Chapter 1
Weighed down by a load of groceries, Lauren Fielding struggled to reach the chime button beside Kirk's apartment door. She felt her purse slipping from her shoulder, but there was no way to stop it. The purse hit the hall floor with a thud; then a grocery bag slipped, spilling tomatoes and Rigelian peppers all over the elegant red carpet.
Annoyed, Lauren jabbed at the chime again…and waited. No one came. The remaining bag of groceries was getting heavy. Once more she hit the button, and then rapped on the door with her knuckles.
Why wasn't he answering? Several unpleasant possibilities came to mind, fueling the worry that had been nagging at her all afternoon. What if he was sick? What if he had fallen out of his wheelchair and hurt himself? What if—?
Drawing a deep breath, she focused her attention on the door's lock pad. She could absolutely wring Jim's neck for the way he kept fooling around with the codes—sometimes even daily, and she had a pretty good idea why. Only last week he had told her, drunk and desperate, "Promise me. Promise you won't have me hauled off to some damn detox center." "Jim," she answered, "you can't keep on like this." And for once he had seemed to agree. "I know…you're right. I'll work my way out of this mess…but I'll do it my own way. Understood?" And she had nodded.
Now her fingers felt cold and clumsy as she punched in every code she could remember. Then, just on a whim, 1701. There was a faint but satisfying electronic beep and the lock disengaged. Quickly she grabbed her things and stepped inside.
Pale fingers of light reached from the eastern windows, into the dusky stillness of the living room. Lauren held her breath and listened. Such silence. Even the antique clock on the shelf had stopped ticking from neglect.
"Jim," she called out. Then louder, "Jim! Are you alright?"
The silence seemed to deepen.
Lauren dumped the groceries and her purse on a side table and triggered the lights. Her stomach lurched as she spied Kirk's empty wheelchair beside his sofa. Within arm's reach was a medicine bottle and a half drained decanter of Saurian brandy.
Fearful of what she would find, she made herself move forward. Kirk's sofa faced away from the entry, toward the chairs that were arranged against a wall. In better days, he had entertained here. She was almost on top of the sofa before she found the former starship captain sprawled over the plump, cream-colored cushions. For a moment she just stared at him in relief, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest in the shadows. Then relief gave way to anger. How many times had she found him in the brandy this past summer? How many times had she sworn she would never come back? She'd had enough of this kind of heartbreak from her own father—more than enough to last a lifetime.
Her eyes ran the length of Kirk's once-vital body, settling on the third finger of his right hand, where a ring glimmered. Even after leaving Starfleet he had continued to wear the Enterprise signet, a gift from Spock one Christmas. Spock had always been giving things to Jim. Yet over the years, Kirk had done his own share of giving—the priceless gifts of friendship, warmth, and humor that made Spock feel welcome in a world that did not always appreciate the half-Vulcan. Perhaps more than anyone, she knew how much that friendship had meant to her husband.
Taking a medscanner from a utility pouch on her uniform, she ran a diagnostic, confirming his inebriated state before delivering a hefty dose of counternol and vitamins with a hypospray. As she triggered the injection, Kirk's body jerked and he sucked in a deep, snoring breath. He reeked so of stale liquor that she stepped back in disgust. And the thought came to her, as it did every single day: If only Spock wasn't in prison. He wouldn't be swayed by these painful emotions. He would know how to handle Jim, know how to bring him back to his senses one way or another.
But Spock was in prison, and Kirk needed help now. But from whom? Who among Kirk's friends and relatives was left? These past months he had worked hard at alienating everyone who cared about him, from his cousin Lucas to Doctor McCoy. In his bitterness he had even managed to get rid of Carol Marcus, one of his staunchest supporters during his recovery.
Lauren wandered over to the wall of windows that overlooked San Francisco Bay. How Kirk had always loved the view, particularly like this when the stars were coming out and the water began to reflect the city lights. How cold and lonely the scene must look to him now.
Her eyes rose to the velvet sky and settled on a distant star. Somewhere out there were two sister planets, one of which was named Sydok—home to the only person who might have the stomach to pull Kirk out of his decline—if it was not already too late for him. Making a decision, she turned to Kirk's computer and planned a transmission to her stepdaughter T'Beth.
oooo
On Romar, Spock sat down at a message cubicle and inserted the com disk which had passed from the prison's censorship department into his hands. Lauren appeared on the screen and delivered her message in a few brief sentences. Jim Kirk's condition was no better, and she had appealed to T'Beth for help. She could only hope that their daughter would have some positive influence on him.
"I just wish…" Lauren continued, but the sentence trailed away, unfinished.
Spock knew what she had meant to tell him. I just wish you were able to come, instead.
Regret stirred, and he found his thoughts drifting back to a nameless pond in a steaming alien oasis. In memory's eye he held the captain's poisoned, spasming body and felt the life draining out of him. Spock had almost met his own death, as well. The Kirk who later rose to consciousness bore little resemblance to the vibrant man Spock had known for decades. Yes, there had been moments when the old Kirk shone through-back before Jim's spirit began to follow his body into decline. But from that point on, Spock's relationship with his friend had been clouded by sadness and pity.
Spock forced his attention back on the screen. Replaying the message, he froze a frame of his wife's discouraged face. Clearly his imprisonment was placing a severe strain on her. The separation from his family grieved him as well, all the more because—this time—it was a result of his own moral failure. Out of a sense of revenge he had taken a prisoner's life, and now his wife and children were sharing in the punishment imposed upon him by the court.
Somewhere behind him, a siren blared—one of many that sounded at regular intervals throughout the tightly regimented prison day. Lockup in fifteen minutes. Reluctantly Spock pocketed his disk and limped toward the cellblock where he would spend the night.
oooo
It was an unseasonably warm September day. The sun beat down on Lauren as she hurried back to Starfleet Medical Center after running an errand for her supervisor. There was a time when her rank and reputation as a research scientist had given her the authority to send underlings wherever they were needed. Now, as a lowly lieutenant-on-probation, she was the one scurrying.
Entering the lab, she glimpsed a bearded young man being escorted into the office that had once been hers. Startled, she pulled up short and stared. Could it be? Yes—there was no mistaking Aaron Pascal. But what was he doing here?
Lauren had known Aaron for years, but Spock had known him ever longer. Orphaned as a youngster, Aaron had been taken in by grandparents living in a remote village high in the French Alps. At an early age he showed a marked aptitude for science and mathematics, and by sixteen had so distinguished himself that Starfleet actively sought to recruit him. One of the agents they sent to France was a half-Vulcan named Spock. Even back then the two shared an intellectual rapport, for young Pascal returned with Spock to San Francisco and was duly enrolled in the academy's science and engineering program. Three years later, Aaron attended a class taught by Spock on the physics of interstellar Space travel. In another three years, Aaron was teaching the class himself. Now, at 32 years of age, Commander Pascal was considered one of Starfleet's top minds, but to Lauren he was her husband's friend, a quiet gentlemanly dinner guest who slipped from the table and holed up with Spock to discuss the mysteries of the universe. Or so it had been in better times. Until today, she had never noticed him here at the medical center. What could it mean?
That evening Lauren was still puzzling over Pascal when her ten-year-old son plopped beside her on the sofa. His dark curly head bent over a pad of paper as he somberly swirled one of the twins' crayons. Simon sketching? Music was his usual medium of expression.
"What are you drawing?" she asked.
"A black hole." He stopped to point at the dark picture. "If you look way down inside, you can see Uncle Jim."
Lauren moved closer and noticed a tiny figure floating in the vortex. Then she saw another. "And who's that?"
It was a moment before Simon answered in a low, bitter voice. "That one's Father."
Lauren's heart sank. Gently touching his shoulder, she said, "Honey, your father hasn't disappeared, and he isn't pulling away from us like Jim. You know he cares about you; he's always sending you coms. Why don't you ever look at them?"
"Because I don't want to!" he said in a burst of anger.
"But Simon—"
The boy abruptly wadded the paper. As he stalked away, Lauren fought down a stinging rush of tears. More than anything, this hurt her—to see Simon turning against his father. There was a time when Spock had seemed perfect in Simon's eyes—perhaps too perfect—but since Spock's imprisonment their relationship had gone steadily downhill. Simon felt betrayed; he felt abandoned, and nothing Lauren said seemed to make a bit of difference. She could only hope that he would not infect Teresa and James with his negative attitude.
The twins were already in bed, but now she went upstairs to check on them. A night light in the shape of an angel shone softly between their headboards. As usual, James had crawled in beside Teresa. The little girl slept with one chubby arm around her brother, as if protecting him from the chronic illness that so often sent him to the hospital. The sweet scene tugged at Lauren. They also needed their father. Bending down, she gently kissed each precious cheek, but they were too deep in their dreams to notice.
oooo
It was too beautiful a morning for such an unpleasant mission. An hour earlier T'Beth had let herself into Jim Kirk's apartment and now she hesitated at his bedroom door, caught up in a flood of memories. It was senseless thinking about what might have been. Jim's accident had left him paralyzed and embittered, and these days she had her own share of problems. A brief, stormy relationship on Sydok had left her with a mountain of regrets and an infant daughter that her family on Earth knew nothing about. At this point she had no business preaching to anyone, but Lauren had asked that she come and T'Beth had found that she could not stand idly by when there was a chance—any chance—of helping this man who had always meant so much to her.
It was after ten and breakfast was waiting. Drawing a shaky breath, she tapped firmly on his door. When there was no response, she slowly opened it and peeked inside. The bedroom was dark and stuffy. Her hand found the environmental controls near the doorjamb. She turned up the ventilation and triggered the blinds open, letting in a soft flood of light.
Kirk broke out of sleep and his head jerked off the pillow. Bleary-eyed, he squinted at her in disbelief. "T'Beth…?"
She forced her mouth into the semblance of a smile. The muscles in her jaw ached from pretending, but she dared not show how deeply his appearance shocked her. Judging by the stubble on his face, he had not bothered to shave or use beard repressor in days. He looked sickly, dissipated, hostile…and perhaps worst of all, he looked old. She was so used to her seemingly ageless father.
"No," she said with false cheer, "this isn't a nightmare. It really is me."
"How in blazes did you get in here?" he demanded.
Her smile faded. "You didn't answer your door…and Lauren gave me some lock codes…"
Kirk grimaced and slumped back on the pillow. "One helluva nerve. Damn her."
"Yes, well…I'm afraid I haven't got that kind of authority, but I do intend to stay here for a time and make your life a living hell."
The head popped back up, eyes flaming. "Funny. Real funny. Now suppose you go back to your stepmom like a good little girl…and tell her to leave me alone, too."
T'Beth bristled. "I have a better idea. Suppose that you go shave and shower like a good little boy and come out to the table for breakfast."
He briefly sniffed at the aroma of home-cooked bacon. Then glowering, he sank back down and pulled the covers over his head. "Shove it!" came the muffled response.
It was past noon when he finally made an appearance. He had not bothered to wash or shave or even comb his disheveled mop of graying hair. With a robe thrown haphazardly over his underwear, he wheeled out into the living room and fixed T'Beth with an icy gaze.
"Are you still here?" he questioned in a rude tone.
The words stung, but T'Beth merely pointed to the table where the bacon and muffins awaited a quick warm-up. "Yes, I'm still here waiting for you…and so is breakfast."
Kirk glanced at the food, then purposefully wheeled to the liquor cabinet and rummaged inside. Empty bottles clanged against drained decanters as he searched in vain for the exotic brews she had poured down the drain.
"You might try calling Lauren," she coolly suggested. "There's a bit of Vulcan shayo in her cabinet."
Realizing what she had done, he turned on her, hands clutching the chair's wheel guides. "Who do you think you are?!"
She stood and faced him with all the dignity she could muster. "My father's daughter. Remember?"
"Did he tell you to come here and meddle in my affairs?"
"No one tells me to do anything—you know that. Look at yourself, Jim. You'd think I just stole your life blood. Is that what that stuff has become to you?"
His face contorted with rage. "Get out! Get the hell out of my apartment right now—do you hear me?"
T'Beth's throat tightened and she came very close to doing just that. This miserable shell of a man—this angry stranger—after all, who was he? Surely not the same Jim Kirk who had befriended a lonely mixed-breed girl and tried to set her on the right path. But clamping down on her emotions, she turned and headed into the kitchen. She heard his voice and knew without looking that he was at the computer, attempting to place an order. She was standing at the sink, bracing for another outburst, when he discovered that she had imposed a "child lock" that would prevent him from buying liquor.
He flew into a tantrum. Muscles tensed, she waited, fully expecting him to come after her with the same kind of violence he was inflicting on the living room. To her relief, the storm blew over quickly. After he wheeled into his bedroom, she ventured out to assess the damage. Not surprisingly, the computer had taken the worst of it—a fitting punishment for having refused his commands. There remained only one thing for him to do, and even he was not so desperate as to go shopping in his underwear.
T'Beth prepared herself for the next skirmish, and she did not have to wait long. Amazing, what a craving for alcohol could accomplish. Showered, dressed, and impeccably groomed, James T. Kirk aimed his wheelchair at the front door…and the slender young woman who stood in his path.
"Get out of my way," he warned, "or I'll call the police and have you thrown out."
"I'm not about to stop you," she told him. "I'm glad to see you getting out. In fact, I have a wonderful day planned for us."
He closed his eyes tightly, as if they pained him, and let his head loll forward. "Damn," he muttered, "give it up, will you?" Drawing a slow deep breath, he looked at her and spoke almost civilly. "Go back to your life on Sydok; there's nothing you can do here. Nothing."
T'Beth swallowed hard. "Jim, I just want to spend some time with you. I'm not asking for anything."
"Except the entire contents of my liquor cabinet," he said tartly, "and my freedom…and my privacy."
A slow flush crept over her face. Suddenly, she saw herself as he saw her—an unwanted, interfering trespasser—and she could not help but feel a twinge of remorse for the heavy-handed way she had barged in on him.
"I see your point," she admitted, "but if you can just give me this one day…then, if you want me to leave, if you want to drown yourself in a whole bathtub full of Saurian, I'll get out of your way. Heck, I'll even fill the tub for you."
Jim shook his head in exasperation. "I thought you weren't asking for anything."
As T'Beth put her hands on her hips and waited for an answer, he sighed as if he was sick of arguing.
oooo
"Hey!"
Spock started at the booming sound of Leo Kessler's voice. So distant were his thoughts, that he had not heard his friend and cellmate approaching along the wooded trail. He rose from the sunny niche where he had stopped to rest. Despite regular medication and treatment, his leg muscles weakened easily.
Leo placed a big hand on his shoulder. "You okay? I swear you were a thousand light years away."
"Yes, I am fine," Spock said. He was not inclined to offer more, and Leo did not press him. In truth, he had spent most of his weekly "furlough"—the day of rest and relative freedom granted to well-behaved prisoners—in a pensive mood. There had been a message from his daughter T'Beth, sent off as she was approaching Earth. She would be going to Jim's apartment and there was no telling what sort of reception she had gotten, but Spock suspected it was not kindly. It would have been far better for everyone concerned if he could have gone in her stead.
"Spock," Leo said impatiently, "you haven't heard a thing I've been saying, have you?"
Spock roused himself and turned to him. It was good to see Leo looking so tanned and healthy. Since leaving the cramped, airless confines of the Luna penitentiary, Leo had undergone an extraordinary rebirth of spirit. Gone was the angry caged animal who introduced Spock to prison life with the toe of his boot. Sometimes it was difficult to believe this was the same man.
"Pardon me," Spock apologized. "You were saying…?"
Leo shook his great blond head. "I was saying, my Vulcan friend, that you had better keep your eyes open and your wits about you. Some of the guys who came here from Luna might consider you a hero, but Ronaldi had his friends, you know. Take Jukka, for instance."
The mere mention of Arthur Jukka made Spock go cold. A repulsive specimen of humanity, Jukka had been prominent in Ronaldi's gang at Luna. He was one of the men who held Spock while Ronaldi beat him senseless. Repressing the painful memory, Spock said, "Yes, I am aware of Jukka's aggressive tendencies, but he would not dare cause me any further trouble."
Leo folded his thick arms across his chest. "And why is that?"
"Because," Spock replied, straight-faced, "he would have to answer to you."
Leo broke up in laughter and clapped Spock on the back. "Right you are, right you are, but it never hurts to be careful." His gray eyes glimmered with excitement. "After all, I'd like you to be in one piece when we get out of here."
Astonished, Spock raised an eyebrow. "We? Then I assume you have received word…"
"On the court review?" Leo finished for him. "Yes! They've commuted my life sentence! If they consider me rehabilitated, I could be freed even before you!"
oooo
It was not turning out to be a pleasant meal. As the dismal silence in the restaurant booth deepened, T'Beth inwardly quailed at the task she had set for herself. How could she have been so impulsive? It had taken Jim months to reduce himself to this wretched state. What could she hope to accomplish in the span of a few hours?
She cast about for something to say, and was relieved when the waiter finally arrived with their plates. Cheeseburgers and fries—in the face of Kirk's complete indifference, she had selected the classic meal for him. Now he sat there staring off into space while the food grew cold on his plate.
T'Beth felt her patience slipping. "Is there something wrong with your hamburger? Did they forget the onions?"
He flashed her a poisonous look, then continued ignoring her as she downed a few bites.
She began to think that half a day would have been quite enough, even half an hour. But what difference did it make if he acted unfriendly? Had she come here expecting him to fawn over her? Is that why she had left Sydok and her baby?
After eating, T'Beth took him along with her to the Buddhist temple on Fell Street. There, in its peaceful interior she told him, "I started coming here after my healing."
"Oh, that's right." His words were heavy with sarcasm. "You've always claimed that your legs were healed on Donari—in the wink of an eye, no less."
"Not through any merit of mine. It was because the Donaris prayed for me."
"What a wonderful privilege," he sniped. "Well, it looks like I'm not worth God's attention."
Her heart went out to him. "Jim, it wasn't only my legs that were healed. Have you tried to pray?"
He reached for his chair's wheel grips. "Ah, here it comes. Time to go."
She had to move quickly to keep pace with him. Okay then, introspection was out—so she would just have to come up with another idea. She searched hard among her memories of the old Jim Kirk who had found such pleasure in physical activity. She remembered once hearing Doctor McCoy complain about being dragged along on a rafting trip.
What better way to jolt Kirk out of his depression? An hour later he was snugged beside her in a rented raft drifting down a placid stretch of California river. So far, so good. After double-checking their life vests, she experimentally dipped her oar into the water.
"This is all new to me," she admitted. "What should I do?"
Warmed by the afternoon sun, Jim rolled up his sleeves and grudgingly showed her the proper way to work an oar. There was nothing weak about his arms, and out here under the sky, he seemed younger. As the current carried them downstream, she could not help remembering another time, another day spent on the bank of a river, fishing, when Jim was still able to walk. How kindly he had treated her. At one point he even grew playful, chasing her among the trees, until they fell to the ground together and her Sy yearning drew him into an unexpected kiss. Now, that same mouth was a cold, taut slash—as if he was hating this, hating every minute of it. What had become of that caring, humorous Kirk?
T'Beth wondered what he was thinking. Was he also reliving that kiss? Did he still resent her for loving him, for unwittingly making him love her? The idea made her uncomfortable, and she shifted around so that no part of their bodies were touching—not even an elbow.
Quietly she said, "Jim, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have insisted on coming out here. If you like, we can signal for a pick-up and go back to your apartment."
His hands clenched his oar and he turned his head away. "If I like. When did you ever give a damn about that? About anything but your own selfish desires?"
Hot tears pricked her eyes. "I guess I had that coming…"
Kirk whirled around and faced her. "You bet you did! What is it you told me awhile back?" He began to mimic her in a high voice. "Oh Jim, I've changed. I've seen the light and I'm such a good girl now."
T'Beth froze inside. Did he know about the baby? She had been so careful, but rumors always had a way of spreading.
He paused for a breath and reverted back to his regular tone. "Sounds like you've had a real high time on Sydok. You and your panting prince Ap-Pakesh, with his stables full of horses and concubines."
The hateful words so infuriated T'Beth that she swung at him. Kirk warded off the clumsy, backhanded cuff, and his look of anger gradually faded to a pale shadow of the old Kirk humor.
"Well," he said, "at least now you're not treating me like an invalid."
T'Beth struggled with her emotions. Treating him like an invalid? Not a chance! And thickly she said, "I don't know what you've heard, but I went riding with Ap-Pakesh—once—that was all."
He smirked. "Riding. Yes. Some might call it that."
His insinuation was so very close to the truth that she fell silent.
The raft bobbed around a sharp bend in the river and picked up speed. There was a roaring sound coming from the gorge up ahead. A powerful cross-current slapped into them, and they began to move sideways in the churning water.
T'Beth's heart raced as she fought a panicky urge to abandon her oar and clutch the side of the raft with all her might. She shouted, "I thought these were supposed to be light rapids!"
"Don't tell me you're afraid!" Kirk said mean-spiritedly.
She glanced over just as his oar hit a rock and snapped free of its oar lock. To her astonishment he simply let the oar go. As it plunged into the river, the little raft began to spin. Waves pounded over the sides, drenching them with frigid water. A boulder loomed up and struck the raft broadside, nearly throwing them overboard. An instant later the current caught them and they were speeding along, out of control.
"Are you crazy?" she cried. "Why did you toss that oar? Are you completely nuts?"
He just looked at her.
Then they slammed into another boulder and T'Beth hit the river. She flailed against the icy shock, choking a bit as the raging river swept her downstream. Where was Jim?
There was a flash of orange. A tug. A hand clutching her life vest.
"Veer toward the bank!" he shouted into her ear. "Swim! Kick your legs!"
Relief tingled through her body, along with a fresh jolt of anger. The swift current scraped and bounced them against multiple rocks as they worked their way toward land. At last the rapids gave way to a smooth, lazy eddy. T'Beth felt something solid under her feet and struggled out of the river, dragging Kirk to safety. She collapsed on the sunny riverbank. Using his arms, Kirk scrabbled the rest of the way and then lay on his back beside her, shivering hard, bleeding from a cut on his chin.
T'Beth thought of what had just happened, thought of the helpless baby on Sydok nearly orphaned by this man's foolishness, and her temper exploded. "You stupid ass!" she shouted. "What the hell were trying to do—kill us?"
Turning his head, he looked at her with such a pained expression that she almost regretted losing her temper. Quietly he said, "I didn't mean to drop the oar. Sometimes my hands…" His voice broke off, his gaze shifted to the cloudless sky overhead.
Now T'Beth felt like a complete fool. Rising on one elbow, she looked over at him. Their eyes met, giving rise to an aching tangle of emotions. How she longed to open up and explain how it had happened with Ap-Pakesh—one feverish, overwhelming episode of Sy hormones; to tell him of the baby that resulted, and how much she wished Jim was Bethany's father.
But she dared not trust him…not as he was now. So she simply asked, "Are you okay?"
He nodded and she reached inside her life vest to activate the pick-up beacon.
oooo
News of T'Beth and Jim's mishap reached Lauren at work. It had been a nerve-wracking day, and she arrived home tired and unprepared for the chaos that awaited her. As soon as the babysitter walked out the door, Teresa threw herself onto the floor.
"Where's Daddy?" she howled over and over again. "I want my daddy, I want him, I want him!"
Nearby, little James stood white-faced while silent tears coursed down his cheeks.
Lauren cast an accusing look at their big brother, slumped in a chair. "Alright, young man, what have you been saying to them?"
Simon's eyes narrowed insolently. "What difference does it make? They know he got kicked out of Starfleet. They know he's locked up. They know he murdered that guy in prison with his bare hands."
Teresa shrieked louder.
Striding over, Lauren jerked Simon off the chair and marched him upstairs to his bedroom. In the midst of her anger she recalled another stressful day when she slapped him so hard that his nose bled. Now she felt like striking him again—but she didn't dare or there would be no stopping herself. She would beat her son the way she had been beaten by her drunken father—mindlessly, viciously.
Fists clenched at her sides, she said, "You think you know so damn much! You think you can sit in judgment over your own father!"
The wide-eyed boy backed against his bed.
Trembling, Lauren drew in a couple of deep breaths and forced her hands to open. "Don't—ever—talk about him that way again. Do you hear me?"
Simon nodded. Lauren felt a rush of tears coming and left the room before he could see them.
Later that night, when the house was still, she came to regret her harshness. Simon was only repeating the ugly remarks he heard from other children, the same kind of remarks Lauren sometimes overheard from adults. The boy was confused, the boy was hurting. With Spock in prison and Kirk wrapped up in himself, he had lost the two most meaningful male influences in his life. When he looked at them he saw a couple of failures who made him feel angry and ashamed.
Lauren slept fitfully and rose before dawn to enter her husband's study. Switching on the lights, she took in every detail of Spock's orderly retreat. She had seldom come here this past year. It was so painful, seeing everything arranged just as he left it on the day of his arrest. Sighing, she wandered over to his desk and trailed her finger through the layer of dust that had accumulated. Opening the French doors, she stepped onto the balcony and stood thinking, just as Spock used to do. The misty lights of the city lay before her, and stars shone overhead.
Lauren pressed her fingers to her temples and concentrated on the faint sense of her husband's presence. What was he doing right now on Romar? Was he safe? Was he thinking of her?
Gradually the stars faded and fog rolled in from the ocean, making Spock seemed more distant than ever. Shivering in the morning chill, she went indoors to prepare for work.
Over breakfast she tried talking to Simon. "Look, I know this past year has been hard on you. The kids your age say a lot of mean things…but they're wrong. I don't want you talking about your father that way; I don't want you even thinking it. If you only knew how much he cares about us…"
Glowering, Simon kicked back his chair and left the table.
Somehow Lauren got everyone off to school. She was not in the mood for work today. At times the added responsibilities thrust upon her by Spock's imprisonment seemed overwhelming, and she had to remind herself that it was not going to last forever. Settling behind the controls of her ground car, she turned on the ignition…but nothing happened. Totally dead. And Spock's skimmer was in need of fuel. Needless to say, she arrived late at SMC, where a summons to her supervisor's office awaited her. A reprimand, she assumed. Steeling herself, she went through the doorway and came face to face with Commander Aaron Pascal.