Chapter 1

A rhythmic chanting of children's voices drifted dreamlike on the balmy air. Standing inside a hostel, Lauren Fielding listened with her arms crossed, her back resting against a wall made of nothing more than reeds. The woven matting stretched and creaked under her weight, but she knew it would hold. She was not so sure if she would.

With a sigh she turned and lifted the reed-cloth curtain from the window hole, and gazed out across the plaza. Brightly clad schoolchildren sat around their teacher in the shade of a tree. Here on Walker's World, the sky had a yellowish cast and the colonists' children were deeply tanned, but even so they sharply reminded Lauren of her own sons and daughter far away on Earth. Pain twisted in her heart as she thought of them. Was Simon upset with her? Was James well? Was lively little Teresa minding her grandmother?

Lauren had felt so certain that she was doing the right thing when she broke Spock out of prison. She was a doctor. She was his wife. How could she leave him to deteriorate on that miserable moon base when there was a chance—however slim—of setting him free and searching out the spiteful young woman who likely framed him? Now, after two months on the run, fleeing from planet to planet with someone who seemed more like a stranger than a husband, she was no longer sure of anything.

Freedom? There was nothing free about the life of a fugitive. Medical care? What could she offer him beyond a few pills? On Maxis II some rough characters had robbed them of most of their pharmaceuticals, and the few remaining drugs would soon be used up.

Biting her lower lip, she turned from the window. Spock sat at an old battered table laboriously decoding the latest Starfleet transmission he had intercepted on their receiver. It was slow work, even with the aid of a tricorder he had reprogrammed to assist him. She would give her eyeteeth for this nightmare to be over, and Spock's name cleared once and for all. Then maybe he would let down his Vulcan guard and learn to share himself with her again.

Lauren watched his once nimble fingers move slowly and deliberately over a datapadd, and found herself thinking of last night. There was a time when her touch would draw a willing response from him, but now he invariably pulled away. All they had left was each other, and he was denying her even that comfort. Why? He said there were things about prison life that he wasn't ready to disclose. Was that the reason he was holding himself apart from her? Or was it really just anger? He had made it abundantly clear that he did not approve of her leaving the children and putting herself into jeopardy with him. But wouldn't he have done the same thing for her?

Over on the table, the receiver let out a squawk of static. Spock reached to adjust it, but misjudged and hit the wrong control. The transmission shifted to a Federation news broadcast. Before he could correct his error, Lauren rushed over and turned up the volume.

"…son of Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan and former Starfleet hero is now wanted in connection with the death of a prison inmate whom he attacked shortly before his escape from custody. Today in a news conference, Starfleet Commander Jason Cho, warden of the Luna Correctional Facility, described the Vulcan's assault on his cellmate as 'unprovoked and brutal beyond belief'. At this hour a full-scale manhunt remains in effect for Spock and the human wife who aided in his escape. More on this story as it unfolds…"

Shaken, Lauren switched off the receiver and stared down at her husband. Spock's eyes avoided her and his mouth was drawn tight. In the terrible silence she could sense him retreating even further away, walling himself off in some private hell.

Surely this report was just another example of irresponsible journalism. Time and again there had been stories—wild accounts of their supposed crime spree, false sightings, even one detailed report of their deaths. But now she waited in vain for him to refute it.

"Spock," she pleaded.

Without a word he pushed himself up from the table and limped out the door. And she let him go—for at that instant the dismaying truth came to her, and she was more than happy to see him leave. Oh, he had attacked that prisoner, alright. Once, shortly after their marriage, she had been on the receiving end of a Vulcan rage and knew what he was capable of doing. Well, she had put up with him and his inexplicable ways long enough. Her life was in ruins. This time she was finished.

Or so she thought. Yet only an hour later she went out searching for Spock and found him on the outskirts of town. As remote as ever, he stood beside a marsh, gazing over the profusion of reeds. His hair had grown longer since leaving prison, effectively concealing the pointed tips of his ears. He looked very human in the casual, Earth-style clothes she had brought along.

These days she did not look much like herself, either. She used hair dye and cosmetic lenses that altered the color of her eyes. Since arriving on Walker's World, she had been a green-eyed brunette. She was sick of disguises, sick of running, and sick of Spock's uncommunicative behavior.

Taking a deep breath, she approached him.

Spock gave her a sidelong glance. "You should not have left the equipment untended. It would be difficult to replace if it were stolen."

"You shouldn't have left me," she retorted.

"Lauren," he said with some impatience, "we had agreed—"

"To blazes with it," she cut in and patted the hard shape under her shirt. "I brought the phaser. The rest is security shielded under the bed. Now tell me what happened at Luna. Your cellmate was Leo Kessler—you were friends."

Spock looked out at the marsh and nodded. "Yes. We were friends."

"And now he's dead."

A warm breeze riffled his hair. Turning, he met her eyes briefly, then glanced away. "The man I attacked was not Kessler. His name was…Ronaldi. He came at me with a knife and I repelled him with more force than was necessary." The planes of his face went hard as stone. "Now you know. I lost control. If the guards had not intervened, I would likely have killed him then and there."

Lauren stared at him, unblinking, until her eyes burned. She was remembering how it felt when he came after her. That day, it had been a matter of pon farr passion, a matter of the male laying claim to his own. Sometimes now she even thought that she understood it. Perhaps this, too, she would understand—if only he would explain.

"You should have told me."

"I do not wish to discuss it," he declared, stiff as ever.

She felt like shaking him. "Spock, I'm your wife! This involves both of us—as well as our children. If you really are responsible for that man's death, it changes everything. Now, even if we find T'Naisa Brandt, even if we clear you of trying to kill Jim Kirk, there'll be this new charge to face."

"Yes," Spock said, as if to himself.

Lauren struggled to contain her anger. "Is that all you have to say? We're talking about our life—our whole future together."

An infuriating silence answered her. She was about to inform him that they had no future together when she heard someone running along the village trail. A brown-skinned youth appeared. She recognized the innkeeper's son as he pulled up, short of breath.

"People!" the boy gasped in Standard. "People in Starfleet uniforms! They had a search warrant and phasers! They went into your room!"

Lauren's heart lodged in her throat.

Spock reached into his pocket and handed the boy a precious credit chit from their dwindling supply. "You've done well to warn us," he said. "Go now—hurry."

The youth bowed from the waist and left quickly. So Starfleet had caught up to them! Soon their pursuers would be commencing sensor sweeps, and Spock's half-Vulcan readings would make him an easy target. A moment ago she had been ready for them to part company, yet now she looked to her husband for some plan of escape.

Suddenly his eyes met hers and he said, "Give me the phaser."

Lauren handed over their outdated weapon. Spock checked its setting and placed it back into her grip so that the barrel was aimed directly at him. Instinctively she went to move it, but his hands remained over hers, holding the phaser on target. In the warmth of his touch she felt his mind reaching out, trying to calm her, trying to prepare her for what he was about to propose.

Then he said it aloud, speaking so rapidly that she hardly had time to react. "I will walk before you to the village, where you will turn me in. You will explain how I used my mind to influence your behavior—that therefore you are not culpable for aiding in my escape from prison." Pain evident on his face, he hesitated. "I will now alter your memories so that you believe it."

Shock settled in. "You'd have me lie! You'd have me betray you!"

"I would have you return home. As you said, Ronaldi's death has changed everything. There is no use for us to continue on."

Lauren could still feel him working on her, using every Vulcan means at his disposal to make her yield. But she would have none of it. Wrenching free of his touch, she hurled the phaser into the marsh.

Spock turned on her with undisguised anger. "That was a foolish thing to do!"

"A human thing, you mean," she countered. "Well, I guess we'll just have to keep on running, won't we? Unless you intend to take my mind and change it by force, like T'Naisa did to those crewmen. Then maybe I can chase you into town with a stick."

His eyes narrowed at her and he abruptly strode off with his limping gait, not looking to see whether or not she followed, and probably not caring. Lauren heard the predatory howl of a marsh-cat and did not waver for long. Around a bend in the dirt road they came upon a parked vehicle—a true ground car with donut tires. Spock paused beside it and glanced over the marshlands for some sign of its owner. She could almost see his mind working and was unsurprised when he reached out and tried the door. It opened.

Standing to one side, Lauren watched him. "Well, are you going to steal it or aren't you?"

Spock cast her a venomous glance and settled into the driver's seat. "I am going to borrow it. If you are coming, get in."

"Go to hell," she replied. But then he started the engine and she was jumping into the passenger seat. A moment later she grabbed for handholds as the little car careened down the bumpy road. Near the local spaceport they hit pavement. With a screech of tires Spock swung through the port entrance and steered the "borrowed" vehicle into a parking space. Getting out, he quickly took stock of the vessels on the tarmac and headed straight for a disreputable wreck named "Stella".

Lauren's heart sank deeper and deeper as she tagged along. A motley-looking crew was working around the ship, tending to repairs and loading supplies. They stopped what they were doing and glared at them.

"Greetings," Spock said, assuming the pleasantry like a veteran actor. "I am interested in securing working berths for my companion and myself. Who among you is the captain?"

An amply-built woman in tight clothing stepped forward. Heavy makeup gave her a tough, worldly appearance. "What do we look like—an employment agency?" Her shrewd eyes raked them over. "Go on, get out of here!"

Relieved, Lauren started to turn away. She wanted no part of those reprobates and their dilapidated ship. Then she caught a glimpse of Starfleet uniforms by the terminal, and she changed her mind. As Grandma Stemple used to say, Beggars can't be choosers.

"We have useful skills," she blurted. "I'm a doctor, and the Vulcan knows his way around computers—blindfolded."

She felt Spock's glance and did not return it.

The woman studied them coldly. "Do you have anything of value?"

Inconspicuously Lauren slipped off her gold wedding band and pocketed it.

"Only our experience," Spock answered. "But if you have no use for us, we will go elsewhere." And he started walking to another ship.

"Wait," the woman called out. She waved them toward the gangplank. "The captain is inside. Come with me."

The hairs prickled on Lauren's body as she followed Spock through the hatchway, into a claustrophobic corridor. She felt as if they were walking into a snake pit. They came to a tiny cabin where an aging, obese man sat before a barely functioning computer screen. As their escort explained their situation to the captain, he turned from his work to look at them.

Lauren heard Spock draw in his breath sharply, but the captain paid no attention to him. He was singling her out for a slow, decidedly lecherous inspection, all the while twisting his flamboyant moustache. When at last his eyes found Spock, they widened with surprise and recognition. Then the captain erupted with boisterous laughter.

oooo

The Stella speeded through space as Spock finished the preliminary adjustments on the ship's computer core and replaced the battered access panel. Wiping his hands on a less-than-clean rag, he surveyed his work. It was remarkable that the old computer functioned at all in this filthy environment, but despite Spock's advice, the captain of the rogue trading vessel showed no sign of improving his slovenly habits.

Harcourt Fenton Mudd had certainly come down in society—but no more so than Spock himself. Murderer, escaped convict, and now a common car thief. Spock sighed at the thought, and turning to leave, found Harry Mudd standing at the hatchway.

"Ah, Sarkos," the portly con-man addressed him with a conspiratorial wink. "Nice choice of name. I must remember to compliment your lovely wife on those forged I.D.'s. Couldn't have procured better, myself." Mudd's fleshy grin faded as he eyed the closed access panel. "I thought you were attending to the computer."

"Yes," Spock said, "I was. But my work in this area is finished for today. Tomorrow I'll re-run the system checks and address any further problems in order of importance."

Mudd frowned. "Tomorrow, old boy? Why not now? There's no such thing as an unimportant problem. Not when it comes to computers."

Spock met the human's calculating eyes, not caring at all for the duplicity he found there. He had no illusions as to why he and Lauren were offered refuge aboard the Stella. It had far more to do with Mudd's weakness for the female form than any need for computer maintenance or medical aid.

"Tomorrow," Spock repeated, and excused himself.

After washing in the ship's single decrepit lavatory, he proceeded to the engine maintenance crawlway that served as sleeping quarters for Lauren and himself. She was not there, but a disturbing scent of men's cologne hung in the warm air. Old Spice. Old indeed—a veritable classic that Mudd favored.

His warning about Harry Mudd's nature had not been well-received by Lauren. Even so, Spock's first instinct was to go looking for her, but he had only to feel along their bond to know that she was not in any distress.

He peeled off the baggy overalls lent to him by Mudd, leaving only the jeans and flannel shirt he was been wearing when they escaped Walker's World. The engine's vibration rumbled around him as he lay down on a sleeping pad and gave himself over to thought. Starfleet was closing in on them. They had been forced to flee with nothing more than the clothes on their backs and the scant contents of their pockets. They could no longer afford to move slowly and subtly. For Lauren's sake, he had decided to continue searching for T'Naisa Brandt. If their suspicions regarding the young woman proved correct, and she had framed him, it could be used as a defense for Lauren's actions. A jury would likely understand a wife's desire to free an innocent, disabled husband from an abusive prison system.

Spock was considering various plans of action when the hatch swung open and Lauren entered, utterly ignoring him. He sat up and studied the stiff set of her face as she sank down near a conduit. All at once, the crawlway seemed intolerably cramped.

He asked, "Were you with Mudd?"

Her eyes focused on the closed hatch. Her fingers toyed at the base of her third finger, where her wedding ring was conspicuously absent. "Where I go is my concern—just as you consider certain matters to be your sole concern."

Spock experienced a painful welling of frustration. "Lauren, please…"

Lifting her head, she looked at him, eyes burning with resentment. "Isn't that the way you want it? You, with your precious Vulcan privacy…and me with my foolish emotional ways?"

Her words rankled beyond all reason. He knew that she expected an apology, but his comment by the marsh—though admittedly heated—was entirely factual. She had behaved foolishly when she threw away their only weapon. She had erred and did not wish to admit it. As for Ronaldi, Spock had already confessed to his murder. Was that not enough for her? Must she know every unsavory detail?

It came as a relief when the dinner hour arrived and they joined the small crew in the mess cabin. Here there were also tensions, but of a sort that Spock found easier to manage. The corpulent Mudd claimed the head of the table, his eyes ever-wandering toward Lauren, who sat icily at Spock's side. To Mudd's right was the female pilot who had first brought them aboard—the captain's woman, judging by her jealous reaction to Mudd's blatant ogling. Directly across from Spock, the youthful navigator/engineer ate steadily, pausing now and then to ask some question of "Sarkos". Spock fielded the questions carefully. He suspected that the other crewmembers knew his true identity and, like Mudd, would have used the knowledge to their advantage if not for the fact that Spock could easily "turn table" and report the trader's illegal activities. Theirs was an uneasy relationship and Spock looked forward to terminating it at the earliest possible moment.

Halfway through the meal, Mudd began preening his thick, curling moustache and looked Spock's way. "Sarkos, old boy, you've never commented on the name I chose for this ship. Aren't you the least bit curious about it?"

"In fact I am," Spock conceded. "Your first wife was named Stella, but as I recall, you were not particularly fond of her."

Mudd gave a roguish smile. "Precisely, laddie buck. Don't you see? This ship is old and ugly, just like her—and I get a great deal of satisfaction from making it do exactly as I please!" He roared with laughter and the crew joined in.

At the finish of the meal, Mudd asked Spock to remain behind for a private discussion. Spock met Lauren's eyes as she rose to leave and was surprised at the degree of apprehension he found there. Was she actually concerned about his welfare? Or merely her own?

The hatch closed.

Mudd reached into a cabinet behind him and drew out a bottle of Romulan ale. He drank straight from the container. Wiping a beefy hand across his mouth, he held the bottle by its neck and leaned back in his chair. "Spock, my friend, have you ever heard of the proverbial woodshed?"

Spock searched his memory. "The reference is not familiar to me."

"Oh, it was a fine old Earth tradition—a place apart from the house where naughty boys were taken to receive the business end of a strap." He made a broad gesture that encompassed the entire room. "For all practical purposes, this is my woodshed…and you are the boy in need of a whipping."

Spock's eyebrow climbed.

"I'm deeply disappointed in you," Mudd lamented. "Here I am, putting myself at risk to help you in your hour of need. Why, I've given you the very clothes off my back, and you can't even offer me a decent day's work in return." He shook his head and clucked in disapproval. "Tell me, Spock lad, why is that? I was given to understand that Vulcans are as tireless as androids. Now, have you turned into a slacker or is there something seriously wrong with you? I couldn't help but notice that unfortunate limp of yours…"

"Yes," Spock said dryly, "I daresay you have. I assure you, however, that I am quite well enough to accomplish the work we agreed upon."

Mudd's fingers twisted at his moustache. "So you say—and who am I to impugn the word of a Vulcan criminal? But I somehow expected more when I brought you and your…female companion aboard."

"She is my wife," Spock said.

"Yes. Of course. Two mouths to feed. Two bodies draining the environmental system. Granted, it's rather nice having a doctor at hand, but as for you…" Eyes glittering, he shifted in his seat. "You put in even less hours than an able-bodied human."

The claim was preposterous. Spock worked as much as any other crew member. If Mudd wanted him to work longer hours, there could only be one reason—to give Mudd more opportunity to seek Lauren's company.

When it became clear that Spock had no intention of cooperating, Mudd gathered his bulk into a semblance of command. "My boy, I'm through trying to be nice. I want those system checks run tonight. No—let me reword that. I want them done now!"

Spock remained seated. "I shall carry out the procedure tomorrow…unless, of course, you can provide some logical reason for me to alter my schedule."

"Your schedule!" Mudd's pasty skin flushed red with outrage. "I'd say you're mighty uppity, considering your position. I'm the captain of this vessel—not you! Now either get your arrogant ass to the computer or I'll drop you off at the nearest port of call—which, if I'm not mistaken, is a Starfleet base."

Unperturbed, Spock rose to his feet. "That is an idle threat, Mudd, for I would waste no time implicating you and your illicit operation. Now, if you will excuse me…" As he headed for the hatchway, he heard sounds of activity behind his back.

"Stop…right…there," Mudd ordered in a menacing tone.

Spock complied. Turning around slowly, he found Mudd standing with an underworld stun gun in hand. The weapon—of a type known to discharge prematurely—was aimed squarely at Spock's chest.

Secure in his power, Mudd smiled. "Is this logical enough for you?"

Spock looked at the pudgy finger on the gun's trigger and said, "I begin to see the logic of your argument."

With his free hand, Mudd lifted the bottle of ale to his lips and took a swallow. Setting it down, he said, "I don't know why, but I have a rather hard time trusting you. How do I know that you don't have some hidden agenda of your own? I mean, you tried to kill the last captain you served under." His jowls shook as he turned his head from side to side. "Poor old Jim Kirk, he deserved better—despite all the trouble he caused me, a time or two."

Spock knew it was useless to protest his innocence regarding Kirk. The verdicts of Starfleet courts were rarely questioned, and someone with Mudd's criminal record would be all too ready to believe the worst.

"Your reputation is shot all to hell. You may say that you're going to tend to business, but what's to keep you from doing a little creative programming of your own?"

"My word," Spock answered, "as a Vulcan."

Mudd chuckled. "I don't know if I buy into that, old friend—but I do find you and your predicament amusing. So this is the deal. You go on and get to work, but if that computer develops so much as a nervous twitch, I will no longer be amused. Got it?"

"Got it," Spock replied.

Mudd waved him off. "Then, scoot! Scram! Hop to it!"

oooo

Lauren sat cross-legged on her sleeping pad as she ran a comb through her wavy, dyed hair. She could not quite shake the uneasy feeling that came over her when Mudd asked Spock to stay behind. Though earlier she would not have admitted it, the captain made her skin crawl. She would be glad when Spock returned. In fact, she would be so glad that she intended to try, one more time, to settle the trouble between them.

She heard the hatch opening and looked up, expecting to find her husband. The smile of welcome died on her lips as Mudd's balding head poked through the opening.

With a leer he flippantly asked, "Is the doctor in?"

Even fully clothed, Lauren had an urge to pull a blanket up to her neck. Mudd's eyes always seemed to undress her. No proper captain would barge into private quarters, even if it was only a grimy maintenance area.

She tried to assume a pleasant expression. "Yes, Captain. Can I help you?"

Mudd squeezed his rotund body inside. "Well, yes," he said in a confidential tone, "as a matter of fact, I have this rash, you see…"

Lauren glanced over his exposed skin and saw no abnormalities.

He began to squirm and scratch at himself. "There's so little room here. Why don't you come into my cabin and take a look?"

It was the last thing she wanted to do, but how could she refuse? In coming aboard she had agreed to provide medical services for the crew. Reluctantly she got up, and mentally reviewing Starfleet defensive techniques, followed Mudd to his quarters.

oooo

From his maintenance board, Spock linked into the ship's security system and temporarily disabled the interior door locks. Strictly speaking, the action could not be referred to as "creative programming", since the door lock program was already in the computer.

Leaving the area, he cautiously made his way to the engine crawlway that he shared with Lauren. The hatch stood ajar. She was not inside, and once more he detected a faint but telling odor of Old Spice. He closed his eyes and was seeking Lauren through their bond when an unpleasant tsunami of emotions carried to him. Fear, anger, and revulsion lanced at the wounded places within him, laying open the fresh prison memories. He knew what it was like to be overpowered and brutalized. And this was happening to a woman—to his own bondmate. Throwing all caution aside, he withdrew and bolted down the narrow corridor. His awkward, limping gait brought him to the door of Mudd's cabin. From inside came sounds of an intense struggle. He wasted no time triggering the door open.

A bed was in clear view. Mudd lay upon it, wrestling Lauren as his crushing weight pinned her to the mattress. Hearing the door, Mudd swung around and saw Spock. His startled face bloodied, his clothes in disarray, he attempted to quickly unhand her, but Spock was quicker. Seizing the big human, Spock dragged him off Lauren and slammed him against the nearest bulkhead.

Beads of perspiration dotted Mudd's fleshy face. "I…I know this looks bad," he babbled, "but…but you see it's not really my fault. I have a condition. The doctors have a name for it!"

Though the effort had cost Spock dearly, his grip on Mudd held. "The only name that springs to mind is not fit for my wife to hear."

Lauren rose from the bunk, disheveled but unharmed.

Mudd began to quake like a frightened child. "You're right, you're right. I'm a worthless specimen of humankind. Lucky thing you're a Vulcan, Spock old buddy, who believes in peace and nonviolence."

Speaking through his teeth, Spock said, "I am not your buddy, and I am only half Vulcan."

"Oh, please don't hurt me," Mudd sniveled. "I have a very low tolerance for pain."

Disgusted, Spock released him.

Mudd's eyes widened in amazement as he rubbed at his chafed folds of fat. "You're letting me go, then? That is very sensible of you. But we are both men, aren't we? Sometimes these things just happen…"

At that, Lauren marched over to Spock's side and slapped Mudd hard across the face. Then once again. It did not really surprise Spock; he had experience with her temper, and in this case the ire was justified. Quite seriously he asked her, "Do you want me to strike him, too?"

She had removed her colored lenses and in the natural blue of her eyes, he saw—of all things—a mild amusement.

"Now, now," Mudd quickly said, "that's quite enough. Let's be civilized. No need to get physical. No need to press charges, either."

At the mention of charges, Spock saw an opportunity. "A criminal complaint should be filed…but we may be willing to overlook this matter if you put your ship and crew at our disposal for a time."

Mudd's mouth fell open. "Why you larcenous—! You're stealing my ship?"

"I am commandeering it," Spock corrected. "A week should suffice."

Glowering, Mudd wiped at a scratch on his face. "You're only bluffing. Turn me in? You're fugitives from the law—you'd both be arrested, too."

"Yes, we would." Knowing that he did not have the strength to back it up, Spock projected a menacing image. "But first I would give you ample cause to regret that necessity."

Mudd paled and threw up his hands. "Wait! No need to get unpleasant. The fact is, I'm not feeling at all well. A bit of a rest might be just the thing."

oooo

Under Spock's watchful gaze, Mudd meekly assembled the little crew and announced the unfortunate illness that necessitated Spock's temporary rise to command.

"It all began with a rash," Mudd said, fidgeting. "There's no reason for anyone to feel resentful about his. After all, it's only for a brief time. Sp…I mean Sarkos and I go back a long way, and I assure you, he's well versed in the workings of spaceships."

Looking very sickly indeed, Mudd took to his cabin.

Spock's first act as captain was to confiscate all weapons. A friendly crew had no need of them, he assured the grumbling smugglers. And they were, first and foremost, a friendly crew.

Then, with Lauren at his side, Spock accessed the computer and fed it commands that would safeguard their new heading and ensure that no communications could be sent off without his or her direct supervision.

The hour was growing late. Spock locked Mudd's door for the night, then retreated with Lauren to their own makeshift quarters. Securing the hatchway, he turned to her. The fastenings on her shirt had been torn by Mudd's hands. When she let go, the soft fabric gapped apart.

Spock's jaw tightened at the bruises that were revealed. Reaching out with paired fingers, he traced a discoloration on her left cheekbone. Her eyes drew him—this exquisite femininity; this mysterious, aggravating, stimulating woman who through bonding belonged to him alone. He did not want any other man touching her.

Lauren captured his hand and pressed it to her mouth.

"I love you," she whispered. "I want you."

For once he did not even stop to think. Gathering her into his arms, he kissed her, and she welcomed the attention wholeheartedly. They retired to a sleeping pad. From there, matters should have easily proceeded along their natural course—a light mingling of thoughts, a pleasurable joining, then relaxation. In prison he had sometimes dreamt of this, and just now he would have gladly shared even some of his prison memories. But no. That was not the difficulty, this time. As Spock become increasingly aware of the problem at hand, he drew back, shattering the sense of intimacy.

Lauren stared at him, eyes glistening with tears. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Wordlessly he sat up and reached for his clothes. Lauren grabbed for his hand, but he pulled away and began to dress quickly. Her soft, wounded voice tore at him. "Why? Why are you doing this to us?"

Without looking at her, he said, "Never doubt that you are mine."

"Then why won't you make love to me?" she demanded.

Spock's throat tightened from an embarrassment that defied all logic. "Because," he admitted, "I cannot."

Rising abruptly, he took his shoes and headed out into the ship.

oooo

It had taken Lauren a moment to realize that—as always—Spock meant his statement in a very literal sense. Then came a rush of relief. The problem was only physical. Stress alone could cause it, and she did not need a medscanner to confirm the neurological weakness that was steadily creeping over his body. They were frighteningly low on his medication. He needed proper medical treatment, and fast.

All this she told herself as the little ship sped on its course toward the deep space research station where T'Naisa Brandt had spent the early years of her life. On the morning they were to arrive, she lingered at the dining table and placed the final remaining dose of neuroplex into her husband's hand.

"This is the last of it," she said. "We have to find some way of getting more."

Spock gave a nod, then swallowed the precious capsule using some of the bland, replicated juice left over from breakfast. He looked bone-tired. It had been another lonely night in the crawlway, with him out roaming the ship.

"Please look at me," she said.

Spock rose from his chair. His eyes met hers with a curiously pained, yet distant expression. "I must get to the bridge. Mudd's crew can only be trusted so far."

"You've been watching them day and night," Lauren remarked, as if that were the only reason he had absented himself from their bed area. "Go lie down for a while. I'll call you when we get near the station."

Predictably, he shook his head. "No. I am alright."

There had been a time aboard the Enterprise when she could have ordered him to rest. But though she was a doctor, she no longer held that kind of authority over him.

"Spock…" she began, and faltered. There were words that she wanted badly to say, but they might do more harm than good, at this point. Finally she said, "Do you really expect to find T'Naisa at the space station?"

The question was impersonal, and Spock visibly relaxed. "She is not likely to be there, but we should find her father."

"And a Starfleet security squad."

"That, too, is possible," he conceded, "but Vanguard 2 is a privately funded station. I don't think they would take kindly to Starfleet forces loitering around, attempting to entrap their engineer's daughter. By now I imagine Starfleet has come, asked their questions, and departed."

"What makes you think T'Naisa's father will talk to us?"

"He might not—but I think it is, as you would say, 'worth a try'."

Shortly before noon they arrived at the space station and contacted Jarod Brandt directly. Posing as a pair of research scientists, they downloaded false identifications and received permission from Vanguard's engineer to beam over.

The spotless interior of the science station was in sharp contrast to Mudd's dingy, decrepit vessel. Lauren felt conspicuous. They were really beginning to look the part of poverty-stricken fugitives—their hair in need of trims, their clothes worn and mended, and shoes scuffed beyond repair. She expected at any moment to be set upon and arrested, yet the red-haired Brandt—a seemingly gracious man—acted as if nothing were amiss as he escorted them to his office.

Brandt's manner abruptly changed when the door closed. "Alright, you two can drop the act now," he said hotly. "I know exactly who you are. Those faces of yours have been all over the news net for weeks. What the hell's going on? Starfleet's been crawling over this place like tribbles on triticale. And what could you possibly have to do with my daughter…" He turned the full force of his anger on Spock. "Aside from the shoddy way you kicked her out of Starfleet Academy."

Spock drew himself up. "Sir, T'Naisa's behavior caused her expulsion."

Brandt's eyes blazed. "That's not the story she tells!"

"I am not surprised," Spock said dryly. "Part of the reason for her dismissal was a lack of honesty. Though I gave her every opportunity to redeem herself, she found it increasingly impossible to abide by the Cadet's Code of Honor."

"Honor!" Brandt said with deep sarcasm. "Tell me, is your wife here aware of the disgusting little proposition you made to T'Naisa when you expelled her? Does she know you offered reinstatement in exchange for sexual favors?"

Lauren felt her face go red. "That's not how it happened. If T'Naisa had a valid complaint, why didn't she bring charges against Spock? Memory scans would have shown the truth. No sir, I'm afraid that your daughter is the one who made the proposition. When Spock refused her advances, she began a calculated program of harassment that landed her in a criminal psychiatric unit. Surely you're aware of that—and this time she's done more than skip out on her parole."

Brandt's eyes narrowed. "Such as?"

Spock intervened. "I will explain in due time. But first, a question. When did your daughter begin studying the Vulcan disciplines?"

The engineer was taken aback. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Then she has," Spock surmised.

"Well, yes," Brandt admitted. "I was surprised by it—after all this time. She's always resisted her mother's efforts to teach her. Then about a year ago she suddenly showed up and asked T'Gara for guidance. T'Gara took her to Vulcan and found her an instructor."

"Interesting," Spock said. "And where is your daughter now?"

Brandt regarded him with suspicion. "Give me one reason why I should tell you—why I shouldn't just turn you people in and be done with it."

Lauren cast Spock an uneasy glance, but his confidence seemed unshaken as he revealed, "Your daughter may have information that will clear me of a criminal charge."

Brandt made a sound of pure disgust. "Which one? It's bad enough what you did to Captain Kirk, but now I hear that you've killed another man. It's people like you who make me think they should bring back the death penalty." His angry words rushed on. "And as for my daughter—do you know what I think? I think it happened just like she said. When she refused to give you what you wanted, you concocted that ridiculous story to save your ass." Reaching behind him, he triggered the door open and stepped aside. "I should never have let you aboard this station. Now get the hell out, and get fast, because I'm going to turn around and send off an alert to Starfleet."

Lauren's heart jumped into her throat. For a moment the two men stood locked in silent confrontation. Then Brandt reached for the intercom. Before his fingers could touch the control, Spock lurched forward and grasped the engineer at the base of his neck. A clumsy move, but Brandt's head swung around in surprise. His eyes widened as if he realized what was happening and could do nothing to prevent it. Then his body sagged and his eyes closed. Spock lowered him to the floor, unconscious.

"Shut the door," he said, and Lauren took care of it.

When she looked back, Spock was leaning over the engineer, his fingertips arranged in a familiar pattern on Brandt's face. She watched him retreat into the detached mental state that preceded a deep meld. His eyes narrowed and grew distant. His lips moved silently, and Lauren thought she saw a word formed.

All at once Spock came out of the meld. Looking utterly spent, he pushed himself to his feet, drew out Mudd's battered communicator, and ordered a beam-up.

Nothing happened.

The beginnings of panic slithered through Lauren's stomach. "What if they took off? What if they just left us?"

"Highly unlikely," Spock said, but she could see the tension in his face and in his hand as it gripped the communicator. "I left the navigational controls securely locked. By now they should realize that they are helpless without us."

He called up to the ship again. Another full minute passed. Then came a faint ringing sound, and with a surge of relief Lauren sensed a stirring of spacial displacement. The transporter beam—however reluctantly—was reaching for them.

oooo

Spock hurried to the bridge, impatient with the delay his limp cost him. As he entered, the crew made way with resentful glances. Settling into the helm chair, he swiftly freed the navigational controls and piloted the ship away from Vanguard, onto a new heading. Then he moved to the computer station and implemented one of several call signature programs he had devised to conceal Stella's true identity. For now, Mudd's ship would have a new name and registry. The trading vessel Commerce sailed through space at an unremarkable warp three.

Spock settled back into the cushioned seat and became aware of Lauren standing behind him. Her hand touched his shoulder, bringing with it a sense of puzzlement.

"Where to?" she asked just above a whisper.

Spock looked at the computer construct of space on the forward viewscreen. There had been little time on Vanguard to weigh the ethical issues surrounding the meld. Now there would be ample opportunity to examine what he had done, as well as what he was about to do. Locking in the new course, he left Mudd's people to oversee the mundane operation of the ship, and took Lauren into the privacy of the crawlway. There he told her his plan.

Her mouth opened in shock. "We're going to Vulcan? No, it's much too dangerous!"

"T'Naisa is there with her mother," he explained, "in the district of K-Mar."

She studied his face. "You saw that? In Brandt's mind?"

"Yes."

She did not argue the morality of intruding on another's mind without permission. Down there, she had known exactly what he was doing. In the short time it took them to beam up, she had already found some way to justify the act. And even as Spock stood before her, he was aware of his own mind seeking to excuse him through various applications of logic. He found himself wondering what brand of self-serving logic Ronaldi had used to sanction his immoral acts in prison…

"Spock." Lauren's brows drew together with worry. "Brandt will have Starfleet swarming."

He drew a slow breath and released it. "He will remember nothing of our visit."

Lauren gazed at him for a long moment. "Forget," she said softly. "That's the word I read on your lips."

"Yes," Spock acknowledged.

Searching deep into his eyes, she touched his face and said, "You'll need your strength on Vulcan. I'll mind the ship. Try and get some rest—please."

He nodded and passed her Mudd's stun gun, which she concealed under her clothes. After she left the crawlway, Spock lay down, grateful for the solitude in which to prepare himself. But there was too much on his mind to allow for sleep.