October's sun lay warm and mellow on Lauren Fielding's shoulders, but inside she felt cold, empty. Gulls strutted along the debris-strewn beach and circled the churning waves, greedily pouncing on anything that resembled food. For them, the storm was over. Life continued in its daily round of eating, quarreling, mating.

Lauren leaned against the wind-gnarled trunk of a Monterey pine and turned her attention to the crew of workers repairing her beach house. Some of the old foundation had been torn away, leaving the wide porch sagging. Shutters dangled, broken windows gaped, torn shingles littered the ravaged yard. No sign remained of the peeling, decrepit fence she had played beside as a child.

It had been a storm like no other. Descending upon Earth without warning, an alien probe threw the weather into chaos, plummeting temperatures, battering the land with freezing rains and dangerous tides. Worldwide, coastal damages were severe. Countless lives were lost before Admiral Kirk and his outlaw crew used whale song to turn away the probe.

Sighing, Lauren gazed up at the lacy canopy of pine branches, at the vivid blue beyond. Outlaws. Friends. Only one among them was truly innocent, himself a victim of a man named Khan, of his own uncompromising ideals, of science gone stark raving mad. Hope and fear churned in her at the thought of Spock alive, right here in California, under this same cloudless sky. Her current duty assignment was just a few blocks from the Vulcan embassy where he was said to be staying. What if he ventured over to the medical center? What if they stumbled into each other? Would he recognize her? Even for a moment would his mind clear, would he acknowledge their former relationship?

A peculiar noise broke into her reverie. Turning, she looked out to sea. Sunlight glistened off the restless water, and something unbelievably huge and sleek and powerful skimmed the surface before disappearing back under. Lauren stared at the surging waves, at the tantalizing hint of spray fading into imagination, and her eyes grew distant. Her mouth softened. Whales. It was good having them on Earth again.

oooo

"I've got them!" Gillian cried out. Her blue eyes dancing, she jabbed an eager finger at the ocean monitor. "Look! George and Gracie are still offshore, right above Carmel."

Spock moved to her side and studied the readings. He found it disturbing that with all of the Pacific Basin to explore, the two humpback whales continued to linger in that particular stretch of water. Lauren's stretch of water.

"Weird, huh?" Gillian said. "Why do you suppose they like it there?"

Spock looked at her blonde hair as she bent over the monitor, squinting. His hands felt cold, but his civilian suit had no pockets in which to warm them. "An interesting phenomenon," he remarked, hoping she would leave it at that.

With her usual annoying persistent, Gillian straightened up and confronted him, a stubborn frown on her face. "Wait a minute, you must have some idea, some inkling of how they think. I mean, back in my time you used that mindtouch thing on Gracie. In the whale tank. You admitted it."

Yes, Spock had admitted to the precipitous meld. But he would not admit to Gillian Taylor that a whale that had shared his deepest thoughts, his most private feelings, might now be acting upon them. Fighting embarrassment, he said, "Doctor Taylor, you are the expert in whale physiology and behavior. It is for that very damn reason Admiral Kirk brought you back with us. I am only here to assist you. And to learn."

He walked away before Gillian could respond.

Outside the Oceanographic Center, the afternoon was golden with the haze of Earth's autumn. Spock came down the steps and started toward the headquarters of the Federation Council. He welcomed the long, solitary walk in the open air. He must clear his mind of distractions. He must concentrate on ridding his speech of the profanity he acquired on 20th century Earth. Admiral Kirk and the others were depending on him. He had traveled all the way from Vulcan to offer testimony on behalf of his human friends. Now that the hour had come, he would answer each question with dignity and precision. It was all he could do. But what if clarity of speech was not enough?

Amid murmurs, Spock entered the packed courtroom and took the seat reserved for him by Defense. Kirk turned and flashed him a wan look of gratitude. McCoy and his other shipmates displayed varying degrees of annoyance at his last minute arrival, and relief that he had appeared in time.

A sudden hush fell over the assembly. Everyone rose as the Tribunal walked in, and then returned to their seats in expectant silence. Spock was called to the witness stand.

All through his careful testimony Spock was aware of the audience's rapt attention. Anyone who had followed the case knew of his return from the dead. Even so, it was difficult for him to air such a private matter. As he spoke, he found his eyes wandering. They lingered on the nervous faces of his friends and swept over the sea of gawking strangers, searching, seeking against all logic—for whom? What would he do if he actually saw her? It was presumptuous to think Lauren Fielding might still concern herself with him. Any encounter with the doctor was sure to be awkward. It was better that she was not here.

Spock found his father in the audience. He was acutely aware of Sarek watching him—the ramrod stiff posture, the cold grim scrutiny. No doubt the ambassador's highly developed sense of political duty demanded that he attend even after he had offered his own argument on behalf of the accused. It was the same sense of Vulcan duty that kept them from each other's throats on a day-to-day basis. Though they lived in close proximity at the embassy, what few words they were compelled to exchange were chilly and stilted. They had not spoken as father and son since their bitter quarrel on Vulcan.

Spock remained on the stand for well over an hour. When the cross-examination came to an end, he was not sure how the Tribunal had received his testimony. The faces of the presiding officers were as stony and unreadable as that of his father. Resisting an urge to escape the crowded courtroom, Spock went back to his seat. Once again Kirk turned, his thumb raised in the human gesture of encouragement and solidarity. Doctor McCoy smiled and cocked an eyebrow. Then the trial resumed.

oooo

"Hey, Laurie!" Loud knocking punctuated the shrill voice in the hallway. "C'mon, I know you're in there! Open up, will you?"

With a huff of annoyance Lauren plopped down her half-eaten sandwich and gave up the warm spot on her couch. "For Pete's sake,' she fumed, triggering open the apartment door. "I don't want to hear about it, okay?"

"About him, you mean." Janice Rand strode in uninvited and tossed off her overcoat. "What's the matter with you? Sometimes I think you don't give a damn about Spock. Sometimes I think you never really did."

The words stung. Hot tears welled in Lauren's eyes. "How can you say that? I thought you were my friend."

"I am," Janice insisted. "You know I am. Why else would I keep after you like this? I mean, lately you haven't made me feel exactly welcome."

Lauren drew in a slow, shaky breath and brought herself under control. "I know. I'm sorry, Jan. It's just that…" her voice trailed off. It was no use even trying to explain her feelings about Spock. Very quietly she said, "So how did it go?"

"Laurie, you should've been there. They way he testified—I'm not kidding, Spock seemed just like his old self."

Lauren bit down on her lip and gazed out a window. Darkness came early these days. In the lamplit concourse lonely gusts of wind scattered the fallen leaves. Not a soul in sight.

"Laurie, are you listening to me? Give it a chance, go see him. How else will you ever know?"

Lauren shook her head. "If he really were his 'old self'—if he remembered—he would've gotten in touch with me."

"Maybe," said Janice. "Maybe not. What if he's just as scared and mixed up as you? It's been a long road for him, too, Laurie. He's been through a helluva lot."

Lauren's throat tightened painfully. "Quit worrying about him. He's not alone. He's still got his friends." And she could not help thinking, and now he's got Gillian Taylor, too.

"Laurie." Janice's voice was especially gentle. "You're the one I'm worrying about. All you ever do anymore is mope around. It's such a waste of time. He's there, I tell you. He's there, waiting."

Confused, Lauren turned aside and said nothing. Janice patted her on the shoulder and left. After a while Lauren waved down the lights and went to bed. The nights were always hardest. Shadowy images stirred the darkness as she lay thinking, remembering. There was a time when she would not have hesitated to call on Spock, a time when he made her feel warm and welcome and secure. That time of deepening intimacy had more than made up for all the painful conflict in their past. She thought of how he had looked the last time she saw him alive. Shaken by the savage bloodiness of Khan's rampage, fatal determination in his eyes. And yes, a hint of fear.

Could Jan be right? Was it so unreasonable to think this resurrected Spock might also experience fear—the all-too-human fear of inadequacy and rejection? If she could just bring herself to talk to him—a casual conversation, nothing more. God knows, she was hungry for the sound of his voice, for just a glimpse of him. And then maybe Jan would get off her back.

oooo

In the morning Lauren arose knowing what she had to do. It was nearly ten when she placed the call from Starfleet Medical Center. A Vulcan woman appeared on the comscreen, impeccably groomed, cool, and businesslike. No, Spock was not presently at the embassy. She did not know when he was expected back. She would, however, accept a message for him.

Her heart pounding, Lauren declined and swiftly broke the connection. It had been a foolish idea, anyway. A stupid, idiotic waste of time and emotion.

A full hour passed before she built up enough courage to try again. Inwardly quaking, she placed a call to Spock of Vulcan at the Pacific Oceanographic Center. A young woman in a white coat appeared, blonde and very pretty.

"Hi," the woman said. "I'm Doctor Taylor. Sorry, Spock's not in today."

Lauren stared at the smiling image on the screen. "Taylor? Gillian Taylor?"

The curious eyes brightened. "Yes. Is there some way I can help you?"

So this was the living relic from the 20th century. The press releases had not even begun to do her justice. Gillian was strikingly beautiful and seemed far too self-assured for a person in her situation. The breezy way she mentioned Spock, like an old friend and colleague, made Lauren burn. Struggling with jealousy, she managed to say, "Do you know where I can find him?'

Gillian shrugged. "Sorry, no. He said he was going out of town. You might check at the Vulcan Embassy."

Somehow Lauren thanked her and signed off. She gripped the armrests of her chair so hard that her fingers throbbed. Why did that Taylor woman make her feel so threatened? The Spock she had known and loved, the real Spock, no longer existed. He was dead, gone. It was a bitter fact that her mind could understand. So why wouldn't her heart be convinced?

oooo

A gentle snow fell softly onto whitened yards and rooftops. Silver-laced trees lined ribbons of icy streets, hushed and dazzling to the eyes. This was how Spock always remembered Minneapolis. Frozen and enchanted. He took his time slogging through the undomed residential area, the hood of his cloak flung back, snowflakes stinging his ears and neck. No anxious mother hovered nearby, ordering him to "bundle up". No young cousins snickered at the fat snowsuit he had once been compelled to wear. This time he was alone. Though the cold crept through his Vulcan robes and numbed his lightly clad feet, the feeling was not intolerable. Soggy hems and shoes would dry; warmth could be restored. He was in no hurry to reach his destination, but when he did, he would look every inch a Vulcan.

Halfway down the block a sturdy brick house came into view. Spock paused before the Breskin residence, and for a moment he was an outcast halfling boy. Then the moment passed. He was no longer a child. It was time to fulfill the promise made to his mother before leaving Vulcan. Inwardly preparing himself, he rang the doorbell and waited. Movement could be heard inside, unhurried footsteps on carpeting.

A woman opened the door. Though Spock had not seen his Aunt Doris in over forty years, he recognized the small silver-haired grandmother from family photos. Shorter than her sister Amanda, and rounder, she somehow gave the false appearance of being the younger of the two. Her lively blue eyes appraised him with unexpected kindness.

Inclining his head in the Vulcan manner of greeting, he said, "Doris."

"Spock," she smiled, stepping aside. "Come in. Come in out of the cold."

Spock shook out his snow-encrusted cloak and followed her into the…the parlor. Yes. That was it. The word sprang unbidden from a restless miasma of childhood memories. "Out of the parlor, boys. Lester, Mikey, go find something to do with your cousin. And be nice…"

Feeling awkward, Spock took the seat offered to him—a delicately constructed chair upholstered in pale green velvet. Doris sat nearby. A small table between them held a steaming pot of tea and a plate of cucumber sandwiches. Silently Doris poured the amber liquid into a pair of china cups and placed one before her equally silent guest. Then she sat back, looking at him.

"It's been a long time," she said at last.

"Yes," Spock agreed, wondering why both she and his mother had wanted him to come here.

"We've been like strangers," Doris said, and her eyes grew moist. "I want to apologize…for not notifying you of Roger's death."

"There is no need." Spock had not expected such conciliatory words or the depths of his own response. He admitted, "I, too, have experienced regrets."

Doris nodded. "Your uncle was a good man. He treated you more fairly than I ever did. I'm afraid I was always too quick to side with Les and Mike, to take their word against yours, to cover for them. It's sometimes…quite painful…to acknowledge your children's faults." She paused, seemingly lost in the past. Then her eyes focused once again on his. "You have a child of your own now."

"Yes. T'Beth has spoken with pleasure of her visit here."

"I enjoyed having her. She's a wonderful girl, so young, so full of life." Doris hesitated, the lines of her face deepening with concern. "It's a shame what happened. Mandy…told me about the abduction."

Spock stiffened perceptibly. His and T'Beth's sojourn among the Klingons was an extremely private, painful affair. It disturbed him to think that his mother had seen fit to inform Doris. In an attempt to change the subject, he said, "Your sons—are they well?"

"Well enough," Doris replied absently. Clearly her mind was elsewhere. With a sigh she faced him determinedly. "Enough beating around the bush. Spock, I know that girl of yours is going through some rough times right now. I know she's gotten herself into trouble on Vulcan. Well, you may not realize it, but this past year has taken quite a toll on your mother, too. Mandy and I both feel that T'Beth needs a change of scene, a fresh start. She needs the kind of help she can only get among humans."

Spock absorbed his aunt's words in stunned silence. So it had come to this. On some level he had known it was only a matter of time before the strain of family discord had its effect on Amanda. He had already considered finding T'Beth a new home away from the rigorous demands of Vulcan culture. But why hadn't his mother informed him of her own conclusions? Why had she left the telling to Doris?

Easing his dry throat with a swallow of tea, he admitted, "I, too, have given thought to the matter and have reached a similar conclusion."

"Really?" Doris looked surprised.

Spock set down his cup. "I was reluctant to broach the subject with Mother. She has grown quite close to the child."

"Yes, she has. But you see—" Doris broke off and caught her lips between small, even teeth. "Oh dear, I don't know how to say this without sounding like a pushy old woman."

By now Spock's curiosity was fully aroused. He waited, quietly attentive, for his aunt to continue.

"You see," Doris said at last, "I have a place in California, out a ways on one of those winding canyon roads. Roger and I had been planning to—" She stopped, gave an impatient wave. "But never mind about that. It's such a lovely spot, not far from your San Francisco base. I've been thinking how nice it would be if—but I'm sure you wouldn't even consider it."

Spock's eyebrow edged upward as his mind leaped toward a most unlikely possibility. "A home," he said, "in California."

"I suppose I am rambling a bit."

He just looked at her.

"Very well." Taking a deep breath, Doris leaned toward him. "What I'm trying to say is that I would like T'Beth to come live with me."

Abruptly the room grew very silent. Spock heard snow falling in little whispers beyond the window. Somewhere in the old house a clock ticked, a cat stretched and sighed contentedly.

"Mandy thinks it's a fine idea. But of course, Spock, you're her father."

A very startled and confused father, Spock might have added. A woman he had not spoken with since boyhood was asking for the responsibility of T'Beth's care. The fact that this woman was Aunt Doris made the request seem even more improbable. Had she really changed so much? Or could it be that he had never really known her? Now he understood why Amanda had let Doris do the telling. Had he not come here and heard the words directly from Doris' mouth, he would have immediately rejected the proposal.

"I…must admit to some surprise," he said at last. "I will need time to consider. As you obviously know, T'Beth is…quite troubled."

"And no wonder, after what she's been through. Those ghastly Klingons." Doris shuddered. "But she'll come around, I know it. We'll get her the best of psychiatric help."

Deep in thought, Spock said, "I can see that your interest in the child is sincere. You must consider, however, the fact that T'Beth is not…entirely human."

Doris regarded him for a long, uncomfortable moment. Quietly she asked, "Do you think that matters to me? She's a child, that's what matters. And what any child needs it plenty of affection and room to grow. Don't you agree?" Spock opened his mouth to speak, but onward Doris rushed, her eyes bright with hope, her parchment cheeks flushed. "Oh, I'm not about to let her run wild, if that's what you're thinking. Oh dear, no. But my standards of behavior are bound to be a little different from yours. After all, this is Earth."

"Indeed," Spock managed to say. This was Earth—a planet teeming with libidinous young males. Hardly a reassuring thought. T'Beth's involvement with a human boy on Vulcan had proved disastrous. Though she was older now, her ordeal among the Klingons had left her even more vulnerable. If she lived here, there would have to be serious restrictions. He would have to make T'Beth understand the reason for them. He would have to raise the delicate issue of her Sy heritage.

For now, Doris dropped the subject. Following their tea, she pursed her lips and made a series of smacking noises. The cat Spock had detected earlier now softly padded into the parlor. At the sight of him it stopped short, yellow eyes widening. Then, deciding that he posed no threat, the gray ball of fur jumped into his lap and began to purr. Spock stroked it. As Doris watched, her eyes grew as bemused and drowsy as those of her friendly pet. It was an agreeable note on which to end the visit.

Taking leave of Doris, Spock ventured back into the storm and pondered the decision before him. T'Beth might make a good companion for his widowed aunt. In turn, Doris could provide T'Beth with a stable home and a warm feminine influence, neither of which he could offer in his present circumstances. All of his adult life had been dedicated to Starfleet. He had no real home apart from the service. He had no wife. On his own he could offer T'Beth little in the way of warmth. Any dream of family life that he might have once entertained was only that—a dream. Logic alone must guide him in his decision.

Spock gazed up at the leaden, swirling sky. Crystals of snow pelted his face and caught in his eyelashes. T'Beth was desperately unhappy on Vulcan. Even with restrictions, she would prefer life here. He had no doubt of that. But how could he make such an important decision when his own life was as unsettled as the autumn weather? Sometimes he did not understand himself. His heart was often with his human friends, yet he avoided their company. He lived apart, in the quiet recesses of the Vulcan Embassy. Since coming back to Earth, he had not set foot in his old apartment at Starfleet. Why? Yes, why? Perhaps when he found that answer, the question of T'Beth's future would also be resolved. For her sake he must not put it off any longer.

With a shiver, Spock drew up his hood and resumed walking.

oooo

It was dusk when Spock arrived at the Academy grounds in San Francisco. The air was chilly and damp with encroaching fog. Cutting across a lawn, he quietly entered the rear of the faculty building. For a moment he stood unobserved in the hallway. At this hour most of the residents were behind doors, tending to their dinners. He remembered that. He had planned on it. But he had not anticipated what a wrenching effect the building itself would have on him.

Now, assailed by the sights and sounds and smells of his former surroundings, Spock knew why he had kept away. In the sudden racing of his heart he also knew why he must stay, why he must continue on and meet the specter of his past, face to face. The only alternative was to live his life haunted by a dead man.

The decision made, he turned, mounted the stairs to the second floor, and approached Captain Spock's quarters. A wide strip of security tape sealed the door shut, extending over the touch-plate beneath his name. Starfleet's official boundary of death. It would have been set in place soon after receiving the Enterprise casualty list. Apparently it had remained through all the months of uncertainty that followed.

Spock glanced up and down the hallway. Although his keen ears detected sounds of habitation, no one was in sight. For that he was thankful. Feeling like an interloper, he ripped aside the sticky yellow tape and pressed a chilled hand to the sensor plate. With a hiss the door sprang open. Light from the hall dimly illuminated the interior of the apartment.

Steeling himself, Spock stepped inside. Behind him, the door snapped shut, plunging the room into darkness. A cool draft of air sidled down his neck. Out of some vague reflex his hand fumbled back, found an unseen control. Lights came on.

Spock stared at the eerily familiar room. Furniture untouched, everything in perfect order beneath a thin layer of dust. Silent, but not still—the air swarmed with strange energies. He seemed to hear music—the pure, mellow harmony of two flutes playing. But there was no flute here. His had been burned up in the destruction of the Enterprise, and the other belonged to—

Working to control his emotions, Spock moved out into the room. His eyes settled on a three-dimensional chess board, its pieces frozen in mid-game. Her move. Black rook to queen's level two. So saying she had smiled, knowing her captain would defeat her and not minding in the least. Neither of them had realized it would be their last game together.

Spock picked up the dusty rook and held it tightly in his hand. Where was Lauren Fielding tonight? Why had she not come to him? A Vulcan woman would have sensed his need for her. She would not allow him to remain apart. She would break through his barriers to soothe the loneliness and the scars.

Tears threatened to snap Spock's thin strand of control. He should never have permitted himself to have feelings for her. Perhaps at one time a relationship was possible, but fal-tor-pan had changed him. The savage beatings and humiliation at the hands of Torlath had also left their ugly marks. Psychological cripple…freak of nature. What woman—Vulcan or human—would return his attention now?

Anger welled up like a surge of bitter acid. Spock drew back his arm and hurled the chess piece. The rook struck the wall hard, then ricocheted onto the carpet. Anyone in the adjoining apartment would easily have heard. And would wonder.

Fool!

Spock did what he could to compose himself before a wary neighbor found the door seal broken and called security. But no one came. His tantrum had gone unnoticed, after all. If he left quickly no one would know he had ever been here. No one, that is, but himself—and the ghost in a Starfleet uniform.

No. Not yet. Not before bringing that specter fully into the light.

Spock closed his eyes and reached deeply into himself. Tangled images swam through his mind—sleek whales in motions, sunlight glinting off restless water, stars beckoning through a stone-cut window. Stone, rough-hewn, cold to the touch. Stone cold as torture, as hard and evil as a Klingon's eyes. Klingon bastard—filthy lying beast!

Gritting his teeth, Spock resisted the icy current of loathing. He tried to call up the Vulcan mind rules. So damn difficult to relearn them. Impatient with the masters, with himself. Ignorant. Backward. Not like him—not like his old self. Captain Spock would not indulge in negative emotions. He would know the correct procedures, he would say the right thing. He would always know exactly what to do. Wouldn't he?

Perhaps that was the hardest part, Spock realized. The uncertainty. Not quite knowing whom he had once been, not knowing how to satisfy his family and his friends. Living under watchful, expectant eyes. Enduring their disappointment, their uneasy glances, their baffling anger. And worst of all, not knowing what to expect from himself. Well, he had had his fill of uncertainty.

In the lonely silence of the night, Spock stripped off his weather-dampened cloak. The chill of the room cut through his robe. Ignoring the discomfort, he went into the bedroom and raised the lights. For once he knew exactly where he was going and what he was going to do. But reaching the captain's closet, he hesitated. It took a full minute to convince himself of his reasoning, another to unfasten the clasps of his Vulcan robe. Then drawing a deep breath, he opened the closet door and took hold of a uniform. The feeling was not unlike that of diving into a tank full of whales.