Note: The character Sola Thane is drawn from the Star Trek novel "Triangle", by Sondra Marshak and Myrna Culbreath.

Chapter 1

Nayo was sprawled on his favorite sofa, gazing at a dreamlike painting on the wall, when his wife came in to say goodbye. As she bent to kiss his lips, he abruptly reached out and pulled her close.

"I don't want you to leave," he said, knowing that she must. Sola Thane's career as a Federation Free Agent often kept them apart for months at a time.

Looking upon him with concern, she tenderly stroked his trim goatee. "I wish I didn't have to. Now, more than ever."

Though a stirring of fear passed between them, neither chose to name it. Reluctantly Nayo rose, followed her to their transporter alcove and shared one final kiss before she stood back, awaiting the beam.

In that final moment she said, "Remember. Doctor McCoy at one-thirty."

Then the beam caught her and she was gone, leaving Nayo with a crushing sense of loneliness. Of all the days for his appointment with the irascible Doctor McCoy…but that was still several hours away. Lighting a cigarette, he settled back on the sofa to resume his contemplation of the newly acquired artwork. Slowly but surely the Impressionist landscape drew him into a placid world where time passed, unmeasured. Somewhere ahead, just out of reach, shone a clear sweet light capable of soothing away every pain. A fanciful notion, perhaps, but grounded in an actual event from Nayo's past.

Once, during a near-death experience, he had encountered a Being of Light who knew him intimately and loved him despite his wretched background and numerous failings. Surely he had not imagined it, but there remained a question of whether or not that Being was the Shiav called Yanash, whom his twin brother followed so religiously. Nayo preferred to think of the Being simply as Oekon, or God. And as for prayer? At moments such as this or while at work in his garden, he yielded his heart to Oekon in some measure and experienced moments of peace.

An intrusive sound tore Nayo from his reverie. With a start, he realized that the phone at his elbow was playing a tune. Beside it, his unsmoked cigarette had burned out, leaving a gray line of ash in the tray.

He glanced at the phone ID and accepted the call from Doctor McCoy's receptionist. "Yes, this is Nayo S'chn T'gai." Hopefully he asked, "Are you rescheduling my appointment?"

Onscreen, a middle-aged woman replied, "Sir, we thought maybe you were rescheduling. You're an hour late."

oooo

Stripped to the waist, Nayo lay stiffly on a padded examination table while Doctor McCoy fussed over him with various medical instruments.

"So," McCoy said as he worked, "let's get this straight. One minute it was nine-thirty in the morning, and the next thing you knew, it was two-thirty, or thereabouts. You don't remember getting up even once, but you weren't asleep. You just felt all…woozy."

"That is not the word I used, but yes," Nayo admitted, "that pretty much describes the experience. I must have slipped into a meditative trance."

McCoy stopped and looked at him with raised eyebrows. "You meditate?"

In fact, Nayo had received far less grounding in meditation than Spock. He glossed over his ignorance by calling himself a man of action, but the doctor's implication rankled, so he snapped, "Is that so hard to believe?"

McCoy let it pass. "This lapse of yours…has anything like it ever happened before?"

Nayo considered lying, but what purpose would it serve? He might fool McCoy, but he could not trick himself into believing that all was well. Even Sola had noticed the difference in him and insisted that he make this appointment. "Yes," he grudgingly admitted, "it's happened before…but only for brief periods…five or ten minutes, at most."

"And at the studio, you've been forgetting your lines." Not a question, but a statement of fact, as if McCoy had been present on the set when a script coach now fed him the occasional line.

Stomach knotting with dread, Nayo sat up. "Eight damn years, and nothing…but now my time has finally run out. Just say it. Bendii Syndrome…"

McCoy made a noncommittal sound as he turned to the diagnostic screen. His bony finger trembled slightly as he pointed at a column of readouts. "It's rearing its ugly head, alright, but we'll throw it a few punches. I'm prescribing a medication that's done wonders for Spock…" He abruptly swiveled to face Nayo. "Speaking of whom, that brother of yours called me not a week ago about a new treatment afoot on Vulcan."

oooo

Nayo had a habit of summoning people into his presence like an autocrat, and though Spock found the behavior annoying, here he was—on the sunny back patio of Nayo's Colorado home—not so much out of curiosity, but distrust. Whatever his infamous brother wanted, it was likely to upset the serenity of Spock's life, and he would rather deal with it at a safe distance from Plum Creek.

Spock's seat afforded a fine view of an extraordinary garden and the snow-capped mountains beyond, where the actor skied with his celebrity friends in the winter. As Nayo poured two shots of Vulcan brandy, Spock's attention turned fully to his brother. Nayo had shaved off his beard. For the first time onscreen, he would portray Commander Spock of Starfleet, a situation that Spock found unsettling. Was this meeting about Nayo's upcoming role?

From the pocket of his silken leisure jacket, Nayo produced a bottle of prescription medication and set it on the table between them. Then he said, "It's happened."

Spock repressed a sigh. He had been hopeful that his twin would somehow be spared the pain of Vulcan dementia. Gathering himself, he inquired, "How long?"

"I was diagnosed Tuesday of last week." Slouching in a typically unrestrained manner, Nayo downed his shayo at a gulp. "Your doddering friend, McCoy, said you're looking into some new treatment…for yourself, I assume, since you haven't bothered to tell me."

Though the accusatory tone was both unjust and illogical, it was hardly surprising, coming from Nayo. Spock released the sigh he had been holding in. "Had I known that you were afflicted, I would have shared the information immediately. This new technique seems very promising. So promising, in fact, that I am arranging a trip to Vulcan, where I will visit a Yanashite healer who is experimenting with the method. As I understand, it involves a series of melds. Perhaps…with adequate training…we can be of help to one another."

Nayo gave a short, derisive laugh. "You—treat me? No thank you, brother, you're not a healer. You go to Vulcan to get your treatment, and then I'll do the same."

Spock picked up his glass, swirled the shayo, and took a bracing swallow. Anticipating a scene, he said, "I have researched the method. The degree of compatibility between the melding minds greatly improves the outcome. As halfling twins, we are particularly unique. Therefore our best option is to assist one another."

Nayo's face darkened with anger. Bolting upright in his chair, he said, "That can't be true!"

Spock was not accustomed to defending his honesty, but he kept his words calm and steady. "Although I do not find it a pleasant prospect, a healing meld between us would hold the greatest chance of success. If first I…and then you…could master the technique, it would ultimately benefit us both."

Nayo glared at him for a long moment. "So you'd not only treat me, but also train me in the technique?"

"If you are willing. But I am told that it demands a great deal of mental discipline."

Nayo lit a cigarette, and rising nervously, stepped off the patio to stare at the mountains as he smoked. His voice came in low, irritable snatches that Spock—even with Vulcan hearing—could not quite make out. But Spock could well imagine Nayo's thoughts. Apart from his public persona, Nayo led a very private life, one of proud self-reliance, and the threat of dementia would shake him badly, just as it had once shaken Spock.

Suddenly Nayo tossed down his cigarette and turned around. As he met Spock's eyes, Spock experienced an uncanny sense of viewing himself in a mirror. Perhaps Nayo felt the same, for his tough façade seemed to slip.

"Spock, even if you are able to apply this new treatment…even if it is successful in my case, I may not be able to learn it…at least well enough to be of any use." His mouth tightened again. "I wouldn't like feeling that I owe you."

Spock nodded grimly. How like Nayo to show more concern about personal indebtedness than a brother's health. "Of course there is a risk of failure. I only ask that you make the attempt. If you do fail, you might reimburse my travel expenses as payment for your own treatment." A tinge of sarcasm crept into his voice. "I would not want you to feel unnecessarily indebted."

Nayo's eyes narrowed as he considered the arrangement. "Very well, then. Contact me when you return from Vulcan." In a dismissive tone, he added, "Now I'll show you to the transporter alcove."

Spock did not rise. At the thought of what he was about to say, his heart rate accelerated beyond all control. "One moment, if you please. There is another matter we need to discuss…a matter that is long overdue." He could tell by Nayo's guarded look that his twin likely understood. Drawing a slow breath, Spock aired the delicate issue that had hung between them for the past nine years. "He has been asking about you. As time goes on, he is becoming more and more insistent."

Nayo was silent.

"My travel time and stay on Vulcan," Spock continued, "will take approximately three months. Might I suggest that he come visit you while I am away?"

Nayo's face flushed green. "Now? With my mind playing these tricks on me?"

Spock felt so strongly protective of his young ward, that he would gladly have withdrawn his proposal. But for D'Gar's sake he pressed on. "The boy has seen me ingest pills for the same condition. He has seen me grow forgetful or short-tempered and need my medication adjusted. It does not disturb him. He is a capable young man of thirteen, and he—"

"I know how old he is!"

"Good," Spock retorted, "at least that is a beginning. I am not by any means suggesting a permanent arrangement, only that you get to know one another. After all, you are his father."

Nayo turned aside and briefly retreated into his thoughts. Then he asked, "What…have you told him about me?"

"Not even your name." A band tightened around Spock's chest, for he could sense that Nayo was starting to relent. "If you are agreeable to the plan, I shall prepare him with the barest of information. The rest will be up to you."

Spock would have been surprised to know how wildly Nayo's own heart beat, and with what longing, at the thought of meeting his son face to face. For years, Nayo had followed the boy's progress from afar, jealous of Spock's hold over D'Gar, yet afraid to come forward…because once D'Gar learned Nayo's true identity, the boy would surely reject him.

Oblivious to his brother's difficulty, Spock awaited Nayo's decision. Long ago, with Nayo's permission, Spock had removed all memory of the Black League from D'Gar's mind. Over the years, Spock had worked hard to shelter his nephew from the truth, but he could not keep it him from him forever. Knowing this did not make it any easier to say, "Nayo. Your son needs you."

oooo

Back at Plum Creek, Spock withdrew to the seminary temple and prepared for the coming ordeal with a form of meditative prayer taught to him by Yanash. The depression caused by Nayo's assent felt very much like grief, but he could not allow himself to be swayed by his—or his wife's—emotion. T'Naisa thought he was making a serious mistake. Though he shared her concern that D'Gar would be negatively influenced by the former Black League operative, they could only protect him for so long.

Years ago, when D'Gar first asked about his parentage, Spock had revealed that his father was Spock's brother, but unable to care for him. Spock had never pretended to be anything more than D'Gar's uncle and guardian as he carefully fielded the stream of queries that came later: "But why can't he take care of me?" "Where does he live?" "What does he look like?" And of course, "Where is my mother?" "Doesn't she want me?"

To that latter question, Spock had replied, "She lives far away on Vulcan, bound there by strict commitments." Unfortunately, her commitment was to a rehabilitation facility for—among other crimes—attempting to murder D'Gar's father. Hoping to console D'Gar, Spock had divulged, "You have a stepmother…your father's wife…who shows tender concern for you. She is half human, half Zaran." But D'Gar had only asked sadly, "Is she also too busy for me?"

Now Spock left the temple and called D'Gar to the seminary office. Shielding the boy from his notorious celebrity father had not been a simple matter. It was necessary to educate him at home and strictly regulate all contact with the outside world. Spock had been particularly careful regarding entertainment, editing out any reference to Nayo in media programming, including the news. Spock dared not let D'Gar catch a glimpse of Nayo's face, for it was Spock's face, too. He dared not let D'Gar hear Nayo's surname mentioned, for every S'chn T'gai on Earth was closely related.

This was how it had been for D'Gar these past nine years, while Nayo seemingly lived in total self-absorption, rarely giving a thought to the son he had abandoned. But now all that was about to end.

The office door opened and there stood a young adolescent in need of a haircut. Spock guided his nephew to a small sofa and they sat side by side. Leaning forward, Spock spread his hands on his knees and stared down at them in silence.

Finding the behavior strange, D'Gar said, "Uncle Spock…am I in trouble?"

"No," Spock answered. The trouble was all his own, for he could not bear to spoil D'Gar's dreams of a perfect father and relinquish him to someone so deeply flawed as Nayo. But summoning his resolve, he turned to the boy and said, "You know that I suffer from a chronic illness. Recently, my brother has developed the same condition."

D'Gar's brown eyes lit with interest. "You mean…my father?""

"Yes, your father. As it happens, there is a promising new treatment on Vulcan. I will shortly be traveling there to observe the process and gain the necessary skill to help him."

The boy's quick mind reached a seemingly logical conclusion. "On Vulcan? That's where he lives?"

There was no turning back now. Steeling himself, Spock admitted, "No, right here on Earth…in Colorado. His name is…Nayo S'chn T'gai."

"Nayo…Nayo." D'Gar let the name roll off his tongue. "Nayo…it seems familiar. I think I've seen it somewhere—yes!" His excitement mounted. "One day, when we were in Pinehaven. The name was on a theater marquee. Is he an actor?"

A theater sign. That one had slipped by Spock. "Yes," he replied, "an actor."

"Really? Vulcans do that?"

"Nayo is not a typical Vulcan," Spock said tactfully. "He performs in front of holocameras. He…'makes movies', as they say, and has built quite a successful career." He cleared his throat. "Your father has extended an invitation. He would like you to visit him while I'm on Vulcan."

D'Gar jumped up, an ecstatic smile on his face. Regardless of personal opinion, Spock had always been careful to cast the acting profession in a positive light. He had known this moment would come, however personally rending, and was determined that no passing comment undermine D'Gar's respect for his father.

"Movies!" D'Gar said breathlessly. "I want to see them. I want to see him!"

Spock agreed to show a suitable movie, explaining first of all that he and his brother would look identical, except for Nayo's beard. They went to the cabin and included his daughter Tess. Though she had grown into a young lady, her mind still lagged, and she had quite forgotten that long-ago day when Spock referred to a lookalike on the news as her uncle.

Partway through the viewing, D'Gar turned to Spock with a frown of displeasure. "Why have you been keeping this from me?"

Spock could give no satisfactory reply, for he dared not tell him the truth about Nayo's past. As a result, D'Gar grew increasingly cold and scarcely spoke to him until the day Spock delivered the teenager to his father. As a going away present, Spock gave D'Gar a wrist phone and told him to call if any problems arose, or even if he was simply lonely.

"Thank you," the boy responded stiffly, "but I don't see why I would need it. I'm sure my father will have phones."

T'Naisa strapped it on D'Gar's wrist and kissed him, and there was no further debate on the issue.

oooo

Once, long ago, Nayo had sneaked onto his brother's property in Idaho. Peering out from the woods along Plum Creek, he watched D'Gar play happily with Spock's young daughter, Tess. D'Gar had been small then, but this slender lad standing before Nayo still resembled that little boy. His dark straight hair was cut in Vulcan bangs and his deep-set eyes were typically S'chn T'gai, but the full mouth and finely shaped nose were like his mother's.

"So at last we meet," Nayo said, just as he had rehearsed.

As Spock stood to one side, D'Gar shifted his feet and replied timidly, "Hello…Father."

From this awkward beginning, they managed a few more words before Spock left. Then Nayo led his son to a guest room, learning along the way that D'Gar enjoyed riding his aunt's horse, disliked cleaning the horse's stall, and preferred skiing over snowshoes. Suddenly the conversation lagged. Feeling ill-at-ease, Nayo excused himself in order to make some business contacts.

Feeling as nervous as his father, D'Gar unpacked his luggage and took in all the luxurious details of the bedroom, with its connecting bath. Compared to the rustic cabin at Plum Creek, this was like a palace—no—the VIP quarters at a star base. The thought immediately captured his imagination, for Starfleet was foremost among his secret fantasies, of which he had many. But as he wandered out into the main house, everything seemed so strange and so much bigger than real life that he began to miss the cozy feeling of home where Tess called him "Digger" and Aunt T'Naisa lavished him with affection. Nayo's house even smelled different; his nose crinkled at an unpleasant odor that hung in the air, and he slipped back into his imaginary world. A star base should smell better, like exotic spices gathered from a thousand alien planets.

He stopped at a hologram of a beautiful woman with a tawny mane of hair. Her vaguely feline appearance suggested some Zaran genes. This must be Sola Thane, he thought. Nayo's wife, the stepmother who was off working for the Federation. Thinking about her, D'Gar walked into a splendid gleaming kitchen. His eyes found a spill of crumbs on the tiled floor and noticed a broom nearby. Here was something familiar. Taking up the broom, it became a sensor wand in his hands, and he swept the floor thoroughly, seeking out any dangerous biohazard that might have made its way onto the base. Little by little, he worked his way from the kitchen to the main entry, and outdoors, onto a breezeway where "Captain" Nayo was conducting some confidential Starfleet business on his communicator.

D'Gar came to an abrupt halt and stared at the stinking fumes rising from a cigarette in Nayo's hand—the same rank odor he had noticed inside.

Seeing him watching, Nayo dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his shoe. He quickly ended the call and gestured toward the broom. "I don't expect you to clean around here. I have a service for that."

D'Gar's hands clenched over the broomstick. Without his beard, Nayo looked and sounded exactly the same as Uncle Spock—so much alike, but they certainly behaved differently. Just now, D'Gar had the feeling that Nayo didn't really want him around interrupting things, and it hurt.

"I…I don't mind sweeping," he stammered. "At home, I…" He fell silent, fearing that he had offended his father by calling Plum Creek home. But suddenly he didn't care, and his heart hammered at his daring. "You were smoking. Isn't that against the law?"

Nayo's right eyebrow rose ominously. "Outspoken, aren't you?" Then his manner softened, and he seemed to take D'Gar into his confidence. "I'm afraid tobacco is just one of your father's many vices, but I have my talents, too. I've started a new movie. Tomorrow you can come along with me to the studio, but I'll have to introduce you as 'a young friend' with an interest in acting. If they find out you're my son, the press will be all over us."

Grateful to be included in his famous father's plans, happy to be called "a young friend", D'Gar decided that he would have to tolerate Nayo's tobacco habit, however uncomfortable it made him. He followed Nayo on a tour of the back garden, listening patiently as his father named each flowering plant, describing its characteristics in numbing detail. Nayo's luxurious new skimmer proved much more interesting. Strapping himself in, D'Gar sat beside his father as they soared out to a fine restaurant for dinner.

Morning came early. Before daybreak, they were already on the movie set, and D'Gar could hardly contain his excitement. They were filming a Starfleet movie! Many of the scenes took place on a replica of the starship Enterprise, where Nayo wore a handsome officer's uniform in the starring role. No wonder the trademark beard had vanished from Nayo's face, for he was portraying his own brother, Spock.

D'Gar followed his father through the long day, imagining each scene was real and that he was included in the action. Young Ensign D'Gar, on a mission that turns deadly, yet throughout the adventure he remains so fearless that Captain James T. Kirk (portrayed by Skip Hansen) awards him an honorary medal.

Noticing the glow in D'Gar's eyes, Nayo was pleased, even flattered, to think that his son was enthralled by the film industry. Already they had found something in common, a mutual interest that they could build on during their days together. At lunchtime, he was similarly pleased when D'Gar selected a cheeseburger instead of adhering to vegetarian fare like Spock.

Over his own hot pork sandwich, Nayo said, "How would you like a role as an extra? That's how I got my start."

D'Gar responded with enthusiasm. Then, without warning, the boy asked, "What did you do…before you became involved in movies?"

Instinctively Nayo began to reach for the comfort of a cigarette, but he could not smoke here, openly flaunting the law in the Warner Brothers food court. He reminded himself that there was no reason to panic. After all, he had known this question was coming and he had an answer ready.

Smoothly he said, "I worked for a Vulcan company that went out of business," and directed the conversation away from his dark past. "Being an actor is much more interesting. The environment always changes. Each day is fresh, you'll see. I'm sure I can find you some small role." And he did.

D'Gar was too young to portray a Starfleet crewman, so wardrobe dressed him as a Vulcan youth. When D'Gar's cue came, he strolled through the background while the main characters interacted in a spaceport scene. It was all done as a personal favor to Nayo, with none of the usual paperwork that would have required awkward information such as D'Gar's full name and address and the consent of a parent. D'Gar found the simple scene thrilling.

oooo

The weeks of filming passed swiftly for D'Gar. He noticed how some actors grew bored while awaiting their turns in front of the camera, but he was too fascinated to be bored, and never once touched any of the lessons that Spock had sent along. Besides, he was still angry with his uncle for keeping Nayo secret. Why had he done it? Was Nayo really so bad?

D'Gar was about to receive an answer.

The crew was filming at a sunny desert location meant to resemble an alien world. D'Gar had begun to fancy himself as a dashing Starfleet security officer, personal guard to Commander Spock-as-portrayed-by-Nayo. This was a different Spock from the one D'Gar knew from Plum Creek, a noble movie-Spock who would never keep secrets from a boy, important information about someone's own parents. Ensign D'Gar served with faithful affection. Among his many duties, he made sure the commander took the daily capsules that safeguarded against the planet's lethal radiation. Without them, the commander would grow vague and forgetful and stare off into space—not a good thing, considering his position of authority. In the interest of the commander's health, Ensign D'Gar also began to seek out his hidden supply of cigarettes and flush them down the toilet. He was tired of tobacco stinking up the quarters they shared, and the way Nayo-as-Spock coughed every morning.

The first time D'Gar disposed of them he stood by, silently hiding his guilt, while Nayo rummaged through every drawer in the hotel room, hunting for the missing packs. D'Gar knew by his father's troubled expression that Nayo thought his memory was failing him. The second time this happened, Nayo abruptly stopped his futile search and turned to D'Gar, one eyebrow raised. It was evening, and Nayo was tired after a long day of filming. He would want nothing more than a cigarette and a peaceful dinner and a good night's sleep. D'Gar shrank inside, for he knew that the young ensign was in serious trouble.

"You're the one!" snapped Nayo. "You've been stealing my cigarettes, haven't you?"

Ensign D'Gar struggled to suppress an incriminating blush.

"The truth!" Nayo demanded.

D'Gar's heart thudded. He was no brave ensign after all, not even a first year cadet, and the anger on his father's face was frightening. He tried to think up a convincing lie, but his mind went blank. The truth…a Yanashite must always tell the truth.

Just then, someone rapped on the door and called out, "Ready, Nayo? We're heading down to dinner."

Nayo hesitated, his eyes boring into D'Gar. Then he said, "You go with them. I seem to have lost my appetite."

D'Gar gladly made his escape. A few short minutes ago he had been famished, but now his stomach felt queasy as he followed the actors through the hotel buffet line, dabbing a little food onto his plate. At the table, he could hardly eat a bite.

The minor actress seated next to him asked, "Something wrong, kid?"

D'Gar's face went hot with embarrassment.

Leaning close, she spoke into his pointed ear, "It's him, isn't it? Nayo. He can be a real bastard when that Black League side of him pops out. Don't worry, he'll get over it."

As D'Gar swung around to face her, a shiver ran up his spine. The Black League? Just last summer, he had heard about that vicious organization from one of his young cousins. Its members were brutal and wicked beyond belief. They even stole children from their parents…innocent little babies…and transformed them into heartless killers.

The woman laughed at his discomfort. "Don't tell me you didn't know? Oh, Nayo was a bad one. Got captured by the Federation and cut himself a deal."

"Cut a deal?" D'Gar repeated in a weak voice.

"He testified against the League, helped break it up, and got immunity from prosecution. In other words, he got off 'Scot free'."

Nayo's words came back to D'Gar with chilling clarity: I worked for a Vulcan organization that went out of business. Numbly he said, "Then…then Nayo did a good thing…"

"Maybe he did," she conceded, "or maybe he only testified to save his own ass. It's hard to tell, with him."

Sick at heart, D'Gar withdrew to a corner of the hotel lobby. Darkness was pressing at the windows when he finally gathered the courage to call Aunt T'Naisa on his wrist phone. Her small image comforted him as he poured out the terrible story, hoping she would deny everything and put his world back in order.

"It's a lie," he insisted, "isn't it? My father never belonged to the Black League, did he?"

She was so slow to answer that D'Gar could barely hold back tears of disappointment.

Gently she said, "Listen to me. Nayo never asked to join them. He never said, 'I'd rather be beaten and bullied by strangers than live in Ambassador Sarek's fine home with Spock and a mother who loves him. That's not how it happened. When Nayo was born, the Black League stole him, but his parents never found out. All those years away from his family, he suffered…he suffered a lot…but now he's made a new life for himself, a good life…and you're part of it."

D'Gar hunched down in misery. "I don't want to be part of it. I want to go home." But then he remembered his anger toward Spock and felt it growing hotter than ever. "So this is why Uncle Spock kept my father secret. But if he knew all about Nayo, why did he bring me here to live with him?"

Across the miles, T'Naisa sighed. "At first I was against it…but D'Gar, you're thirteen years old. We could only shelter you for so long. Soon you would have found out about Nayo on your own. At least this way, you had a chance to meet your father without any preconceived ideas. Tell me. Has he been good to you?"

D'Gar gave no answer. Until today, his only complaint against Nayo was the ever-present cigarette smoke. His father had turned out to be a highly intelligent man, multilingual, and surprisingly well-versed in the sciences. Had that been part of his Black League training?

"Give him a chance," urged T'Naisa. "Talk to him, see what he has to say about his past. Then, if you still want to come home, I'll order a transport."

When D'Gar finally went upstairs, Nayo was not in the hotel suite. Retreating to his room, he brought out his neglected book of scripture and sought encouragement from the familiar words of Yanash. He no longer cared if Nayo caught him at his spiritual reading. Just turning the paper pages brought a homey feeling, as if he were still at Plum Creek, breathing the clean mountain air instead of tobacco.

Just past ten o'clock, he heard footsteps and tensed as his father entered the room. He kept his eyes on his book.

"The ParTu." Nayo's voice sounded pleasant as he read the book's cover. "For You, in Standard—good reading."

Hardly believing his ears, D'Gar glanced up. "You've heard of it?"

Nayo settled into an empty chair near D'Gar. Gazing at the ceiling, he quoted, "And then Yanash drew the people to Himself and began speaking to them about God's fatherly love and its power to redeem them from their sins."

"You know scripture!" That did not fit at all with D'Gar's image of a Black League assassin.

Nayo nodded. Reaching into a pocket, he drew out a pack of cigarettes and tossed them into D'Gar's lap. "Here's one you missed."

Hardly daring to breathe, D'Gar stared at the words on the crumpled package: "Cool Menthol, the finest in smoking pleasure." He wished now that he had never taken his father's cigarettes. He should have let Nayo smoke himself into an early grave. The man could not be trusted; he was even worse than Spock, much worse. D'Gar wished with all his heart that someone else was his father, some nice ordinary person instead of this scripture-quoting criminal.

Quietly Nayo asked, "Are you ready to tell me the truth?"

D'Gar's anger hit the boiling point. Rising up, he confronted his father, all but choking on the words. "Yes, I took your idiotic cigarettes! I got rid of them because they were making you cough, because they stink, because they're illegal! But I guess that wouldn't matter to you, would it? Not to a Black League assassin!"

An ominous silence descended.

For a while Nayo just gazed at him, unblinking. Then he sighed. "I should never have let you out of my sight."

"You mean like Spock?" D'Gar seethed. "He controlled everything, too. Well, now I know why."

Stock-still, Nayo said, "Who told you? Who?"

D'Gar sank back into his chair. "What does it matter? It seems everyone knew…everyone but me."

Nayo let it pass. Deep in thought, he stood and slowly walked back and forth. "So you have it all figured out," he said. "You know why Spock brought you to Earth and raised you…because I wasn't fit to be a father…not as I was, then…and I don't know that I'm much better now." He stopped and looked straight at D'Gar. "Do you think I had a pleasant time on Vulcan? The Black League stole my life from me. I was valuable to them only because I could impersonate my famous brother. I had to learn everything he learned, whether or not I found it interesting. Yes, eventually even scripture. It didn't matter what I liked, and as for friends? They murdered the only friend I ever had."

"What about my mother?" D'Gar ventured. "Who is she? Where is she?"

A shadow of pain crossed Nayo's face. "We met in the Black League, and she gave birth to you there. No one lived together as a family; it wasn't allowed. Children were reserved for training by the Dark Masters. You'll never remember those years…Spock's seen to that."

D'Gar felt a sharp pain in his heart. He had begun to tremble and could not seem to stop. "What do you mean, 'Spock's seen to that'?"

"Your uncle…removed certain unpleasant memories from your mind."

D'Gar bolted from his chair so fast that the book and cigarettes went flying. "He took things? Out of my mind?"

Nayo nodded. "Living nightmares, D'Gar, of the same type that sometimes wake me up, screaming."

Once last week, D'Gar had heard Nayo shriek in the night like a wounded animal. The strange, frightening sound had made him dive under the covers. But to steal something as personal as a memory? Spock had no right!

Nayo retrieved the pack of cigarettes from the floor. Crushing it in his strong hand, he said, "There's nothing I can do to change the past, but from now on, I'm going to set a better example for you. I've smoked my last cigarette."

There was a small stirring of gladness, and the young ensign felt the tension in his stomach start to ease. Though the commander's past remained dark and mysterious, his face held a kind, fatherly appeal that encouraged a sense of kinship between them. Perhaps their relationship was not at an end, after all.