Chapter 2

As a child living on Vulcan, Spock had been influenced by his father to disdain the odd traditions his mother observed when the Earth calendar turned to December, but living among humans—one of whom was now his wife—had made him more tolerant of Christmas celebrations.

Lauren's father had been Christian, and her mother was Jewish. As a result she had been exposed to a curious medley of Judeo-Christian customs that she was intent on passing down to their children. Needless to say, Simon and the twins entered wholeheartedly into the "spirit of Christmas". Each year the house took on the odors of specially baked foods, and pine sap from the tree Lauren brought into a corner of the living room and decorated.

Long ago, Spock had researched the Yuletide customs and had ready answers for the inevitable questions posed to him by the children. Yet, all too often, it seemed that his answers were wrong.

Just now James, no doubt prompted by his Vulcan genes, had suddenly asked, "Fadda, why's dare a twee in the house, anyway?"

Spock set down his datapadd and launched on a historical explanation, only to be interrupted by Teresa. "No, Daddy! Everybody know it's so Santa can put the pwesents under!"

To be sure, there were already a good many "pwesents" under the tree, but Teresa was looking forward to the gifts that would appear on Christmas morning because she had heard from Simon that "Santa always gives the best ones".

Sometimes it seemed to Spock that Simon was deliberately trying to undermine his efforts to instruct the twins. Teresa spoke of Santa as if he were a living, breathing entity—as if Spock had never told her the factual story of Saint Nicholas, never patiently explained how it had evolved into the lavish Santa Claus mythology that endured to modern times.

At least James was more sensible. "Weesa," he said now, with all the scorn a three-year-old could summon, "Santa isn't weal. Fadda said."

Teresa's little jaw set. Blue eyes flashing, she turned on her brother. "Well, Daddy's wong—you'll see. You'll both see, 'cause Santa's bwinging me something weal special."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. And what might that be?"

Teresa assumed an air of mystery. "Can't tell. Simon says you never get your wish if you tell."

James' eyes widened. "Even if you whisper?"

She considered for a moment. Then coming over to Spock's chair, she climbed up beside him and whispered her secret into one pointed ear. "I just want evwybody to get along wiff evwybody."

It was not at all what Spock had expected, but Teresa was most perceptive for a child of her tender years. And she was inclined to blurt out exactly what she thought about matters.

Teary-eyed, she complained, "Nobody knows where Uncle Jim is, an' Gwampa Sarek never comes around, an' Simon's not very nice at all."

With a leaden heart Spock brushed the fine blonde curls away from her cheek. And for once he did not know what to say to her.

oooo

At the Vulcan embassy, Ambassador Sarek stood alone in his private quarters, thinking. The rooms were simply but elegantly furnished with the Earth antiques his wife had selected over the years, but without Amanda here to enjoy them, the place seemed barren.

Turning to the second story window, he gazed out upon the San Francisco skyline and experienced a fresh pang of isolation. It seemed a shameful indulgence considering the weighty matters that should be occupying him. But today everywhere he looked, he saw Amanda.

Sarek forced himself back to his desk. He was reordering his thoughts when the computer console signaled an incoming transmission from a civilian starliner.

"Onscreen," he ordered.

The viewer gave a brief flicker, then coalesced into the shockingly familiar image of a human female. Dumbfounded, Sarek stared at his fragile wisp of a wife, and for a moment his mind seemed to break free of every constraint that had been so carefully imposed upon it. All the pain of the past months washed over him. Each wrenching detail of the fateful argument on Vulcan—only one of many—so very many that he had, at first, been relieved when Amanda left him. But then the emptiness had set in. Before long he had found that he missed her—missed every endearing, aggravating thing about her. Yes, even the disagreements. He had sometimes found himself wishing he could tell her so, but the Vulcan pride she found so aggravating always prevented it.

Now the reproach in her eyes seemed to reach down inside him and pierce his heart.

"Sarek," she said with her own quiet share of pride.

He offered her a restrained, courtly nod. "Amanda."

There was an awkward pause before she said, "You will have heard that I petitioned Vulcan's High Council of Elders, and they have ruled in favor of our son."

Sarek repressed a sigh. Yes, of course he had heard. No doubt his wife was angry that he had chosen to remain here on Earth, tending to crucial matters of state, rather than petition the council himself. No doubt she would also think him cold and uncaring for not immediately dropping everything to go beg his son's forgiveness.

When he offered no comment, she continued. "I'm on my way to Earth and expect to arrive at San Francisco the day after tomorrow."

Again, no comment.

For a moment Amanda just spoke to him gently with her eyes. Then she said, "If you would meet my flight, I'll gladly return with you to the embassy and hear all about your conversation with Spock."

Conversation? With Spock? The silence stretched as Sarek considered everything his wife had said, and everything she had left unsaid. Surely Amanda realized there had been no conversation, but she would not expect to see him at the spaceport unless he first made an effort to reconcile with their son. If he made such an effort, she would likely return to the embassy with him and resume their marriage.

To Amanda it all seemed quite simple. Would she never understand Vulcan ways? Even though the interdict against Spock had been lifted, Sarek could not just go to him and apologize for an action undertaken both logically and legally. Vulcans were not given to apologies. If, by chance, a Vulcan found that he had wronged someone, he simply made restitution in an efficient, unemotional manner. While Sarek was willing to acknowledge that he may have inadvertently caused difficulties for his son, he was quite sure that he had not acted wrongly. How then could he satisfy his own sense of propriety and still bring about a reconciliation with Spock? Though Amanda was an obstinate woman, she was his bondmate and he yearned to reunite with her.

"Well?" she pressed.

Sarek's thoughts turned to the high level briefing he had attended at Federation Headquarters earlier today…and suddenly a plan came to him. Perhaps, after all, this unfortunate affair could be settled to everyone's satisfaction, but first he must consult with the president.

Drawing a carefully measured breath, he spoke at last. "I will attempt to meet you at the spaceport, my wife."

oooo

The summons could hardly have come at a less opportune time.

"So like him," Spock said with thinly veiled annoyance. "At last Sarek wishes to break his silence and it must be now, this very moment, at the ambassador's convenience."

"He's used to giving orders," Lauren pointed out in a very neutral tone meant to remind him that the children were right there, listening. "He probably doesn't even realize how it sounds."

Spock abruptly deleted the lettering of Sarek's stilted message from the phone bank. "He's a diplomat with lifelong experience in the ways of diplomacy. He knows precisely how it sounds."

Collecting himself, he turned to face his children. Dressed in their finest clothes, they stood in a row watching him with troubled eyes. They had been heading out the door, on their way to a Saturday afternoon Christmas concert where Simon was playing a solo. It was clear from Simon's face that he had read his grandfather's message and reached his own conclusion about it. Clutching his violin case, he stalked off to sulk on the front porch.

"Daddy," Teresa asked, "aren't you coming wiff us?"

Spock exchanged a long look with Lauren. If he went to Sarek, they both knew what it would mean in terms of Spock's troubled relationship with Simon. Yet Lauren's eyes—and his own Vulcan sense of duty—urged him to accept his father's overture, and in so doing perhaps even bring about a reconciliation between his parents.

Reaching the only possible decision, he said, "I'll see what Father wants. Perhaps it will not take very long."

On his way out he paused beside his eldest son, but Simon would not meet his eyes. Spock spoke to him anyway. "I regret that I cannot accompany you now, but if time allows, I will go on to the auditorium."

The boy mumbled something incomprehensible about holding his breath, but Spock did not ask him to clarify.

oooo

Sunlight, amplified and reddened to approximate the characteristics of Vulcan, beat down on the little stretch of sand in the embassy's solarium. The heat felt good on Sarek's shoulders as he sat on a stone bench awaiting his son's arrival.

Before long he glimpsed a tall, slender figure striding toward the solarium's transparent wall. Sarek had known Spock would come. If not out of obedience or respect, then to satisfy his ever-active curiosity. And this time Sarek himself had to admit to some measure of curiosity as he followed Spock's movements. Outwardly he could detect little change in his son, but a year of imprisonment and disgrace would surely leave its mark.

Wearing human clothes, Spock halted at the glass door and looked at him. Sarek prepared himself and then rose, feeling his shoes sink into the warm sand.

He signaled for his son to enter.

Spock slid the panel aside and joined him in the simulated heat of Vulcan. For an awkward moment they stood face to face, silently taking stock of one another. There were certain courtesies that must be followed; they both knew whose place it was to speak first.

Finally Spock raised his hand in the customary salute and said, "Greetings, Father. You sent for me?"

Sarek returned the gesture. Then joining his arms, wrist to wrist, so that his hands disappeared into the wide sleeves of his robe, he said, "Every time I come to this place, I am reminded of your bonding ceremony." And, "Is Lauren well?"

"Yes," Spock replied, standing stiffly.

"And your children? Are they also well?"

"Sufficiently so," came the response, and Sarek knew that Spock was speaking of young James, who was doomed to die from Vash-Lester.

"Please," Sarek said, "sit down."

They settled onto separate benches.

Now that the preliminaries were over, Sarek began to redirect their conversation. "I understand that you are not currently committed to any particular work."

Spock's dark, watchful eyes held him. "I am considering several offers of employment."

Before proceeding any further, Sarek briefly re-examined his own motivation. Naturally, there was the matter of winning Amanda's approval and his own lifelong wish for his son to join him in the field of diplomacy. Was he allowing those personal interests to unduly influence him? Of one thing he was certain: here was a singular opportunity, and by speaking to President Ra-ghoratrei he had already committed to this course.

Forging ahead, he declared, "In that case, you may wish to postpone your decision until you have thoroughly considered what I am about to say."

A look born of suspicion—and typical curiosity—darted across Spock's unlined face. And right then and there, Sarek knew that he would stay and listen. "The information I am about to disclose affects the security of the entire Federation. Therefore everything I tell you must remain strictly confidential."

Spock gazed at him, unblinking. "Understood."

In the past, Spock had scored some small successes in the diplomatic field, but he was not as experienced as Sarek would have liked…and one never knew when Spock's emotions would slip his control. But for all Spock's flaws, his intellect was sound and Sarek knew he could trust his son's loyalty to the Federation. And so he drew a deep breath and divulged the secret.

"The starship Excelsior has monitored a devastating explosion on the Klingon moon Praxis. As I am sure you know, Praxis provided the main source of energy for the Klingon homeworld. The blast has left that world's atmosphere dangerously polluted. In less than fifty Earth years, they will deplete their supply of oxygen."

One eyebrow rose as Spock absorbed the information. "Fascinating," he murmured.

"Quite so," Sarek agreed. "As a result of this disaster, the warrior class has found its power seriously challenged by a faction willing to consider the benefits of peaceful coexistence with the Federation. They are led by Gorkon, chancellor of the Klingon High Council."

"Peaceful coexistence?" Spock cast him a skeptical look; how easily his emotions surfaced.

"Gorkon has proposed peace negotiations—openly, in the Klingon Council. I realize that many of your past encounters with Klingons have led you to distrust them, but I have reason to believe that Chancellor Gorkon is honorable."

Spock withheld comment. Clearly he was waiting to see how these revelations involved him. It was a typical Vulcan reaction, yet just now Sarek found even that a bit trying. Vulcan, human—one never knew which behavior to expect from Spock. Rising, he walked the sand slowly before coming to a stop. Facing his son, he said it outright. "I would like you to assume the role of Special Federation Envoy. As such, you would be responsible for opening a dialogue with Chancellor Gorkon."

As Spock retreated further behind his Vulcan mask, Sarek resisted a most unVulcan urge to snap at him. Don't you realize what I am offering you? The kind of risk I am taking? Have you nothing at all to say?

Then, at last, Spock opened his mouth and said, "Why me?"

To Sarek, the response had an oafish sound—the sort of thing a young child might ask, and Spock was no child. Though he consulted the discipline of Vulcan, he could not quite rid his voice of exasperation. "Why, you ask? Because, first and foremost, you are my son, and my name commands a measure of respect, even among the Klingons. Your ties to Captain Kirk make you appear strong to the Klingons, who both fear and respect him as a great warrior. Even the fact that you had, for a time, been accused of trying to kill him would only increase your stature in the eyes of many Klingons."

"So I am a useful tool."

"You are my son." It was as close as Sarek would come to an apology.

Spock stood, and their eyes met on a level. "It is an interesting offer," he said tonelessly. "I will consider the proposition. Now, if there is nothing more…"

Sarek raised a hand to stay him. "There is more." And he asked, "Has Kirk been located?"

The question clearly surprised Spock; it took a moment for him to say, quite simply, "No. He is still missing."

"So I had heard," Sarek noted. "It is said that you were the last person who saw him. It is said that you did not part…cordially."

Spock's silence seemed to confirm the fact, and Sarek could not help but be saddened. Over the years he had come to know many of Spock's human friends, and of them all he had liked Captain Kirk best.

"Most unfortunate, in view of current events. Now, more than ever, the Federation has need of Kirk's experience."

For the first time since entering the solarium, Spock opened a little. "Jim is not the man you remember. Even if he were found, it is unlikely that he would be useful to anyone."

Sarek softly sighed. "This, too, I had been told—but I had not wanted to believe it."

Spock held his eyes a moment longer. Then raising his hand in the Vulcan salute, he said, "Father, if there is nothing more, I must take leave of you."

For whatever reason, he seemed in a hurry, so Sarek returned the gesture and brought their meeting to an end.

oooo

The first time Kirk heard Lemuel say it, he had thought his uncle was joking.

"Could use some work on that firewood, Jim. Long as you're staying here, I'll put you in charge of that."

"Me?" Kirk had gasped, gesturing reflexively at his legs as if, perhaps, Lem might have forgotten his disability.

With a dour, unsympathetic shake of his grey head, Lemuel replied, "You've got arms, don't you? And you hobble around just fine on those exo-gizmos."

And so it was that Kirk found himself out in the sunny yard, wrestling an axe. It was a mild December day in Idaho—a veritable heat wave, with afternoon temperatures rising into the mid-sixties. Sweat beaded his face as he pitted the heavy steel blade against thick, fragrant chunks of pine. As he had discovered, it was a matter of leverage. After a few tumbles and blisters and plenty of sore muscles, he learned how to compensate for his handicap and developed a respectable swing.

It was actually starting to feel good, doing something so basic to survival, carrying a small but vital share of the ranch workload. And chopping wood helped relieve the restless urges that crept over him like a dark, gnawing hunger. There were days when he would have given all his money for just one shot of bourbon to ease the craving when it struck. He had obtained a supply of prescription pills that offered some relief. At times they were the only thing that kept him going, but when things were at their worst, when he began to shake and sweat, he thought of how he had helped Spock when the ungrateful Vulcan was battling a serious addiction of his own, of how he had kept Spock aboard ship, out of rehab. And he knew that somehow he would get through this without Spock's idea of help, and sooner or later he would make his highhanded "friend" pay dearly. But for today, he had other plans.

After finishing his allotment of wood, Kirk washed up and went into the barn. His heart pounded as he chose a bridle and approached the stall where Lem's gentlest saddle horse stood watching. He spoke softly to the big buckskin. Expecting a treat, Biscuit stretched out his neck and Kirk slipped the bit into his mouth. After securing the bridle straps, he carefully led the gelding out of the stall, tied him to a rail, and saddled him.

"Good boy," he laughed, and gave Biscuit a triumphant pat.

This was as far as he had gotten on his last attempt, but was unable to maintain his balance while raising his foot to the stirrup. Now he would try something different. Lemuel had a little lift for loading bales of hay into the loft. It was a simple flat platform, perfect for what Kirk had in mind. Now, with Lem away for the afternoon, he would give his idea a try.

Holding tightly to the reins, he led Biscuit over by the lift and carefully stepped onto the platform. He gradually raised it by a meter or so. Perfect. Steadying himself with a hold on Biscuit's neck, he brought his right leg over the top of the saddle. Then he was astride the horse with his feet in the stirrups, half-giddy from the feeling of power, of motion, and yes—fear. He had not ridden a horse since Nimbus 3, and now he was depending on an exo-shell to keep his balance. One false move and he would hit the ground…and from atop Biscuit that ground seemed terribly far away. But he was not about to let that stop him. With a wonderful sense of regained freedom, he headed out into the hills.

Kirk enjoyed his secret adventure so much that he repeated it every time Lemuel left for town or rode out to check on the little herd of prize Angus cattle he had kept after his retirement. On his fifth day out, he was exploring a lovely tree-studded area when some inner prompting made him glance up a hillside.

A horse and rider stood silhouetted by the cloudless sky. Startled, he drew back on the reins. Even from this distance he could see it was a woman, a slender dark-haired woman, and she was watching him. Instinct sounded a warning to get out of there and avoid the danger of recognition that even a casual contact could bring, yet curiosity held him.

As he hesitated, the woman raised her arm and offered a friendly wave. He was still deciding whether or not to wave back when she pointed her horse down the hill and came galloping toward him. Now it was too late, and Kirk nearly panicked as she arrived in a flurry of pounding hooves. He grabbed for the saddle horn, steadying himself as Biscuit danced around with excitement. He did not want to fall—no, surely not now, in front of this raven-haired beauty.

"Hello," she said with a smile. Warm brown eyes studied him. "Haven't we met somewhere before?"

It was a phrase he had heard countless times during his Starfleet career. People saw his face on the news, and later forgot where they had seen it. But he was quite sure that he had never met this lovely woman anywhere before.

"No," he replied, "I don't think so."

He could tell by her expression that she was too intrigued by the sense of recognition to entirely believe him.

"My name is Antonia," she said. "Antonia Cordova."

Kirk's memory jogged. His uncle has mentioned something about an artist living nearby, but he had never imagined the artist was Cordova the painter, nor that Antonia Cordova could possibly look anything like this. For a moment the feelings she stirred in him almost made Kirk forget that his body was half dead. Then his horse shifted and he seized the saddle horn again.

Antonia's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Haven't been riding long, have you?"

He hid his embarrassment under a self-deprecating smile. "I've never claimed to be a cowboy."

She laughed—a sound as warm and sweet as a summer breeze. "Okay, so you're not a cowboy. Then who are you?"

"My name is Jim…" he said, barely stopping himself in time. "Jim…Tiber."

oooo

Spock and his wife both cherished the privacy of their home, and for that reason they seldom invited more than a couple of guests at a time for dinner, and then only after consulting with one another. However, by a strange twist of circumstances, on this particular evening they found their house fairly bursting with company.

Lauren's mother and Aaron Pascal had come by actual invitation, but others—like Doctor McCoy and Nyota Uhura from the recently docked Enterprise—had simply "dropped in". Among them were Mr. and Mrs. Sakata, who arrived bearing a tiny bonsai tree meticulously trained by Mr. Sakata's own skillful hands. Over the years, the Japanese groundkeeper and his wife—"Auntie", as the children called her—had become more than employees, and Lauren insisted that they stay for dinner.

The door chimed yet again. Spock opened it and found his father and mother—together for the first time in months—accompanied by Amanda's sister, Doris Breskin.

With her hand on Sarek's arm, Amanda smiled and said, "We happened to be in the neighborhood and I thought I'd surprise you."

Sarek's tolerant expression suggested that her words were somewhat less than truthful, that perhaps he would rather be elsewhere, but there he stood. Coming out of his shock, Spock exchanged greetings and ushered them all inside.

At the very first opportunity, Lauren drew Spock into the kitchen and said, "So your little visit with Sarek did the trick. And guess what? I have a feeling that we'll be hearing from Jim soon."

"Lauren…" he said with some exasperation.

"All these years," she reproached him, "and you can still doubt my intuition?"

Spock merely raised an eyebrow and returned to the living room. He was standing alone near the Christmas tree, wondering if he dare trust this latest premonition, when Lauren's mother appeared at his side.

Gems sparkled on Elizabeth's rings as she gestured toward the guests, the music, and the laughter. "Spock, you never fail to amaze me. I thought you hated parties."

"I would not use so strong a term," Spock remarked.

Her dark eyes shone with amusement. "Which term do you mean? 'Hate' or 'party'?"

"Both," Spock replied. "I prefer to think of this as a gathering of friends, and one cannot—in all logic—despise the company of a friend."

She raised her wine glass in tribute. "Well said. Now that I have you all to myself, there's a question of a credit transfer that hit my account this morning. Would you happen to know anything about it?"

"I do," Spock acknowledged. "Consider it the first installment toward full repayment of the money you loaned Lauren."

She sighed. "Spock, there was never any loan."

"That is most gracious of you," he said, "but nevertheless, the money will be repaid with appropriate interest…" He inclined his head. "And gratitude."

As Elizabeth moved on, Spock heard a chime signal the arrival of a long-range transmission. With a faint hope that Lauren's "feeling" was about to prove accurate, he took a seat at the phone alcove. But the face that appeared on the screen had no connection to the missing captain. For a moment the security of his home faded into a dark, fetid tunnel of memories…and there, at the very end of the tunnel, a pair of gray eyes spoke of the friendship that had kept two men sane in the midst of insanity. Eyes from another world, another lifetime.

"Hello from lockup," Leo Kessler said with a wry smile.

The message from Spock's former cellmate was not long; very little happened in prison that was worth repeating. When the transmission was over, he turned and found Simon standing nearby, watching him. The boy looked angry.

"Is something the matter?" Spock asked.

Simon's frown deepened as he looked down and dug at the carpet with the toe of his shoe. Finally he said, "That man…that man on the phone is…"

"A convict?" Spock had no difficulty saying the word. "Yes, just as I was, not long ago."

Simon's jaw clenched and his eyes rose up, flashing. "But he's a real criminal! I know who he is, and he's a murderer!"

A few of the guests were in the vicinity of the alcove. At Simon's outburst they fell silent, leaving an undercurrent of music to fill the sudden, uncomfortable void. Spock noticed his father among the group.

Very quietly he told Simon, "Leo Kessler is my friend."

The guests discreetly moved out of earshot—all, that is, but Sarek.

"Jim used to be your friend," Simon said hotly, "but you don't give a damn about him, anymore!"

A painful flood of emotions briefly challenged Spock's control: anger, dismay, frustration. He would have to punish Simon for his insolence, yet a part of him ached to take the boy into his arms—this same precious son he had cradled as an infant—and somehow put everything right between them. But he did not know how to do that, any more than he knew how to right all the bitter years of difficulty between himself and his own father.

Sternly he said, "Simon, you will go to your room, shut the door quietly, and remain there."

For a moment Simon just glared at him. Then he turned and ran upstairs. When Spock looked where his father had been standing, Sarek was gone.