It was nearly dawn when Spock finally found a suitable hiding place. Thick underbrush almost totally obscured the mouth of a small cave that opened under a large outcropping of rock. He motioned for Phyllida to follow him.

Inside the relative safety of the cave, Phyllida began to speak, but Spock gestured quickly for her to be silent. She stopped and strained to hear whatever his keen ears had detected, and eventually caught the distinct twittering of the Somari tongue and light footfalls on the hillside above them. Silently they waited for what seemed an eternity for their hunters to move on. When they were finally gone, Phyllida sank to the damp cave floor in exhaustion. Bruised and weary, every muscle in her body cried out for relief. She could feel that her back had begun to bleed again, and the pain that had earlier been pushed aside was now mounting. She looked toward Spock, who had settled wearily to the cave floor across from her. In the half-light she could get only a small idea of the extent of his injuries, but that was enough. His left cheek was ripped savagely and a steady trickle of bright green blood flowed from several deep gashes on his chest. She imagined his back was as bad. She closed her eyes and a soft groan escaped her lips as she leaned back against the cool wall of the cave. There was nothing they could do for themselves at the moment, she reasoned; only rest.

---------------

Phyllida opened her eyes with a start. What had caused her to waken? Her eyes darted around her dim surroundings. There it was again – a noise near the entrance of the cave – a rustling sound. Her body tensed, prepared to fight. She stared at the entrance, her hand closing around a sharp stone.

Spock entered the cave quietly.

Phyllida let out the breath she was holding with a long hiss, dropping the rock. "What the hell are you doing, sneaking around like that? You almost got a rock in your skull!"

Spock, long accustomed to the emotional outbursts of humans, ignored Gaines' remark and merely cocked an eyebrow. Phyllida then noticed that he had removed his shirt and the wounds on his face, chest and back were clean. They didn't look quite so angry with the blood washed away. As he settled to the floor near her, her eyes took in the angular contour of his face and his well-defined chest and arms. Her breath caught involuntarily and she lowered her eyes; in the same instant she hoped he had not noticed her reaction. In his hands he carefully carried a blue bundle, the remnant of his ruined shirt, which he unwrapped to reveal a large gourd filled with water. He handed it to Phyllida, who nodded her thanks and drank gratefully. She gave it back to him and he set it on the floor, moistening a strip of his shirt in the remaining water.

"Remove your tunic."

Phyllida looked at him in surprise.

Spock's face, as usual, betrayed no emotion, and his tone was commanding. "Lieutenant Gaines, we must take care of those wounds. Remove your tunic."

She nodded in assent and began trying to pull the tunic off, stopping suddenly with a gasp of pain. "Mr. Spock – my back!" She turned to reveal her back to him. What had been a mass of raw flesh the night before was now crusted over, sealing the tunic to her body. As gently as possible, Spock patiently set to the task of applying water to her back to remove the dried blood. With plenty of water and not a little pain on Phyllida's part, Spock was finally able to remove the bloodied tunic and cleanse her wounds. There would be scars, but there was no residual bleeding and hopefully infection would not set in.

"Now what, Mr. Spock?" Phyllida said as they finished. She turned to face him. "I can't just go around like this now, can I?" indicating her bare torso.

Spock, really looking at her now for the first time, took in her full round breasts, her flat abdomen, the gentle flare of her hips above her red uniform shorts and her long legs folded beneath her in torn black stockings and boots. He swallowed somewhat convulsively as something stirred within him that he quickly suppressed. "Certainly not," he answered gruffly. He rose to his feet and thrust what was left of his shirt into her hands. "I suggest you try to combine this with yours to make some type of covering." He turned and strode quickly to the mouth of the cave and disappeared outside.

Phyllida looked helplessly at the shreds of cloth in her hands, shrugged, and set to work.

Near the cave, Spock sat on a large boulder, watching the sky and listening. The sun was already high in the sky; it looked as though it was early afternoon. He pulled out his communicator and opened it with a practiced flip of the wrist. His familiar hail, as expected, elicited no response. Something was still interfering with the signal. He was reminded briefly of another time when, against all odds, an act of desperation had saved him and his crew. But this time it was different; the odds? Not even as good as before. The entire landing party lost, no weapons and no ship. However, there are always alternatives. If he could find the source of the interference, Spock reasoned, he could find a way to eliminate it or work around it to bring up communications. He would have to find it quickly; surely they had very little time before Captain Kirk would be forced to abandon search and move on to Outpost 7.

A short time later, Phyllida emerged from the cave wearing a scant makeshift garment of blue and red. "Well, what do you think?" she asked, modeling her creation.

Pragmatic as always, Spock nodded acknowledgement. "Functional."

Phyllida looked at him in mock disappointment. "That's all you have to say? This wasn't easy to make, you know, with no needle and thread."

"No doubt. However, it is fortunate that your skill as an engineer surpasses your apparent skill as a clothing designer." His face was as somber as ever, but his dark eyes shown as Phyllida glared at him sullenly.

"Thanks. You really know how to encourage a person."

She walked away from him, stretching sore muscles in the sunlight. As far as she could see trees and brush surrounded them, deep green and fragrant. Tiny insects with delicately colored wings flitted between exquisite flowers and nearby could be heard the sounds of a small stream. She moved though the trees in the direction of the sound. It was a pretty little stream, the water cool and clean, reflecting glints of sunlight through the trees overhead. This seems like such a peaceful world, she thought, yet there has been so much violence here. She knelt to the stream, drinking deeply of the pure water. As she was getting to her feet, Spock came up behind her, scanning the skies.

"They will be back. We must move on to a safer place if one can be found."

"But Spock, don't you think it will be safe here for a while? I mean, I think we could use the rest."

"I agree; however, I do not believe that we have that much time. I am fully functional at this point; my wounds are not serious. But, if you require aid to go on..."

"Not necessary, Mr. Spock. I can handle it if you can." She looked at him, wondering why they said that Vulcans could not lie and trying to gauge again the extent of his injuries. Remembering his touch of the night before, she knew of his ability to sublimate pain, but wondered how long he could keep it up.

They walked in silence back to the cave where Spock had gathered gourds, which he had painstakingly hollowed with a piece of sharpened flint for use as water carriers. With a pang of guilt Phyllida realized how little Spock must have slept after they had reached this shelter. They filled the gourds from the stream, tying them over their shoulders with lengths of a rubbery vine that grew nearby. Then, Spock tucked the small flint knife into his boot and gave a similar one to Phyllida, which she tied around her thigh with another vine. Thus prepared, they set out, intent upon putting a good distance between themselves and the great stone mountain behind them. They walked for hours and were soon far enough away to see it rising above the trees like a huge tower, the unmistakable shapes of bird people silhouetted in the surrounding sky.

They stopped to rest only occasionally, though their bodies wearily protested, wanting to put even more distance between themselves and their would-be captors. They walked on, and near nightfall they suddenly emerged from the forest onto an expanse of open plain, desolate and lifeless. In the distance could be seen the jagged outlines of an immense mountain range rising high above the desert floor. Spock looked at the mountains and saw in them what might be their best chance for protection and shelter if they could cross the open expanse of desert undetected. It was also the direction in which his previous tricorder readings had indicated was the probable source of the electromagnetic interference that had plagued the party's communications since they encountered the Somari. They would need to try to get to those mountains. He expressed all this to Phyllida.

"We'll make camp here and get an early start in the morning." Spock's comment left no room for argument.

Phyllida looked at Spock. In the dimness of the gathering dusk, she could read only determination on his alien face. Internally, she questioned the wisdom of leaving the cover of the forest. What if they should be caught out there in the open? But, she also agreed that the mountains would probably be their best chance if they could get to them. "I guess it's a chance we'll have to take," she said.

That night was spent in the relative protection of the forest edge. Although Somari could still be seen flying around their mountain in the distance, there were no signs of pursuit. Spock found this rather odd, but kept it to himself, not wanting to alarm Phyllida unnecessarily. He would have been surprised had he known that she shared the same thoughts.

Early in the morning they gathered what food they could find to help sustain them on their trip across the wasteland. Spock found, on taking inventory of their supplies, that they still had a good five gourds of water left for the journey. Hopefully enough, if they were conservative.

Phyllida finally put her misgivings into words. "I can't imagine those bird people giving up so easily. Do you think they know where we are?" She shuddered at that thought.

"Most probably they know exactly where we are," Spock replied. "Although, I cannot explain why they have not attempted to apprehend us as yet."

Phyllida looked back uneasily toward the Somari's mountain towering in the distance. "Let's get out of here."

The two set out across the desert with the morning sun at their backs. Aside from patches of scrub grass and an occasional succulent, there was nothing growing in the dry, sandy soil. Now and then small reptilian creatures would scurry across their path, but neither Spock nor Phyllida noted any other life forms. They traveled uneventfully until about midday, stopping to rest in a dry riverbed. Phyllida sagged wearily to the ground, rubbing her injured shoulder. Spock handed her their small pouch of food. "Here, eat. I'm going to take some readings."

He walked some distance down the riverbed, scanning for any evidence of Somari or for the source of the electromagnetic interference that had been playing havoc with communications. Though the tricorders had been affected to some extent by the same interference, Spock continued to attempt their use in the hope that the interference would eventually abate. Unfortunately, the tricorder was still not working reliably; he could not even pinpoint an exact source for the electromagnetic interference. It just seemed to be all around them the closer they got to the mountains. He turned and started walking back toward where he had left Gaines.

Phyllida was exhausted and the heat was beginning to affect her. Taking a long drink of water from the gourd at her side, she felt her head reel suddenly. Easy now, she thought, not too much at once. The slight rise in body temperature she had felt most of the morning she had long since dismissed as due to the desert sun. I'll feel much better after I've eaten something, she told herself. She looked down the riverbed after Spock and noticed that he was coming back toward her.

"Anything yet?" she called.

"Nothing." His eyes turned toward the sky. "Perhaps they felt it sufficient to drive us from their territory. They may no longer consider us a valid threat." He sat next to her and she handed him the food pouch.

"Let's hope so, anyway."

As they ate, Spock regarded Phyllida silently. Discovering his intent gaze, she smiled slightly, running her fingers through tangled, unwashed hair, painfully conscious of the marks on her battered face. "Not a very pretty sight, am I, Mr. Spock?"

Spock's eyes never wavered. "You are a very brave woman and one of the finest officers in the Fleet. I am honored by your presence, although I deeply regret the circumstances."

Phyllida dropped her hand and met his gaze squarely, her soft blue eyes reflecting the depths of his. "Yes," she said softly, "I believe you do. But Spock – it's not your fault!"

He looked past her then, not willing to expose himself any further. Speaking as though to himself he replied, "My responsibility."

--------------

That night they hazarded a fire for the first time since the night before they had met the Somari, for in spite of the heat of the desert sun, the night had turned suddenly cold. The two rough-hewn flint knives Spock had made served well to give spark to the dry grass that was their only tinder, and the small flame was welcome, thought it provided only minimal warmth. Phyllida shivered and drew closer to the fire. She had been feeling so strangely today and could not really account for it. Taking a deep breath, she shook her head, trying to dispel the dizziness and feeling of disorientation. I'm so tired, she thought foggily. I'll be fine once I rest. Curling up next to the tiny fire, she fell into a restless sleep.

Spock sat on the other side of the fire and watched Phyllida intently. He feared her injuries were not healing properly. If only they had Dr. Wilson's medical kit now. However, they didn't and it was useless thinking about it. Evaluating his own condition, he found himself to be doing surprisingly well. The gash on his cheek had closed and was beginning to heal and even the wounds on his back and chest were only very slightly infected; surprising, since he had not had the opportunity to allow his body the time needed to heal itself effectively. Rest he must and soon, but he knew that Gaines, even more than he, could not go on indefinitely. He thought back to their earlier conversation. She had said that none of this was his fault; but if not his, whose? He had been responsible for the lives of his landing party and had failed. Phyllida stirred in her sleep, moaning softly. Watching over her in the light of the waning fire, Spock felt an increasing sense of responsibility bordering on urgency to keep her alive and well. The last of my crew, he rationalized silently, but he knew that it was more than that, and even the strongly protesting Vulcan in him could not completely dispel it.

Phyllida was still sleeping when Spock awoke. She looked peaceful in the pre-dawn twilight. Stretching warmth back into stiff muscles, he rose and made preparation for the day's trek, intending to let her sleep a while longer. His attempt to reach the Enterprise, a daily activity since leaving the cave, bore the same negative result as on the previous occasions. He knew that the ship might have already left and may never return in the near future, but he was not ready to give up quite yet.

When Phyllida finally awoke it was with some disorientation; she felt as though she was not quite in her body. Spock was leaning over her, his face a picture of concern. Odd, she thought, for a Vulcan.

To Spock, Lieutenant Gaines' face had the flushed look of fever. He had seen it few other times, but often enough to know that in humans it usually was accompanied by a significant infection. This was a turn of events that concerned him greatly. Without medication Phyllida would have to rely on her own reserves, and at the moment, these were understandably low. The odds were getting worse.

Phyllida sat up and her head reeled with the movement. What is wrong with me, she thought. Why is it so terribly hot this early in the morning? Aloud, she said, "Why are you looking at me like that, Mr. Spock?"

He did not answer her question, but instead asked, "How do you feel?"

She hesitated a moment. "I'm...not quite sure...a little strange, but it'll pass." An unruly strand of hair fell across her eyes and she brushed it back with a shaking hand. "I'm fine." Then, as if to prove it, she stood on wobbly legs, only to collapse almost immediately. Spock reflexively caught her and lowered her gently to the ground.

"You are not fine," he admonished. "In fact, you are extremely ill." He put a water gourd to her lips, making her drink. "How long have you had the fever?"

Phyllida shrugged. "Since yesterday morning maybe. I don't know." Her shoulders sagged and for a moment she thought how much simpler it would have been to have just let the Somari kill her. She would probably die now anyway. Behind closed eyes she allowed the pain of the last two days to sweep over her like a wave. The sensation was not entirely unpleasant, almost welcome in fact. It simply did not matter anymore.

"...along that ridge there," Spock was saying.

He sounded so far away. She slowly opened her eyes to overwhelming sunlight.

"We should be able to reach it within a day. There we will have a better chance for survival until rescue arrives." He seemed to be indicating the mountains to the west.

Phyllida shook her head. She doubted that she could continue in her present state for any length of time. Spock helped her take another drink of water from the gourd. The sun was getting higher and they needed to be moving. "Spock, if you'll help me stand, I think I can manage. For a while, anyway."

He eyed her somewhat doubtfully but without a word he helped her to her feet. The coarse sand seemed at first to give way under Phyllida's boots, and she leaned heavily on the Vulcan's strength. But then, with the determined discipline of a Starfleet officer, she steadied and drew herself up to face Spock, meeting his dark eyes with her own. She turned and with Spock at her side, set out toward the western mountains across the desert expanse.

The pair trudged on throughout the day, the forest behind them eventually fading to no more than a green strip on the eastern horizon, although their progress was slower than before. The sun rose in its swiftly mounting arc, desert sands reflecting its heat with an ever-increasing intensity. Phyllida, in her illness, was becoming more and more unsure of her footing, and suddenly stumbled. Spock's arm was instantly around her waist, breaking her fall and helping her back to her feet. He noticed that she felt hot, even to his touch. She looked at him through fevered eyes and the urgent need for rest cried out from every part of her body. He walked with her then, half carrying her limp form. They pressed onward, tenacious Vulcan strength sustaining not only one, but two through the hostile desert.

Throughout the afternoon black thunderheads roiled on the horizon, building, spreading across the sky with an uncanny, almost demoniacal, intensity. Dust whipped up around the two in small whirlwinds and in the distance they heard the low rumble of thunder answering the mounting storm. Suddenly and relentlessly, the wind increased, driving Spock and Phyllida on through billowing dust that made the sand under their boots writhe and moil fitfully as though it were alive. They struggled to continue through dust that choked every breath, filled hair and eyes. Through the cloud of her fever, Phyllida felt the effort was wasted. She wanted nothing more than to just lie down and die, but some primitive instinct would not allow that luxury. It forced her to put one leaden foot before the other until finally, even her survival drive weakened and she slipped from Spock's grasp to fall roughly to the ground. He went down after her, protecting her with his own body from the thick stinging clouds of dust.

Then, with sudden violent force, the storm broke. Rain, torrential and savage, lashed at them with cold sheets of water that eroded the ground beneath them. Through muted senses, Phyllida felt the escalating fury of the storm past the weight of Spock's body. Water welled up around her, muddy and vile, forcing its way into her mouth and nostrils, threatening to choke her. The ground shook convulsively, rumbling in protest of the violence being forced upon it, bringing with it a welcome blackness, devoid of all sensation, into which Phyllida gratefully sank.

As the storm raged around them, Spock gradually became aware of another sound -- a dull roar over the sounds of the storm. Still holding Phyllida, he raised himself from the mud, striving to see the source of the growing sound. Sheets of rain whipped about him, and for long minutes Spock strained to see as the roar escalated deafeningly. What he finally saw carried with it such raw force and power that were he fully human he might have panicked. A wall of water, at least 10 feet high, was surging toward them with bone-crushing speed. Spock set himself to meet it, clasping Phyllida tightly to himself. Then, with a gut-wrenching shock, the water was all around them; roaring, sweeping water that had a life of its own, rolling over them with amazing intensity. Spock tried desperately to keep his hold on Phyllida as the flood fought with him to claim her. The forceful current carried them under water for endless seconds to finally sweep them clear of the surface and into the rain-soaked air. Spock, still clinging to Phyllida, drew a long breath and pulled Phyllida's head above the surface, keeping her there while they floated down the watercourse. It was still raining, although not with the ferocity of the few minutes preceding the flood, and it occurred to Spock that the Somari, being familiar with the weather patterns of this planet, must have known that he and Gaines would be caught in this storm. They had been run into a deliberate trap.

Long minutes passed before the swift currents finally deposited them on a large sandbar near the foothills of the western mountain range. The sun had set some time before and the sky was beginning to clear, showing a scattering of stars through rifts in the thinning clouds. The wind also had died down and all was still. Exhausted, Spock dragged Phyllida's limp body up onto the sandbar next to him and collapsed.