1) Secrets
Patches of mist clung to the hills of San Francisco, lending a surreal beauty to the old city as Spock flew his family homeward through the night. Above them the sky was clear. As Spock worked the skimmer's controls, his eyes rose to the few stars bright enough to penetrate Earth's atmosphere and outshine the Bay Area lights.
Lauren moved in the seat beside him. Her advancing pregnancy made her uncomfortable, and she tired easily. Lately there had been an added burden of worry that made her toss restlessly in their bed at night.
"Hmm," she said in a drowsy voice. "Did you say something?"
"No." Spock gave his wife a glance. She must have been dreaming. "I was taking note of the stars—pondering how great a hold they have always had over me. When I was a boy, I used to go into the L-langa Mountains to be alone under the night sky."
"I thought you did that to get away from Solkar," she said, referring to the great-grandfather whose brutal idea of discipline had made Spock's childhood miserable.
"Yes," he conceded, "as I grew older I sometimes disappeared into the hills for days in order to avoid him when he was in town."
"Your parents must have been worried sick about you."
Spock nodded. "They could not understand my disobedience, and I did not enlighten them. Each time I returned, Father would see to it that I was punished; yet I would always run away again. He did not know that Solkar found reason to beat me no matter how well I behaved."
In the back seat, six-year-old Simon let out a moan in his slumber. They had spent New Year's Day visiting Lauren's mother in Manhattan, and they were late getting home. When they reached the house, Spock unbuckled his son and guided him up to bed. The boy went back to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Spock lingered for a moment. As he gazed down at Simon's placid face, a strange unsettled feeling crept over him. Shortly before Christmas, Lauren had experienced a premonition of doom that left her deeply disturbed, but Spock had refused to be influenced by it. It was not logical to expend energy worrying about some nameless future possibility. But now the worry had a name that was deadly enough to challenge even a Vulcan's objectivity. Leaning down, he touched Simon's dark, curly hair protectively.
oooo
The following day Spock received a summons from Admiral Cartwright's office. He had rarely set foot in that part of Headquarters since the remarkable occasion, six years earlier, when he was abruptly appointed Commandant of Starfleet Academy.
An aide ushered him into the admiral's conference room, where the long polished table was almost filled to capacity. White-haired Admiral Nogura occupied the seat of honor. To Nogura's left sat Admiral Cartwright, and on his right Admiral Harry Morrow. Solemn-faced senior officers from Starfleet's branches of Intelligence and Diplomacy took up the remainder of the table.
Spock's gaze traveled to the farthest end where, incredibly, he found his daughter T'Beth seated. He stared openly at her uniform. Starfleet? A junior grade lieutenant? How could it be? He had thought she was no longer even a member of the Border Patrol.
A very human stirring of pain slipped Spock's control and his eyes accused her. So, young lady, it would seem that you have not yet outgrown your fondness for deception.
T'Beth's gaze left his and shifted to the briefing terminal mounted in front of her.
Spock turned away.
"Captain," Admiral Cartwright said in greeting, "thank you for coming. Please sit down."
Spock took the only open seat, beside his daughter. All eyes turned toward him.
Admiral Nogura spoke. "Captain, everything you'll hear at this meeting is strictly classified." He paused. "You are, of course, aware of Lieutenant Lemoine's sojourn among the Donari after her fighter crashed on that planet four years ago?"
Acutely aware of T'Beth's presence, Spock replied, "Yes, Admiral."
"At that time it became immediately apparent that the knowledge she had acquired on Donari could be of great value in forwarding the cause of peace in that region. Since her return, she has secretly maintained close ties to Starfleet, undergoing years of specialized training for the upcoming mission."
Spock lifted an eyebrow. "Mission?"
Admiral Morrow took over. "Our intelligence reports indicate that the underground peace movement on Donari has reached the point where a shift of political power might be feasible. Given the right impetus…the proper guidance…"
"Which the lieutenant will somehow supply?" Spock surmised.
"Hands on, ground zero," revealed the admiral with a casualness that Spock found unnerving. Did Morrow actually expect T'Beth to return to Donari? Did he expect Spock to give her up for dead a second time? And what of the Prime Directive?"
Spock attempted to view the situation with some detachment. Sydok belonged to the Federation, but Donari did not. The fact that the two worlds were at war might be seen as ample justification to meddle in Donari politics, at least to the extent of fostering any peace movement there. A shift of power could put an end to centuries of bloodshed and atrocities.
"The lieutenant is very young," Spock pointed out, "and no amount of training can compensate for her lack of experience or her Sy blood—the blood of Donari's sworn enemies. Have you considered what would become of her if your plan goes awry?
Admiral Cartwright spoke up. "Absolutely. Please, Captain, let me answer your concerns. While it's true that the lieutenant is very young—" Smiling, he interjected, "I wish I were that young again. Nevertheless she is far from inexperienced in Donari matters, which in this instance are the only matters that count. There is no one currently available to Starfleet who knows as much about the situation. As for her Sy blood—well, you'll soon learn how advantageous that can be. But by far her greatest asset is her personal friendship with leaders in the Donari underground. They know her and they trust her."
"Then," Spock assumed, "she would be returning to the same underground cell that cared for her after the crash."
"Correct," Nogura replied. "As it is my wish that you accompany her, I've invited key officers here to outline the mission for you."
The prospect of personal involvement gave Spock an entirely different perspective. Of course. He would not be here, otherwise. Listening, Spock learned how over the past four years Donari's religious and philosophical peace movement had quietly spread from the underground into the political hierarchy, and supporters now covertly occupied several important positions. During the proposed mission, Spock and T'Beth would act as Special Envoys, advising the People as they toppled Donari's most bloodthirsty Overlord and his repressive government. It was a perilous role in a dangerous juncture of Donari's ignominious history.
"How," Spock asked, "is the actual shift of political power to be accomplished?"
"In as bloodless a manner as possible," Cartwright responded. "We've already reviewed their strategy in preparation for the final thrust. Your unique background makes you particularly well-suited to counsel the Donaris on the scene and offer them whatever assistance they might need as the revolution unfolds."
Spock studied the admiral's face. The words "bloodless" and "Donari" seemed totally incongruous. Nothing said thus far had convinced him that the mission was anything more than a fool's errand, a death trap.
"Your presence there has been requested by name," Morrow said, "which is rather ironic, since you're the one we had in mind for this mission from its very inception. Apparently your daughter spoke highly of you to the cell leader she calls the Companion."
Spock's eyebrow climbed again. T'Beth praise him? In the days before her healing, she would have cursed him soundly. "You mention my background. It is widely known that Donaris breed captives to produce slaves of mixed blood. I assume that both my genetic makeup and that of the lieutenant have been carefully considered."
Admiral Morrow cleared his throat. Folding his hands on the table, he looked down at them. "That is, to a large extent, what Admiral Cartwright meant by your 'unique background'." His dark eyes rose. "According to our information, mixed blood would be a distinct advantage were you to be captured. No one would call you spies. The traditional Donari mindset would scarcely comprehend your being anything other than slaves of the lowest order."
An awkward silence descended over the conference room. Then Nogura spoke. "Captain, I'm not ordering you on this mission, but after you weigh all the facts, I think you will agree to go."
He handed the briefing over to the panel of experts, who gave satisfactory answers to many of Spock's concerns. When the meeting broke up, T'Beth remained behind. Spock closed the door and turned to his daughter.
T'Beth's eyes begged him to understand. "I swear before God, if there'd been any other way—" She broke off, close to tears. "Are you angry?"
As a Starfleet officer Spock understood the importance of following security measures, yet as a father he could wish that T'Beth had confided in him. He had often wondered what she was doing since her graduation from the University of Beijing. Her money always seemed to come from nameless "jobs" that kept her busy for months on end. At times his newfound trust in her had been sorely tested, yet somehow he had never allowed himself to stop trusting. Now he was glad of that.
Finally he said, "This is the mission, is it not? The one to which you have felt called since your healing."
Her face lit with joy and she came over to him. "Oh yes, Father! I've wanted to tell you—every single day, I've wanted to!"
Spock touched the scar at her temple left by the devastating crash of her fighter on Donari. For a time, he had believed the report of her death and mourned her. He did not want to risk losing her again, but he could see that her mind was set on going. And that meant he would have to go with her. Lowering his hand, he sat down in a chair and stared at the room's lights reflecting on the polished surface of the table. T'Beth walked up behind him. Her hand settled over his shoulder, and he could feel the tangle of her emotions lapping at his mental barriers.
"Please tell me you're not angry," she begged.
There was time when he would have denied being capable of such an emotion, but both he and T'Beth knew better. With a sigh he said, "I am quite pleased to discover all that you have accomplished."
"Then…" Her hand tightened on him. "Then you don't want to go with me, is that it?"
No, that was not 'it'. Now that Spock had been more fully briefed, he found the Donari mission quite intriguing, but another thought lay heavy on his mind. He said, "There are…personal complications. The twins will be born in less than four months."
He would not have mentioned such a thing to anyone but T'Beth. An officer did not whine over inconveniences. Given a choice between duty and family considerations, he should have experienced no hesitation.
T'Beth sat down beside him. "I know. The timing's bad, but if everything goes according to plan, you could be back by then."
Spock knew from experience that life seldom went according to plan. Only last week Lauren's obstetrician had detected a problem involving the male twin. This morning there was fear in her eyes as she anticipated more medical testing, and Spock had done his best to reassure her. After all, statistics were overwhelming on their side. The test results would almost certainly be favorable.
T'Beth's voice broke into his thoughts. "Father, think of all the misery that can be ended, all the lives that can be spared. Think of what this could have meant to my mother's family."
"I shall," he promised. Rising, he warmly added, "But T'Beth-kam, if not for those Donari atrocities, your mother would never have been born…nor would you."
Taking leave of her, he headed for the nearest turbolift.
oooo
Lauren left her obstetrician's office and despite the expense, beamed straight out to the beach house. She needed to be near the restless, reassuring ocean that had always been so much a part of her life. The transporter released her to a bitter January wind. The day was clear but raw, the waves slamming thunderously against the shore. Salty mist mingled with her tears and she began to shiver.
Passing through the gate, she went indoors, where it was scarcely any warmer. Kindling and split wood lay ready in the fireplace, and the touch of a lighter sent flames licking upward. Taking the afghan from the couch, she wrapped herself up and huddled on the wide hearthstone. The fire's heat began to radiate. Closing her eyes, she let the tears spill freely down her face.
How was she going to tell Spock? She felt the babies move within her, nudging at one another, competing for room. The humanlike Teresa—or T'Resa, as Spock thought of her—so healthy and vigorous. And her brother, James. Spock had surprised Lauren when he suggested that first name. James Skon, after his friend Kirk and the kindly Vulcan grandfather whose memory Spock cherished. But James would never be as strong as his father or his namesakes. His days would be filled with pain until puberty neared and his body gave up its weary struggle for life.
Aching with grief, Lauren buried her face in the afghan. Time passed, measured only by the heavy beating of her heart.
An icy draft of wind drew her attention, and she lifted her head. Spock entered the house and shut the door behind him. Their eyes met.
She was not surprised to see him. Their marriage was a bonding in the truest Vulcan sense; Spock usually seemed to know when she was in pain, and just where to find her. Bundled against the cold, he came over to the fire and held out his hands to its glow. For a long moment he just warmed himself.
"I assume," he said at last, "that the test results were not favorable."
Lauren managed a nod. Over the course of the past month, James' development had begun lagging behind that of his sister. A natural oddity, she had hoped—after all, Vulcans gestated their babies a bit longer than humans, and genetically James was far more Vulcan than his womb-mate. She had never let herself speak the dreaded words that would mean a slow death sentence for their unborn son. But now she could no longer pretend.
"Tell me," Spock said.
Her heart began to race wildly. Spock listened, still as stone, as she forced herself to speak. "His…his internal organs aren't…functioning properly. The doctor is running more tests. She says not to lose hope yet, but…but she thinks it's…Vash-Lester. And so do I."
Fire flashed in his dark eyes. "You cannot possibly know that until the results are in."
Lauren hunched over and came close to tears again. "Spock, I do know. I can feel him. I can feel him getting sicker and sicker."
Spock abruptly reached down and pulled her to her feet. "You cannot base a medical judgment on feelings! You are a doctor!"
Astonished, Lauren stared at him. Spock was normally so disciplined that she had assumed he could handle any crisis calmly. "You're scared," she realized, "just as scared as I am. Fear can make a person angry, I know. So angry that you want to destroy whatever it is that's frightening you. Only this isn't something we can get out hands on."
He released her and struggled to control the emotions that she read so easily. "I…am sorry," he said, already calmer. "But if even your doctor is not yet certain..."
It had been a long while since she had felt a need to comfort him. Putting her arms around her husband, she said, "Maybe you're right. I hope to God you are…"
Spock embraced her tightly.
oooo
It was late when T'Beth returned to her father's house. Its warmth enveloped her as she stepped in from the cold and headed through the darkened living room, toward the stairs. Light shone from Lauren's laboratory.
Odd. These days Lauren usually retired early.
T'Beth hesitated before walking to the doorway. She found her father at Lauren's biocomp, his eyes intent on the screen. From her position, she could see that the computer was linked into the library at Starfleet Medical Center.
"Father?" she said softly.
Her voice roused him and he swiveled the chair around. He appeared tired. She so rarely saw him looking less than fit, and now it created a stirring of guilt. She had wanted him to be as excited about the upcoming mission as her, but after five days it was becoming obvious that this would not be an easy decision for him.
Even so, T'Beth entered the room with a hopeful face. "Well, now you've had some time to think about it. Do you have anything to tell me?"
Father joined his hands in his lap and gazed down at them. "I have been thinking of your maternal grandmother, Justrelle."
The name flooded T'Beth's heart with sweet, painful memories of the woman who cared for her until she was eleven. T'Beth was known only as Cristabeth when her dying "Mama" turned her over to a stranger named Spock aboard the Enterprise. Not a very pleasant way to meet one's father for the first time.
"I think of her often," T'Beth said wistfully. "She may have hated you, but she was good to me."
Spock nodded. "She was widowed by Donari warriors. Captured, enslaved, and callously used." His eyes rose to meet hers. "The hatred you mentioned was a direct result and served to twist our own relationship for years. I have been wondering how many others are out there, just like her, just like us—or worse. Wounded victims of breeding experiments, of coldhearted mental alterations, of out-and-out savagery. Men, women, and even small children. I have seen firsthand what the Donaris do to innocent lives, and now there is finally an opportunity to turn the course of Donari and Sydok history in a new peaceable direction."
T'Beth held her breath. This was the most she had heard her father say since the meeting at Headquarters.
"Surely," he added, "it is a mission worthy of Surak himself."
"Then…you'll go?"
There was a faint sound of swishing fabric. T'Beth and her father turned as one to find Lauren standing in the doorway.
Dressed in a robe, Lauren crossed her arms and frowned at them. "Go where? What mission? What are you two talking about?"
T'Beth felt sick at heart. After all the years of secrecy, how could she have been so reckless? She should have shut the door when she came in. Better yet, she should have shut her mouth. Slowly turning to her father, she met his eyes.
"I am as much to blame," he told her. "It is alright. Leave us."
T'Beth brushed past her stepmother and heard the door close behind her. For a moment she lingered in the dark hallway, marveling at their carelessness. It was so easy to let down one's guard at home. Now there was nothing for her to do but go upstairs.
oooo
It was what Jim Kirk might call "a tight spot". Inwardly bracing, Spock watched his wife approach.
"Okay," Lauren said with an uneasy smile, "something's been going on for days now. It's time you tell me what this is all about."
Spock glanced at the computer screen. The data on display referred to Vash-Lester, which Lauren's obstetrician and a consulting geneticist had now positively diagnosed. Though he was well aware of its every symptom and dire prognosis, he had been reviewing the material anyway, searching for some obscure fact with which to combat his discouragement. He had not found one. If he were a full-blooded Vulcan, the process of emotional detachment from his unborn son would already have begun—a logical, efficient procedure. But he was human as well, and found himself unwilling to brush aside his son so casually.
For Lauren the pain was even more intense. All Spock's spousal instincts warned him against leaving her when she was so vulnerable, but as an officer he had always answered Starfleet's call.
"Well?" Lauren asked in a deceptively playful manner.
Spock knew the tone and all its implications. Swiveling his chair, he looked up at his very pregnant wife. Her presence never failed to move him—even now, with her golden hair mussed from her pillow—even now he warmed at her nearness and felt privileged to call Doctor Fielding his bondmate. He wanted to share everything with her, but now he could not. Now there was something that he must hide.
Steeling himself he said, "I…have been selected to take part in a mission of peace."
"Worthy of Surak himself. Yes, I heard that much. But where? And when?"
"Soon," Spock replied. "That is all that I know in regard to the mission's timing. I am not at liberty to discuss anything beyond that."
Lauren's face registered shock. "Anything with me—but you were just discussing it with T'Beth, who's not even a member of Starfleet."
He turned to the computer screen and said nothing.
"Unless," she went on with the inborn persistence of a research scientist, "…unless, of course, she's somehow involved anyway. But I'd find that awfully hard to believe…unless…" Spock glanced over and saw the dangerous light of inspiration dawning in her blue eyes. "Unless this has to do with Donari."
She searched his impassive face for some hint of verification and acted as if he had openly confirmed her statement. Her cheeks flushed from the intensity of her emotion. "That's it—isn't it? You're going off to Donari to get yourself killed!" A spasm of pain caught her and she bent over, clutching the right side of her abdomen.
Spock swiftly rose and settled her into the chair. Holding her by the shoulders, he said, "Please do not upset yourself. I can neither confirm nor deny your assumption, but you know that I fully evaluate every mission in which I am involved."
Tears welled in her eyes. "Tell them no. It's too dangerous. You have a responsibility to me, to our children."
Spock let go of her and straightened. He was well aware of his responsibility to his family, but was not T'Beth also his child? Did he not have a responsibility to her, as well as to Starfleet and to the interest of peace everywhere?"
"You're bored," Lauren said unexpectedly, "aren't you? That's what this is all about. It's been seven years since you left the Enterprise, and you're getting bored stiff heading the academy."
The words cut deep. Spock had sacrificed his position aboard the Enterprise in order to provide a stable home for his family. Did Lauren actually think he would jeopardize that home for some selfish, ulterior motive? Biting back an argumentative retort, he left the laboratory and strode out into the bitter cold of the backyard. The sky was clear, but the stars gave forth a puny light compared to their brilliance as seen in Space.
Why had he reacted so strongly to her accusation? Could it be that Lauren's charge held some merit, after all? Was it only boredom that made the Donari mission seem so appealing?
In at least one regard, Lauren was correct. The mission would be dangerous. But was that not all the more reason for him to accept it? If he declined the assignment, T'Beth would go with someone else—someone who might not be as well equipped to assist her, or the Donaris.
When the cold drove him indoors, he found Lauren seated in the shadows of the living room, waiting for him. She rose from the sofa.
"I've been thinking," she said quickly, anxiously. "If you're tired of the academy, there must be other things you can do."
Spock shook his head and told her, "That is not the issue."
"But I need you here," she said softly. "Don't you understand? Any time but now…"
"I know," he said with regret. "However, there is a chance that I could return before the twins are born."
"A chance." Anger crept into her voice. "Maybe it's not only a case of boredom, after all. Maybe life here has gotten too painful for you to handle. Is that it? Is this really about James?'
"No," Spock said emphatically.
Lauren moved very close to him, her face taut. "Spock, don't do this to us…"
He barely held in his annoyance. "Lauren," he said, in as gentle a tone as he could master, "at the beach house you spoke to me of fear, yet here you are, allowing your own fears to control you. Would you have it control me, as well?"
Her eyes flashed. "What? Control you? I wouldn't think that could be possible!"
With those stinging words she brushed him aside and went upstairs.
oooo
Spock sat with T'Beth at Headquarters as she detailed their contingency plan, using the strange Donari tongue. Against Vulcan familial custom, they had engaged in a series of teaching melds through which he had absorbed considerable knowledge of the planet's primary language. Although he could not reproduce the clicking sounds as well as his daughter, he had no difficulty understanding hers.
T'Beth was saying, "Your father is Saban, a Vulcan merchant of better than average means. Your mother is a human named Rachel Weiss. Before entering the Border Patrol at eighteen, you assisted your parents in their import business, which has outlets on both Earth and Vulcan. You are an only child and your name is Yosef ben Saban."
Curious, Spock said, "This father of mine. I suspect he was not pleased when I voiced my desire to join the Patrol."
T'Beth cocked a semi-Vulcanoid eyebrow and smiled innocently. "There was an ugly confrontation. He actually shoved you against the living room wall."
"I see," he said, forming the Donari clicks with care. "You must have reached deep into your imagination for that."
She went on. "In the unlikely event of capture, we are to remain wherever we are taken unless our lives are in immediate danger. Donari agents of the underground are everywhere. They will locate us and formulate a rescue.
"We are slaves, taken from the wreckage of our downed fighter, kept by the People to perform menial tasks. We need fear no sexual overtures from the Donaris, since they look upon other races—and slaves in particular—as a subspecies. Slave breeding is carried out only between carefully selected captives with pure bloodlines. Due to our mixed heritage, we will be considered unfit to propagate.
"Never show any sign of illness or other physical infirmity. Defective slaves are eliminated. Sick slaves are sometimes taken for…vivisection.
"Always stand straight and look your master in the eye. Any other pose is considered evasive and disrespectful. If you make no sound when you are struck, you will be struck again. If you persist in suffering silently, you will be beaten to death. The Donaris want the satisfaction of knowing that their blows hurt." Grim-faced, T'Beth paused and slipped back into her native Standard. "Father, I know it goes against your idea of Vulcan dignity…"
"Yes," Spock replied in the same language, "it does. But you will, of course, assure me that these contingency plans are superfluous, for nothing can possibly go wrong."
She firmly nodded. "That's right—everything's going to be fine. This mission will succeed. I know it. I feel it!"
Spock sat back in his chair. He found it interesting that T'Beth and Lauren could feel so certain of diametrically opposed outcomes. Since the evening of the quarrel he had seen little of his wife, but it was clear that her anger had not eased. Sometime during the past week he had ceased consulting his own or anyone else's feelings in this matter. For now, he was attempting to operate on logic alone.
"Continue," he said.
"Alright. I am your daughter Ja-rel. I was born of your liaison with a Sy-human slave liberated by the Federation…"
oooo
The auditorium was filling fast. With a sigh Lauren lowered herself into an aisle seat to await her son's performance, but her mind was on the other son nestled, helpless and sick, beneath her heart. Today yet another medical test had returned positive. Half a dozen specialists—and every one of them in agreement. Each time she received the news alone, enduring the solitary pain as best she could.
After the first three appointments, she had not even bothered to tell Spock. What was the use? Did he even care about James anymore? About any of them? Most nights he never even came to bed. If he did, he rose before she was awake and disappeared in his skimmer. Not to the academy. Out of curiosity she had called his office there, only to be told that his assistant was in charge until further notice. Wherever Spock went, he never bothered to inform her. He had not even bothered to let Simon know if he would attend tonight's performance. Maybe he had already taken off on his mysterious assignment without so much as a goodbye.
Curtain time drew near and the school auditorium filled to near capacity. The orchestra was tuning up when Spock and T'Beth appeared in the aisle beside Lauren, triggering a flood of relief and anger.
"It's my fault he's late,' T'Beth told her contritely.
Spock met Lauren's eyes and kept silent. She could not believe that he was standing there letting his daughter make excuses for him. The seats beside her were taken, which was just as well in her present mood. Spock and T'Beth disappeared into the back of the auditorium until the performance was over. After the last of the applause died down, they returned to Lauren's side. Leaving the stage, Simon spotted his father and came bounding down the aisle carrying his violin case.
"I was detained," Spock told the boy, "but even so I arrived before the curtain rose. I did not miss a single note of 'Peter and the Wolf'."
Simon's smile was so full of love that Lauren thought her heart would break. The feeling lingered as Spock turned and gazed down at her.
"Lauren," he said just loudly enough to be heard above the hubbub of the departing audience, "I would like you to come with me. T'Beth can take Simon home in your car."
It was a moment before she nodded. They did not speak again until the skimmer was in the air. Lauren tensed as Spock left the city and headed due south.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
Keeping his eyes on the flight path, he replied, "To the beach house."
"No, I'm too tired. And I'm hungry. Just take me home."
"We will spend the night there," Spock said, staying the course.
All the anger she had bottled up inside her suddenly spilled out. "You think you can just show up when you feel like it and do whatever you please? I've hardly set eyes on you for two weeks. You've been so wrapped up in all the intrigue at Headquarters, you seem to have forgotten you have a family."
His hands tightened on the controls. "I have not forgotten."
Lauren turned and stared out at the night until her tears made the stars run together. It was a long, long time before she spoke. "I was in New York today. Do you know why?"
"I don't," he replied.
"Six doctors, Spock. Six! And they all say the same thing." She could not bring herself to speak the diagnosis that would mean a death sentence for their unborn son. "When I was in medical training, I visited the Vulcan hospital at Peli'dar. There was a boy under treatment, part Vulcan and part Gamman, about eight years old. I keep seeing his little face…so pathetically thin…so pale that his skin almost looked transparent. And his lips—his lips were yellow from organ failure." She tried to swallow the aching in her throat. "I still remember his name. It seemed so odd, this little Vulcan boy called Starfire."
"No more odd," Spock said quietly, than a Vulcan boy named James."
Lauren covered her face and began to sob. "Our baby's going to die, and now I feel like I'm losing you, too. Our baby's going to die and I can't stand it…"
Spock's voice held a maddening hint of impatience. "Lauren, you are not going to lose me. Please try and compose yourself."
Raising her head, she lashed out at him. "I don't believe this! You've shoved your emotions so deep that you really don't give a damn anymore! I swear to God, if I'd know you were going to run out on me, I'd have never come back to you!"
The skimmer slowed suddenly and jolted into the sand. Lauren fell silent. The wooden fence surrounding the beach house glowed white under a full moon. Spock turned off the engine, and she heard the crashing of the surf.
"I am not 'running out on you'," he said tersely.
Lauren met the anger in his eyes. "Then you've turned down the mission? Is that what you're saying?"
Abruptly he left the cockpit. Walking around to her side, he jerked the door open. An icy wind sucked all the heat from the skimmer. "Come in the house," he said. When she did not move, he added, "Please," with just enough insincerity to negate it.
She had no intention of getting out with him. "Take me home. Take me home now."
He did not budge.
"Fine," she snapped, "then stay here by yourself."
Seething, she attempted an awkward shift to the driver's seat. Spock's hands clamped onto her, and she found herself firmly extracted from the skimmer. Ignoring her struggles, he lifted her easily into his arms and carried her to the porch. There he set her on her feet.
Lauren's fists clenched. Her fury broke free and she swung hard at his impassive Vulcan face. She did not intend to slap him. She meant to hurt him, bone deep, so he would feel in his own body just a fraction of the pain he was putting her through.
In the shadows his arm blurred and there was a loud smack as his hand deflected the blow meant for his cheekbone. Glowering, Lauren drew back and rubbed her smarting knuckles. It had to have hurt him, too, but of course he gave no sign of it.
She felt like killing the bastard.
Reaching past her, Spock unlocked the front door and propelled her over the threshold. A surprising warmth engulfed her and she smelled food. As he turned on the lights, she realized that he had planned this little rendezvous well in advance. He must have come over before the concert to prepare things. And he had planned every bit of it without once stopping to consult her.
Now he strategically placed himself between her and the front door. "We are going to talk," he declared in a tone she had heard him use when disciplining Simon.
"You really don't want to hear what I'm thinking," she countered. "It would fry those lovely ears of yours."
His face went hard as Vulcan granite. "That is not the sort of communication I had in mind…but it is a beginning."
"I might know what you have in mind," she shot back, "if you'd come home once in a while and tell me. Did you ever think of that?"
The muscles along his jaw began to work. "Lauren," he said in a brittle voice, "I share your grief about James. You know that."
"Yes," she said. "I can tell by all the support you've been giving me these past weeks. I've been so touched by your show of concern."
His eyes flashed. "Must you resort to sarcasm?"
"Why not? At least that's something I can depend on."
The argument palpably heated.
Spock said, "Are you insinuating that I am undependable?"
Lauren put her hands on her hips. "What would you call a husband who would deliberately abandon his wife at a time like this? I know you've made up your mind to leave, haven't you? Not that it really makes much difference at this point. I feel like you've already left."
He drew himself up in a way that she assumed was meant to impress her. "I am a Starfleet officer—"
"Don't tell me that!" she shouted. "God damn you, just go ahead and say it! You're leaving!"
His lips pressed together in a thin line. "Lauren, my presence here will not help James."
She thumped her hand against her chest. "It would help me. Don't you see that? Can't you understand?" Weary and frustrated, she ran her fingers through her hair. "Never mind—you might as well just go. It's no good having you here if you don't want to be with me. Just go and do whatever the hell you please."
She felt his eyes on her as she went over to the hearth. Hugging herself, she stared down at the last dying flames.
At last he said, "You, too, are an officer…"
She swung around and faced him. "I'm a doctor! That's all my rank means to me. All that polish and discipline is just something most doctors tolerate so they can practice the quality of medicine Starfleet is famous for. If you don't believe me, ask McCoy."
Spock looked into her eyes. Very quietly he said, "You make much of the fact that you are a physician. Then surely you care about saving lives."
Lauren sank down on the hearth and sighed. "I suppose you're going to tell me that this mission of yours will do just that."
"If all goes well."
"Ah-hah, exactly!" She wagged her finger at him. "If all goes well. And if it doesn't?"
"Then there is a contingency plan."
Leaning forward, she urged, "Then tell me about it. Tell me something—anything that will take away this miserable certainty that you're going to your death."
His eyes flickered with something very much like regret. "I am under orders. But perhaps, when it is all over…"
"When it's over," Lauren said in a shaky voice, "your children will have no father. I'll be left to explain how you had this thing about being a dead hero. I'll show pictures of you to Teresa and tell stories about how brave you were, when you were really just stubborn and selfish. And as for James—" Her throat squeezed with unshed tears and she could go no further.
Spock moved toward her, his hand outstretched. Abruptly she rose and evaded his touch.
"Lauren," he said gently. "Aisha…"
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
Spock grasped her by the forearms and turned her to face him. "Listen to me. I agree, the timing of this mission is most unfortunate, but there is nothing I can do about it."
"Oh, don't hand me that—there's plenty you could do about it. But you won't, will you?"
He was silent for a long moment. Then, clearly struggling for emotional control, he told her, "I am leaving early tomorrow."
The words sank into Lauren's heart like knives. She was about to wrench free when Spock drew her closer.
"Come here," he said thickly, and his arms went around her and held tight.
It was such an unmistakable act of love that she could not help but return the embrace. Wasn't this where they had first broken through the barriers keeping them apart? Here in this room on a wintry day not unlike this one? No mingling of minds this time. The physicality was purely human and perhaps for that reason it touched Lauren in a way no meld could. He loved her. He needed her. And when tomorrow's parting came, she would find the strength to let him go and pray for his safe return.
oooo
Just before dawn, Spock entered his son's room and turned on the bedside lamp. Simon stirred. Flushed with sleep, the boy blinked and squinted up at him.
"Father…"
Spock sat down on the bed. Simon's eyes were wide open now, showing the same brilliant shade of blue as his mother's. His dark, level eyebrows puckered together with worry.
"Is Mom alright?"
"She is fine," Spock answered.
The frown deepened. "Did I do something wrong?"
Spock's mouth curved into a slight smile. "No, Simon. I only want to talk to you."
"Oh." Simon let loose a sigh. Eyelids drooping, he curled up comfortably on his side. "Where have you been? I hardly see you anymore."
"I know." Spock touched his son's warm, wavy hair. "There have been a great many demands on my time, and now I have to go away on a trip."
Simon's eyes popped open and he bolted upright. "What?"
"I am leaving now to board the Enterprise. It may be months before I can return."
"Months!" cried Simon. "But…but the babies!"
Spock looked at his son with surprise. Was Simon actually concerned about the welfare of the unborn twins? Until now the boy had viewed Teresa and James as potential rivals for his parents' attention. It was, Spock understood, a common reaction of older siblings.
Fear shone from Simon's eyes. "What if they come? What if they pop out when you're not here? What am I supposed to do?"
Spock raised an eyebrow in amusement. "You may set your mind at ease. Infants do not just 'pop out' suddenly; they give ample warning that they are on the way. Your mother will know what to do, and when the time nears, your Grandmother Elizabeth will come here and stay with you."
Simon scooted over and hugged Spock tightly. "But I want you here. Why do you have to go?"
Spock considered his answer carefully. He settled on a concept he had used before. "Sometimes, Simon, the good of the many outweighs the good of the few. And on a world far from here, there are a good many people in need of my assistance."
Simon's arms squeezed harder. "I don't care. You're my father and I want you here."
"One cannot always have what one desires," Spock told him. He gently tipped Simon's chin and looked into his disgruntled face. "You have an assignment, too. It is important that you be on your best behavior while I am gone. Try and help your mother any way you can."
Simon frowned. "Because of the babies, right?"
"No," Spock said. "Because she is your mother and I expect it of you."
Simon pulled away and glared at the floor.
"You may not realize it now," Spock said, "but you are very fortunate to be having a younger brother and sister. I never did, and neither did your mother."
"Then I guess you'll love them a whole lot," Simon muttered.
Spock studied his son's scowling face. "Tell me something. Do you think I care more for T'Beth than I care for you?"
"That's different," Simon said without looking at him. "She's all grown up."
"And that does not answer my question. The truth, now. Do you honestly believe that you are less important to me than T'Beth?"
Simon hesitated. "I don't know."
"Of course you know," Spock pressed.
Simon huffed and flung himself to the other side of the bed. "No, I don't," he insisted, "and I don't want to talk about it, either."
Looking at the boy's rigid back, Spock thought over the conversation, trying to determine where and how it had gone wrong. Simon was as emotional as his mother. "You are only angry," he concluded, "because I am leaving."
Simon turned toward him, tears shining in his eyes. "The Statler competition is next month. You always come when I play."
It was true. Since Simon first took up the violin at age three, Spock had never missed any of his performances. He had not realized how much his son depended on him being there. The solution seemed simple. "Ask your mother to record it for me."
Simon stared at the bedspread. "It's not the same."
"I agree," Spock said, "and I regret that I can't be there for you, but you will be surprised at how quickly the time passes."
"You're going to miss my birthday, too. Aren't you?"
"Perhaps," Spock admitted. And he found himself saying, "In any case, I shall bring back a gift from Space—a very special gift." He had no idea what it might be.
Simon's face brightened considerably. "You will?"
"Yes," Spock promised, "I shall."