"Mosha, Mosha!"

The childish voice of his son registered in Spock's mind, and alerted to his supervisory role, he glanced up from his datapadd. Across the fenced yard, two-year-old Simon stood firmly on his plump legs and beckoned the cat toward him.

"Come, Mosha. Good kitty. Come take your bath."

Mosha ran to the boy. Humming softly to himself, Simon squatted with his back to Spock and worked his arms busily. He remained occupied with the cat for so long that Spock finally became suspicious. A bath? It had rained overnight, but the few puddles left behind had quickly dissipated in the warm October sun. Rising from his chair on the porch, Spock went over to investigate.

Their calico cat had turned a dirty shade of brown. Simon was bathing the unhappy-looking animal in mud.

"See, Daddy?" Simon's blue eyes shone up at Spock proudly. Pushing at his dark curls, he created an unsightly smudge all the way across his forehead.

Spock sighed. "Yes, Simon, I see what you have done. Now you and Mosha will both need baths."

Lauren appeared on the porch, hands on her hips. "Spock, I thought you were watching him."

"I was," Spock said in defense, "but as it turned out, I was watching the wrong side of him." As Simon giggled and tossed a handful of mud at the retreating cat, Spock added, "You have told me it is enriching for him to play in the dirt."

The smile in Lauren's eyes spread over her face. Spock heard a car coming up the driveway, and turned. He did not recognize the groundcar gliding toward the house. Lauren came out into the yard, and frowning in the direction of the visitor, quickly took Simon by one dirty hand. Was she having one of her mysterious premonitions?

The car settled to the ground and a dark man in Starfleet uniform emerged from the driver's seat.

"Admiral Morrow," Spock said under his breath. The Saturday afternoon seemed to dim as he walked down to his superior.

They met on the pavement.

"Captain," Morrow said with a serious expression.

"Admiral," Spock returned.

Morrow's eyes traveled to Spock's wife and son, and he nodded a greeting. "Doctor Fielding." He had met Lauren on more than one social occasion over the past two years, but he had never before seen Simon. "Handsome boy," he said.

"Thank you," Lauren replied.

The admiral closed his eyes briefly, and then glanced out over the terraced gardens on the hillside. Spock had the distinct impression that he was struggling with his emotions. Several possible reasons came to mind, none of which were pleasant to consider.

"Admiral?" Spock questioned.

Morrow faced him once again. "Forgive me, Spock. Technically, this duty should be performed by officers of the Border Patrol, but I…I didn't want you to hear it from a stranger."

Spock experienced a stab of dread. Lauren came up close beside him. He felt her lay a hand on his arm, but his eyes did not leave the admiral.

In a formal tone Morrow said, "I regret to inform you that Lieutenant Cristabeth Lemoine has been reported missing in action…and is presumed dead." He cleared his throat. "The Donari attacked en mass. The Stinger your daughter piloted was struck early in the offensive, and was last seen falling out of control into the atmosphere of Donari." He paused to collect himself. "My condolences, Captain. My son Kevin…considered her a good friend."

Spock drew in a slow breath and nodded. Turning, he went into the house. He was glad that Lauren did not immediately follow him inside, for he needed to be alone. He needed, somehow, to rise above the chaos of his emotions. Standing at the foot of the stairs, he relived his final confrontation with T'Beth. Regret was illogical—but even so, he found himself wondering what he might have done differently that day to prevent the senseless waste of his daughter's life. He wondered why, in the years that followed, he had not tried even once to restore some measure of communication between them. He had secretly followed her progress. He had always made it a point to know exactly where she was posted and what her duties were…

Lauren entered the house and tended to Simon at the kitchen sink before taking him upstairs. After putting the boy in his room, she came down and stood beside Spock, but his gaze remained locked on the wall where he had pinned T'Beth and told her, "I have had my fill of you!"

Sorrow constricted his throat. "She said…I had become as overbearing and inflexible as Sarek." Tears clouded his vision. Biting his lip, he remembered how it had been between him and his own father—the conspicuous absence when Spock graduated from Starfleet Academy and the cold, continuing years of rejection that followed. It was in just such a silence that T'Beth had died—alone, unreconciled, unaware of the true depth of love he had borne for her.

He said, "I should have set aside my principles and gone to her commencement ceremony. I should have spoken to her then."

Wordlessly Lauren put her arms around him, and they grieved together.

oooo

The Enterprise approached the Sy-Don Corridor at full red alert. On the bridge, Captain Kirk sat at the edge of the command chair, his eyes riveted to the distant flash of weapons just visible on the forward view screen.

"Battle in progress," reported the first officer in a feminine, unVulcan voice to which Kirk had never quite grown accustomed. Suba Vladis came up behind his chair. "Looks like the treaty has split wide open."

"What treaty?" Kirk said with sarcasm. "There's hardly been a moment's peace here for the past 200 years."

Vladis moved around to Kirk's side and leaning in, spoke quietly. "I hear that Captain Spock's daughter is somewhere out in that mess."

Kirk's fingers tightened on the arms of the chair. What did Vladis know of Spock—or his daughter? "Yes. So I've heard." He tore his eyes away from the screen long enough to address Commander Uhura at Communications. "Open hailing frequencies. Let them know they're about to be outgunned by a starship."

Vladis flashed him a surprised, slightly disapproving look, as if she would rather go in, phasers blasting, and take the enemy by surprise. Ignoring her, Kirk studied the action and was gratified to see the Donari Raiders break away and streak off for the safety of their home planet. It was crowded enough out there without creating more confusion and potential for Patrol casualties.

"We're here to keep the peace," he said for his first officer's benefit, "not to see how many flies we can swat. Helm, bring us to corridor's midpoint. Step down to yellow alert."

Rising, he gave Vladis the com and retired to his office where he could address the commander of Starfleet's Border Patrol in private. Over the years he had run into Bob Hostetler a few times, but had never seen him looking as weary as he appeared on the desktop screen.

"Jim," Hostetler said from the Starfleet support base on Sydok, "thank God you're here. The Donaris have been hitting us non-stop. We've taken some pretty heavy losses."

Kirk felt his stomach cinch tighter. "You have a new pilot. Lieutenant Lemoine. What about her?"

Hostetler frowned and consulted some data off-screen. When he turned back, his eyes held a look of apology that chilled Kirk to the bone. "Lost in action…two days ago."

Kirk stared at the screen, his mind reeling with grief and anger. Pressing a fist to his mouth, he swallowed hard. First his son, David. Then Spock's brother, Sybok. And now T'Beth?

"I'm sorry," said Hostetler.

Kirk forced down his hand and nodded. "She…she was…a friend." What had she been—twenty? So wild, so obstinate, so completely and wonderfully alive. Right or wrong, he longed to feel her in his arms again. No—he just wanted her near him. And now, at most, he could only hope to take her home. "Her body—" Kirk's voice grated. "Bob, were you able to…?"

Hostetler shook his head sadly. "Her ship took a hit and went down on Donari. All hands presumed dead."

After the conversation Kirk sat alone, hoping to God that T'Beth had died quickly.

oooo

Before dawn Spock rose from meditation, his mind rested and sharpened by a night of introspection. The initial shock of Admiral Morrow's announcement had dissipated; his thoughts were starting to settle back into their familiar pattern of logic. Opening the outer door of his study, he went onto the balcony. Fog blanketed the dark hillside and obscured the stars. Its damp chill sliced through his meditation robe. From far out in San Francisco Bay came the plaintive sound of a foghorn.

He heard the French doors opening and was unsurprised when his wife appeared. "Lost in action," he said. "Presumed dead. I am not satisfied with that."

Lauren's eyes glimmered in the darkness. "What can you do?"

"I want answers," he replied. "I must have answers. If there is even a slight chance that she has survived and been captured, I must find her. I must bring her out."

"But how?" she asked. "People don't exactly beam in and out of Donari."

Spock thought of the cruel reputation of the reptilian species that inhabited the planet. Though the politics of their land did not lend itself to negotiation, the existence of the much-abused Sy-Don Treaty proved that negotiation was at least a remote possibility.

"Last night," he revealed, "I spoke with Starfleet Command. The Enterprise has been called into the corridor. Perhaps together, Jim and I can devise a plan."

"And get yourselves killed?"

Spock faced her full on. "Lauren…aisha…what would you have me do? I must try."

Sighing, she grasped his hand and he returned the fond, knowing pressure. "Do what you have to do," she said in resignation. "I've just been spoiled these past years having you here all the time."

"I will be back," he promised.

Dawn was approaching when Spock completed the necessary arrangements for his journey. Going into Simon's room, he gently roused the boy and explained that he would be gone for a time.

"Don't go, Daddy," his sleepy-eyed son protested. But the child dropped back into slumber almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

oooo

All day Kirk had wondered how he was going to handle Spock's arrival. Waiting in the transporter room beside McCoy, he held his feelings carefully in check. Over the years he had grown sick and tired of McCoy's endless suspicion, tired of walking a narrow uncomfortable line between T'Beth and her father. Little by little he had backed himself into an emotional corner so tight that now he dared not show his true grief for T'Beth.

Spock materialized on the transporter locus, and their eyes met. Setting aside his guilt, Kirk left McCoy and embraced his Vulcan friend. When he drew back, his eyes were misty, but Spock's held only grim determination.

"Welcome aboard," Kirk said, although he had no idea what Spock hoped to accomplish here that had not already been tried. T'Beth was dead. The enemy strike had left her ship too disabled to return to base. The fighter had been out of control and most likely burned up in the atmosphere of Donari.

Walking out of the transporter room, Spock addressed Kirk, all business. "I will need to speak with Admiral Hostetler and any individual who may have seen T'Beth's fighter go down. I have already sent out feelers among our operatives on Donari."

Kirk broke step and stared. "Spock, you know I've done all that."

"Yes," Spock said, "and now I will also do it. In addition, I have contacted my father. Sarek has agreed to use every diplomatic channel to aid us."

"Oh well then," McCoy drawled, "it's a done deal. We all know how much the Donaris value diplomacy."

Spock turned on him. "Doctor, I can do without your sarcasm."

McCoy bristled. "Looks like running the academy has made you pretty damn bossy."

Spock's rapier glance took in both of his companions. "Gentlemen, I did not come here to reminisce."

Kirk sighed. "I know, Spock, I know. But I just wonder if…" Should he say it? "If you aren't just setting yourself up for a big disappointment."

"Disappointment never killed anyone," Spock retorted. "However, the Donaris do. T'Beth may have bailed out. If she is still alive, we must waste no time locating her."

Kirk met McCoy's eyes. Never mind the odds against T'Beth's survival—for once they seemed to be in agreement. Give the man what he wanted. Maybe, just maybe, there was something to it. "Come on," he told Spock, "I'll put you in touch with Hostetler."

oooo

…For a long while there had been nothing but blackness. Then the voice came, distant but unmistakable, calling out her name. She struggled to answer, but the sound she made was that of a frightened animal.

"Father!" she screamed in her mind. "Father, I'm over here!"

Listening, she waited for him to come and take her home, but his voice grew distant and faded into complete silence. She was alone—abandoned by him in the dark. Terrified, she struggled to move. A sudden storm of pain tossed her higher and higher toward consciousness.

She cracked open her eyelids. Gasping with agony, Cristabeth stared at a stone ceiling. Her body tremored from shock and fever. Rivulets of sweat soaked her bedding. Where was she? What was wrong with her? Oh God, she was so thirsty. Oh God, oh God, her legs…

Something skittered in the dusky corner of the cave-room and approached her bed with reptilian stealth. Trembling, Cristabeth inched her head over and gazed in horror at the gray lizard face with its orange eyes blinking at her. Then her head lolled and the blackness claimed her again…

oooo

McCoy slapped the conference table, his face jubilant. "You did it!"

"Spock, I have to hand it to you," Kirk happily concurred, "I didn't think you had a chance of finding her alive, but you were right. She was down there all along."

Spock steepled his fingers in front of him and considered the content of the message they had just received. Somehow, it all seemed too easy. "Do not congratulate me yet. The fact that the Donari government has shown interest in exchanging prisoners is very promising, however—"

"Promising!" McCoy cut in. "Spock, they called her by name. We never gave them that information—so she had to, and that means T'Beth is alive."

Spock found certain aspects of the negotiations too disturbing to let himself experience more than a wary hope. "Doctor, the Donaris have failed to produce so much as a single identity scan or picture of the missing Patrol members. And you will notice that they are offering only two prisoners. There were three crewmembers aboard T'Beth's Stinger."

Kirk sat back and sighed. "Then one of them didn't make it. But T'Beth did. Spock, it's only a matter of working out the details."

As it turned out, the details demanded more diplomacy and negotiation than even Spock had anticipated. The Donaris were not pleasant to with, and Starfleet also demanded its share of Spock's patience. Every offer and counter-offer had to be approved by Starfleet Command, but at last an agreement was worked out and the mechanics of the exchange finalized. The two Border Patrol prisoners would be traded for twenty handpicked Donaris aboard a neutral freighter at midpoint in the Sy-Don Corridor. Two armed representatives from each side would oversee the exchange.

There had never been any question about who would accompany Spock, but when Kirk informed his first officer that he was going, Vladis did not look pleased.

"Captain," she reminded, "regulations forbid the commander of a starship to unnecessarily place him or herself in harm's way. I hardly think it's safe for you to—"

"Your objection is duly noted," Kirk snapped, and walked from the scene.

Spock followed him into a lift and kept his eyes on the doors even after they had closed. "Jim," he said carefully, "it was the commander's duty as first officer to point out—"

"Shut up!" Kirk said.

Startled, Spock turned and met the anger in his friend's eyes.

"I could kick your Vulcan ass," Kirk declared, "for ever leaving the Enterprise."

Spock raised an eyebrow…then wisely moved his gaze back to the doors and kept silent.

oooo

Cristabeth did not understand why they had not killed her. After all, she was half dead already. She shuddered with pain and revulsion as the Donaris tended to her wounds. Lying helpless, she watched their long, bony fingers reach down and unbandage her legs. Their eyes blinked at one another as they consulted in the odd clicking language she found chilling.

Fear had always stopped her from peeking at her legs when the wrappings were off. This time she forced herself. Weak with fever, she inched her head up and took a long, horrifying look. Tears flooded her eyes and she fell back, sobbing. No! No! No! Were those swollen, hideous things actually part of her? Burned, mangled, seething with infection. She was only hallucinating—wasn't she?

A despair as black as death overwhelmed her as she remembered the simple joy of hiking, of running. She remembered how it was to ride a galloping horse or entwine her legs around the body of a lover. Oh, why had she ever gone off and joined the Patrol? Her father had said she would get killed, and now look at her. He always had to be so smart, so right. Well Father, she thought bitterly, I hope you're satisfied now. I hope wherever you are, you're feeling so damn self-satisfied that you choke on it!

oooo

Spock worked to contain his emotions as he stood waiting beside Captain Kirk and the twenty Donari prisoners. His eyes searched the gloom at the far end of the freighter's hold. At last, movement. Two forms came toward them and emerged from the shadows. One, dark-haired but too short to be T'Beth, pushing a bandaged person in a wheelchair.

Kirk motioned the Donaris to begin the crossing. Silently they moved away, passing the Patrol crew at midpoint. Spock focused his attention on the creaking wheelchair. As it came nearer, his heart began to pound with fierce hope. Then the person's face came into view and the hope died. It was a man.

"What the hell?" Kirk muttered.

Holding in his disappointment, Spock watched the young man and woman travel the final meters to safety.

"Say nothing," advised the girl pushing the wheelchair.

Spock took stock of their bruised, pathetically childlike faces, waiting until he was certain the Donaris were out of earshot. Then quietly he asked, "Where is Lieutenant Lemoine?"

The girl studied him with dark, Asian eyes. "I'm Lelia Chan, T'Beth's gunner. You're her father—aren't you?"

"Yes."

Chan let out a shuddering sigh. "The ship was going down. T'Beth made sure we ejected, but neither of us saw her get out. She must have thought she could land." Drawing a deep breath, she continued. "We saw the Polecat crash. There was a big explosion. No one could have survived. I'm sorry."

Teary-eyed, Chan turned toward her injured companion. Spock stared at a point in midair somewhere above her right shoulder. He had not realized how much emotion he had invested in the prisoner exchange. He felt stricken, as if he had just lost his daughter all over again.

"Wait a minute," Kirk said. "If she's dead, how did her name come up in the negotiations?"

Chan wiped her eyes and faced them once again. "T'Beth was my friend. I knew that her family had powerful connections. I thought she wouldn't mind my using her name to try and get us out of there alive." She looked with deep apology at Spock. "It…it's not something I did lightly, sir."

Spock nodded and turned aside.

"Sir," Chan addressed him, "I want you to know that…that T'Beth spoke very highly of you."

Spock glanced at Kirk and arched an eyebrow. In all his life he had never heard a finer lie.