened and she swung around, prepared. Predictably, Father kept his distance. Also predictable was the faintly disapproving expression she had come to expect from him in recent years.

"Today I was contacted by the principal of Baybridge Academy," he began. "It seems that you have assignments missing from several of your classes. When he approached you about the problem, you denied it."

"So who are you going to believe?" she asked flippantly.

His expression hardened. "T'Beth, now it not the time to be remiss in your studies. There is a great deal of competition for the university level courses. If you cannot keep up, you will be dropped from the advanced program."

"Good," she said on impulse, "That will save me the trouble of dropping out."

Father's eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly. "Should I take that to mean that you do not intend to complete your education?"

A tickle of fear sidled through T'Beth's stomach. She had planned out her future some time ago, but telling him was another thing entirely. Was she really prepared to unleash the storm of opposition?

"You have a remarkable aptitude for languages," he spoke into the silence. "I have often thought that you would make an excellent linguist, like your mother."

"I'm not my mother," she said with a lift of her chin. "You know, it's funny. I can't remember you ever asking what I want to do with my life. But it's probably just as well, because you won't like it. You wouldn't like anything that I choose."

He looked as if he were hanging onto his Vulcan patience by a thread. "I see. Well, perhaps you would care to enlighten me as to your plans."

She felt like wiping her palms on her clothes, but she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was making her sweat. Taking a deep breath, she declared, "I'm going to join the Border Patrol."

Spock went stiff.

"School is a waste of time," she quickly said. "I'm seventeen. I could join up right now, all I need is your permission."

"You will not have it," he said emphatically. "Where did you get such a notion? The Border Patrol may be a branch of Starfleet, but its mission is militaristic. As a member you would be expected to kill, if necessary—and chances are that you would also be killed. No," he went on, "you must stay in school. You must develop your mind to its full potential and make a useful career for yourself."

T'Beth felt her anger rising. "You don't think the Border Patrol is useful?"

"Of course," he was forced to admit, "the Patrol has its uses, however—"

"It's just not for me," she finished for him. "You're so sure you know what's right for me. You think I only want to join up to get out of school. You don't even want to consider that I might have some other, less selfish motive."

That shut him up for a moment. Then he asked, "Do you?"

T'Beth struggled to control her temper. Maybe, just maybe, she could make him understand. "I'm part Sy," she explained, "because of what the Donari did to my grandparents. Despite the treaty, that kind of thing is still going on today. I want to do something about it."

Father raised an eyebrow. "So that is it. If I ascribed to your way of thinking, I would be hunting Orions for the atrocities they inflicted on my Vulcan ancestors. T'Beth, it is illogical to feel bound by events that happened long before you were born."

"You just don't get it," she said, "do you? The Orions are no longer attacking Vulcan, but the Sy-Don conflict is still going on. Have you forgotten what it's like to be a slave?"

He looked as if he would rather not be reminded about their painful sojourn among the Klingons. "No. I have not forgotten. But if you are serious about helping the Sy people, there are more intelligent ways to go about it."

T'Beth stood up to him, her eyes flaming. "Well then, I guess that makes me stupid. I knew you wouldn't understand. I don't care what you say or what you think. When I'm eighteen, I can do whatever I want—and I'm joining the Patrol."

Spock just looked at her. Then he said, "Do not be a fool."

Trembling with emotion, T'Beth ventured a step closer. "Do you know what? You're just like Sarek—just like your father. You wanted to join Starfleet and he cut you off, didn't he? He had your life all planned out, too."

Spock's eyes narrowed. "I did not join Starfleet at the expense of my education. I did not join Starfleet in order to kill."

"But I know you have killed for Starfleet," she said, "plenty of times. I wonder what Sarek thinks about that?"

The room grew very still. T'Beth heard a scuffling sound as her cat squeezed through the unlatched window screen and scampered past her feet. She scooped Mosha up quickly, before she could run to Spock.

Father's gaze never left her face. "You are an insolent, willful child. If you think these dramatics of yours will distract me from the missing school assignments, you are mistaken. It is true that you can set off on your own when you are eighteen, but that is still some days off. Meanwhile, I expect you to complete the work assigned by your teachers—"

"Or what?" she broke in. "I'm already grounded. You treat me like a prisoner. I may as well be back on Vulcan."

"Would you really prefer living there?" he asked. "You are fortunate that your parole has ended. We both know that you broke it repeatedly."

"So why didn't you turn me in?" she challenged. "Maybe they'd have locked me up in a little cell again. Maybe that's what you'd like to do!"

There was a look in his dark eyes that suggested he just might, if he thought it would do her any good. Quietly he said, "They would not have put you in a comfortable cell. You would have been sentenced to a period of exile in a remote area of Vulcan—most probably the Devil's Anvil. Living conditions there are extremely harsh." Taking stock of her, he added, "I did not think you capable of surviving such an ordeal." At that, he walked out, leaving the door open.

Inwardly stinging, T'Beth hugged Mosha tight. The little calico rebelled, and clawing her way out of T'Beth's grip, scrambled after Spock.

"Traitor!" T'Beth cried, and slammed the door shut.

Nursing her scratched arms, she turned and stared at the desktop holo of her mother. How could Adrianna have fallen in love with someone as rigid and controlling as Spock? But of course—and the thought brought a cruel smile to her lips—Adrianna was the one who had controlled him. Sex slave to a Sy-jeera, a man-eater. Mulling it over, she laughed out loud. Oh, Father always thought he was in charge, but he wasn't able to control Adrianna Lemoine—and he sure as hell wouldn't control her daughter, either.

T'Beth ran a brush through her straight dark hair. Then throwing on a jacket, she turned off her bedroom light and went to the window. She liked this roomy old house. It was so much better than the little Starfleet apartment she used to share with her father on weekends. There, he could hear her every move. Not here.

Darkness was gathering in the yard. Right below her upper story bedroom there was a slanting section of roof that covered a screened-in porch. Easing out through the window, she worked her way down the shingles and carefully lowered her legs over the edge. Her shoes settled into the lush grass by the back patio and she headed off silently into the night.

oooo

Lauren was playing her flute when the stair creaked. Turning, she saw Spock standing at the base of the steps, holding T'Beth's cat. He stared at the painting by Chagall that hung on the wall directly ahead of him. "The Expulsion From Paradise" had been a gift from Lauren's mother. A fond wish, on Elizabeth's part, that their ruined marriage would someday be restored. Lauren knew now that her mother had only pretended to dislike Spock while they were separated; she had done a marvelous job of play-acting in the hope that her negative comments would fan up any latent, lingering sparks of affection Lauren might be harboring. And it had worked.

With his eyes on the painting, Spock said, "The first time T'Beth saw this, she complained that it was ugly. I told her that not everything in life is beautiful."

Lauren studied his somber face. "I…heard her voice raised." And yours, she might have added. "I don't know what was said, but it didn't sound like a very pleasant exchange."

"It was not," he confirmed.

Spock seemed deeply distracted. Still cradling the purring cat, he entered the sanctum of Lauren's living room and took a seat. It was, she realized, the first time had come in, uninvited.

"What's happened?" she asked.

Spock told her of T'Beth's plan to leave school and join the Border Patrol as soon as she turned eighteen.

"Oh, no!" Lauren exclaimed. "Those people work some of the hottest spots in the galaxy. Do they really take kids that young?"

He nodded grimly. "Recruits are taken as young as sixteen, with parental consent. There is very little demanded in the way of educational requirements. The Patrol looks to attract those too young and foolish to consider the risk to themselves."

Lauren's heart went out to him. "What are you going to do? Her birthday is almost here."

Spock's expression grew pained. "If there is an easy solution to this, I have not found it. What T'Beth said is correct. Once she reaches eighteen, I will have no legal authority over her. But if she continues to live here, she will attend school."

Lauren knew T'Beth would leave rather than submit to her father's demands. She found herself thinking of Spock's Vulcan relatives. When news of T'Beth's latest escapade got back to them—as it eventually would—they would view it as an abysmal failure in parenting. Poor Spock. Vulcans were big on 'saving face'. It was for that very reason Lauren had proposed their current living arrangement. When she left Spock, he had not informed his parents about their marital problems or her pregnancy, so Simon's birth presented a real difficulty. After Spock sent his family the initial notification, Lauren had stepped in and handled the inevitable questions. Being human, she had little trouble embellishing the truth: "Yes, I realize we should have told you about the baby coming, but you know how difficult and risky these type of pregnancies can be. We didn't want to get your hopes up—or even our own—until we had the baby in our arms."

That part had been easy enough to manage, but Amanda's subsequent visit posed more of a challenge. Like Eve in the Garden of Eden, Lauren had handed Spock a very tempting apple. Why not just take up residence in the same house and appear as if they were living as husband and wife? Both Simon and T'Beth would benefit from having their father close at hand. There would be no need for Amanda to know anything about the sleeping arrangement upstairs. Spock's mother could simply draw her own conclusions about what was, after all, a deeply personal matter.

If Spock had any great difficulty squaring the situation with his Vulcan principles, he had not mentioned it. He had agreed on one condition—that before sharing a house, the healer T'Mira must professionally sever their bond. Lauren promised to consider the procedure, but it so happened that T'Mira was on Vulcan just then. So they had moved in anyway, and Amanda's visit went off quite well, with even T'Beth keeping a civil tongue—thanks to Lauren's secret promise of a kitten, the very one that Spock now unwittingly held.

His voice drew her back to the problem at hand. He was saying, "One thing is certain. T'Beth will not listen to me."

"Who does she listen to?" Lauren asked with a weary touch of sarcasm.

For a moment they both considered. Then their eyes met suddenly, lit by an identical spark of inspiration.

oooo

T'Beth never had any trouble finding a ride. She had lost her former timidity about hitchhiking, and now regularly relied on her good looks and Sy attributes to get her anywhere she wanted to go. She never thought of it as using men. After all, they were getting something out of it, too—a little bit of a thrill, a little food for fantasy. And some of them got even more than that. What had Jim Kirk called it a few months back, when he was lecturing her? Risking herself.

Well, maybe she enjoyed the risk. The very word conjured up excitement, like the tingling heat that spread through her when she went out prowling, never knowing exactly what—or who—she was going to find.

Tonight she directed her paunchy, disappointed ride to drop her off at Starfleet Academy's main gate. The guard on duty recognized her as Captain Spock's daughter and let her walk on through. She felt his eyes lingering on her as she headed by a circuitous route toward the cadet barracks. A single boyish-looking sentry was stationed outside on some sort of punishment duty. As she approached through the dark he suddenly threw himself into an aggressive stance, fingering some sort of weapon at his side.

"Halt!" he barked like an adolescent seal. "State your name!"

She laughed at him. "Don't wet yourself. I'm not going to hurt you."

He blushed in the light from the barracks, and she veered off. She was not in the mood for someone who turned red in the face. Her shoes grew damp as she crossed the stretch of lawn surrounding the faculty complex. There were no guards here. Unhindered, she went inside and took the lift up to the second floor. She walked past the apartment her father had vacated. Someone else lived there now. Moving to the end of the hall, she rang an entry chime. Captain Carl Wozniac answered the door. His eyes opened wide at the sight of her.

"Dammit," he swore—almost, but not quite, blushing like a cadet. "I told you not to come around."

T'Beth squeezed past him and let the door shut, enclosing them inside. Carl was commandant of the academy, and he lived alone. He was a remarkably handsome man for his age, with his pale flinty eyes and that dignified shading of gray in his dark hair. In fact, he was handsome all over, as she had discovered one boring Saturday afternoon when Spock found it necessary to leave her on her own for a couple of hours. Since then she had visited Carl regularly.

The commandant stared at her, breathing hard, and said, "Get out of here, kid."

T'Beth closed the space between them, and fully releasing her Sy energy, caressed his neck seductively. He trembled and leaned into her touch. Softly she said, "You don't mean that, Carl. You're just afraid—but it's okay, I won't tell my father. No one will ever know…"

Swallowing hard, he bent down and touched his lips to her mouth. His kiss tasted of brandy. The tantalizing scent of his cologne enveloped her—the very same kind Jim Kirk favored. Those were the things she liked best about Carl—the way he smelled and the way he actually tried to resist. But no man could resist her for long. That's why it was so much fun. She could almost see poor Carl squirming, but once she set to work on him, he wouldn't give a Vulcan fig what Spock, or Starfleet, or anyone else might do to him for playing around with the underage daughter of a faculty member.

oooo

At the end of the week Spock was summoned to Admiral Cartwright's office at Starfleet Headquarters. From behind his desk, the admiral spoke a terse greeting and motioned him into a chair.

"Captain," he said. "I haven't a great deal of time, so I'm going to get right to the point. It's about Carl Wozniak. You are surely aware that—due to ill health—he has been forced to resign."

Spock had, in fact, heard that his former neighbor and superior had suffered a mental breakdown. "Yes," he said. "Most unfortunate."

The leather of Cartwright's chair squeaked as he leaned back, studying Spock. The admiral's eyes appeared very white against the dark hue of his skin. "That leaves the academy without a commandant." His deep voice paused. "I like your work, Captain. You have a fine organizational ability and give outstanding attention to detail. Over the years you've always shown an interest in education, and your personal range of knowledge is nothing short of impressive."

The admiral paused, and Spock's slanted brow edged upward.

Cartwright eyed a computer screen where, Spock suddenly realized, his service record was on display. "I see that you failed some psyche evaluations a couple of years ago. A problem with Klingons, eh?"

Spock kept his expression impassive. "The matter has been resolved," he said levelly.

"So it seems, so it seems." Cartwright perused the information in silence. Suddenly, he swiveled his chair, meeting Spock's gaze head-on. "I want you to know that I'm considering you for the appointment. In fact, you are my first choice."

Spock straightened a bit more in his seat. He had never thought to be offered the academy. That position would be far more challenging than the one he now held, but it seemed to him that there were others better qualified and more deserving of the appointment—eminently suitable humans to head a student body that was primarily human. However, Starfleet seldom followed Spock's line of logic, and he had learned long ago that unless one grasped an opportunity at once, it was sometimes withdrawn forever.

"Admiral," he said, "I am honored that you are considering me for the post. Should you decide in my favor, I would accept the appointment."

To his surprise, Cartwright stood and extended his hand. "Then congratulations, Captain. The position is yours."