T'Beth was quiet at dinner. She chewed her food absently, scarcely hearing anything Gram and Aunt Doris were saying. Several minutes passed before she became aware of a silence at the table. Glancing up, she found herself the center of attention.

"You're a thousand miles away tonight," Amanda observed. "Is something bothering you?"

Almost without thinking, the question popped out. "Gram, do you think it's possible that anyone could be jealous of me?"

Amanda looked surprised. "Why…yes. I suppose so."

"Jealous of what?"

"Well," Amanda pondered, "you're bright…physically attractive…the daughter of a highly respected Starfleet officer…the granddaughter of an ambassador…"

"Oh, right." T'Beth's voice dripped with sarcasm. "How could I have forgotten?" Stabbing her fork into a piece of chicken breast, she shoved it into her mouth.

"T'Beth," Amanda said carefully, "if there's some problem at school…"

"No," T'Beth denied. "Everything's just fine."

Amanda visibly relaxed and glanced across the table at her sister. "Good. I'm glad to see that you're settling in at Baybridge. It's what I'd hoped for…before I leave."

The fork slipped from T'Beth's hand and clattered on her plate. Feeling panicky, she stared at her grandmother.

"T'Beth dear," Amanda said gently. "Sarek has been very patient through all this…but it's time that I return to Vulcan."

T'Beth forced herself to take slow, deep breaths. She had known the moment of separation was coming, but thought she had conquered her feelings and dried her tears once and for all. Obviously she hadn't conquered anything. Pushing up from the table, she rushed out the back door, into the darkness. She moved quickly, stumbling over the uneven ground, until distance almost swallowed the little house with its glowing pinpoint windows. There in the chill of night, no one could hear her wrenching sobs.

What was the matter with her? Coming to Earth had been partly her choice. At times she had actually pleaded for the chance to live here. Shivering, she squeezed the tears from her eyes and gazed up into the overcast sky. Empty. Blank. Not a star of a starship in sight. Off in the distance she heard her grandmother calling. A childlike part of her wanted to respond, wanted to run and throw herself into Gram's arms and beg her to stay forever. But she knew what the answer would be. She stayed where she was. She waited until the redness faded from her eyes and she felt she could trust her voice completely. Then she headed back to the house. Chilled to the bone, she opened the front door and walked into the living room.

Amanda rose from a chair and hurried toward her. "T'Beth—thank God!"

T'Beth let herself be embraced, but made no move to return the gesture. "I'm sorry if I upset you," she said evenly. "I know you have to go back. I understand."

Amanda drew back and gave her a hard look, as if now that the hugging was over she would just as soon take her by the shoulders and give her a good shake.

Go ahead, T'Beth almost spouted, but holding tight to her Vulcan face, she said, "It's alright. Really." And she spent the rest of the evening pretending it was true.

oooo

Overnight it had rained. Fog clung to the landscape like a damp uneasy blanket as T'Beth made her way to school. At Baybridge she alighted from the shuttlebus and paused to fasten her jacket against the cold. Then she walked through the fog slowly.

She had not wanted to come to school today. Even with the dagger strapped to her leg, she felt lost and lonely. It was hard to think of Gram leaving soon, and this sort of weather depressed her. Gray mists always reminded her of the Klingon captivity. Though there had also been sunshine, it was the dampness she remembered—hour upon hour staring out into a fog, watching for the dark-haired slave in the yard below. Poor ill-clad creature swinging the Klingons' axe, mucking out their barn, letting himself be beaten. Day after day she had stood at a window, seeing too much, ashamed to death of her own father.

Back then she had not understood the Klingons' hold over him. But she, too, had experienced the ugliness of Torlath's blackmail. She, too, had done unspeakable things so Torlath would keep her father alive. Spock claimed he had only played the submissive slave to protect her, but sometimes she wondered about that. Later, on Vulcan, he had all but handed her over to the authorities who locked her away—just for knocking the stone heads off a couple of crumbling gargoyles. Where was his concern then? She would never forget the betrayal she felt when the council pronounced her sentence.

A bell on the campus began to chime. T'Beth rose from her thoughts and found that she had wandered near the stable. She paused, sorely tempted to saddle a horse and lose herself in the wooded network of riding trails. The day was so still that she could hear the horses snorting in their stalls.

Behind her, some small object pelted down through the branches of a tree. She turned, expecting to see a pinecone—and found Zorlaa Suderman hurtling toward her. The impact drove the air from T'Beth's lungs. Stunned, she fell onto her back. Half a dozen bodies landed atop her. She was coughing and struggling to breathe when Zorlaa punched her in the stomach.

"How do you like it?" Zorlaa hissed. "Think you can push us around? Think you're so damn special?"

In the midst of her pain T'Beth remembered the dagger at her ankle. She strained to free her arm, but too many girls held her down. She lay helpless and raging as Zorlaa curled her clawed hand into a fist and hit her again. The blow glanced off T'Beth's cheekbone and struck her nose. Brownish blood streamed from a nostril.

"Go ahead," someone crowed. "Give it to her!"

"No," said another. "Come on, Zorlaa, that's enough."

"You afraid?" demanded the Helvan, her yellow eyes glittering down at T'Beth.

T'Beth was not sure if the question was meant for her or for the girl who had called for an end to this. She kept still, hoping one or two of them would ease their hold on her. No one did. Zorlaa rained down a flurry of blows that left her sick to her stomach.

"What's the matter?" the Helvan taunted. "I thought Vulcans were supposed to like pain." Her scaly fingers shifted on T'Beth's body. "Come on, you guys—turn her over."

An upsurge of panic made T'Beth struggle, but there was no stopping the determined strength that pushed and tugged her firmly into place. Zorlaa climbed onto her back and shoved her face into the mud.

"You slug," snarled the Helvan. "Eat the dirt! Open your mouth! Eat it!"

There was laughter. T'Beth spat a mouthful of blood and grit and suddenly found that no one was paying much attention to her right hand. Zorlaa kneed her in the ribs. Though the padding of T'Beth's jacket prevented any real injury, she feigned a spasm of pain, jerking her leg upward. Then the dagger was in her grip. Jabbing her elbow into Zorlaa's thigh, she twisted her body and slashed the blade across the startled Helvan's shoulder. At the sight of the jade-handled dagger the other girls jumped back, wide-eyed. T'Beth rose to a crouch and confronted her attackers with white-hot fury.

Zorlaa drew away, shaken, a scaly hand clamped over her injured shoulder. Thick yellow blood seeped from between her clawed fingers. "Get her!" she shrieked. "Get that knife away from her!"

T'Beth experienced a certain grim satisfaction as one by one the Helvan's cohorts turned and ran. With her eyes locked on Zorlaa, she edged forward, menacing the lone Helvan with her dagger.

A man's voice rang out. "You there! Drop that knife!"

T'Beth glanced toward the sound. Several figures were approaching through the fog, among them the principal of Baybridge.

"Drop the knife," he repeated loudly. "Stay right where you are—both of you."

T'Beth's mouth went dry as dust. With an effort she loosened her numbed fingers from the dagger's hilt. As the weapon slipped from her hand she felt as if the universe were shifting and changing forever.

oooo

Amanda found T'Beth sitting alone in the principal's office. "What have you done?" she said, the shock and anger in her voice plain to hear.

T'Beth stared at the carpet beside her grandmother's shoes. It didn't seem fair that she should feel ashamed. She hadn't provoked the attack. She had only been defending herself.

Amanda came and stood over her. "You told me everything was alright."

"Yes," T'Beth said. "I did."

"A knife!" Amanda shook her head in disbelief. "Smuggled all the way from Vulcan?"

"Yes," T'Beth admitted.

"Where did you get it? Why did you do it?"

T'Beth was silent.

"Answer me!" Amanda snapped. "You stabbed a girl and now you sit there and say nothing?"

T'Beth leaned forward and rested her battered face in her hands. She felt sick, drained, dangerously close to tears. When would this nightmare be over?

Amanda collected herself and spoke again. "Do you know what will happen if this goes to the police? Have you forgotten that you're on parole?"

T'Beth dropped her hands and glared at her grandmother. "On Vulcan I cut up a few statues. Now I'm cutting up people—is that it?"

"Is it?" Amanda pulled up a chair and sat nearby. "I'm trying to understand you, T'Beth. Tell me what happened—the truth, now."

T'Beth felt a prickling at the back of her eyes and blinked hard. Taking a deep breath, she repeated what she had already told the principal and the school psychologist.

Amanda waited until she was finished. Watching for T'Beth's reaction, she said, "There are a lot of people here telling a different story."

"I know—" T'Beth stopped and swallowed hard. Each word was a struggle. "I know what they're saying, Gram, but it's not true—I swear it. I…I don't know how else to make you believe me."

Amanda sighed and turned away.

An hour later T'Beth gathered her belongings and left Baybridge under a cloud of disgrace. Aunt Doris was out of town for the day, so Amanda had driven in by herself. As T'Beth rode home in the car, Amanda repeated her concern that the incident be kept from the police. The staff at Baybridge had made it clear they would do everything in their power to downplay the "unfortunate affair". After all, the school had a reputation to maintain.

"Thank heavens the Suderman girl wasn't badly injured," Amanda said. "She comes from a distinguished family. Her parents may not want to stir up publicity by pressing charges. Maybe if I talk to them—"

"You mean buy them off," T'Beth cut in, "don't you? Is that all you can think about? Preventing a scandal?"

Amanda brought the car down and parked on the side of the road. "A scandal!" she said incredulously. "You foolish child, is that what you think this is all about? Don't you realize what might happen?"

T'Beth just looked at her.

"Sarek and your father pulled a lot of legal strings to bring you to Earth before your parole was up. If the Sudermans go to the police, whatever the outcome, you'll be deported right back to Vulcan. Do you feel like going before the council again?"

T'Beth folded her arms across her middle and huddled in the seat. Just thinking about the elders of ShiKahr aggravated the dull aching in the pit of her stomach. They would never believe she was innocent. Why should they? Even her own grandmother didn't.

Amanda started the engine and flew on in silence. As the car glided above the winding road, it occurred to T'Beth that Grandmother had never even asked if was alright. In the side mirror her face looked battered and puffy. A bit of dried blood showed in one nostril. Doctor McCoy wouldn't have taken the word of a school nurse. He would have fussed over her like a mother hen. And Jim? For a time T'Beth consoled herself with thoughts of the former admiral. If Jim Kirk were here, would he believe her? Would he try to understand her need for the dagger and why she had been compelled to use it? Sure, maybe he would be angry, but even so he would manage to made her feel safe, feel loved. But Jim wasn't here. And the time for fantasies was over.

Amanda drove the car into Doris' garage and stepped out. T'Beth fumbled with the seat belt. Her fingers felt cold and stiff.

"Get into the house now," Amanda ordered, as if T'Beth were deliberately causing the delay.

T'Beth yanked at the seat belt and it popped loose. Glowering, she got out and slammed the car door.

Amanda's control slipped. "Anger. Violence. Must it always be so with you? Did you learn nothing from your teachers on Vulcan?" She didn't wait for T'Beth to answer, but plunged on in a voice heavy with disappointment. "When I think of that frightened eleven-year-old Spock brought to me. Of all the hopes and dreams I had for you then. T'Beth—" She raised her arms in a gesture of hopelessness. "What went wrong?"

T'Beth stood stiff and silent, her hands clasped behind her in unwitting imitation of her father. What went wrong? The bitter losses, the loneliness, the betrayals, the humiliations—surely she knew. Yet with her question she chose to ignore all that, to point a finger of reproach, to heap all the blame on T'Beth.

"Talk to me," Amanda pleaded.

T'Beth's temper flared. "And say what? That I'm bad? That I should be locked up?"

"No. Of course not."

"But you believe the other girls. I took up a knife and attacked them for no reason. That makes me a criminal, doesn't it? If I did it to them, I could do it to anyone. To Father…or Aunt Doris…or maybe even you. Think about it—any one of you could be next."

Amanda's face paled. "Surely, T'Beth, that is not some kind of threat…"

Strangely, T'Beth found she was no longer angry. Amanda's words had moved her beyond simple anger to some deeper place where pain obscured every other emotion. She found herself saying, "Why not? It's what you expect, isn't it? I can see it on your face—I'm dangerous."

Amanda turned and left her standing alone in the damp garage.

oooo

Holed up in her room, T'Beth scarcely noticed the fog giving way to warming afternoon sunshine. Hour after hour she lay listlessly on the bed, staring at pine knots, at the ceiling, at the nothingness of empty air. Her body ached from all the abuse it had received. Her spirit felt beaten and betrayed by her grandmother's lack of understanding.

What would happen to her now? It was almost certain that she would be expelled from Baybridge. Aunt Doris would also ask her to leave. No boarding school would accept her now. That meant a return to Vulcan, even if she weren't legally deported. T'Beth shuddered at the thought of facing her grandfather. Sarek had worked hard to earn her this chance on Earth. He had put his reputation as an ambassador on the line. He had invested some measure of trust in her.

And then there was Spock. T'Beth's eyes came to rest on his portrait. What would be his reaction when he heard about the knifing? Would he accept Zorlaa's story over that of his own daughter? Would he understand something of her need to carry a weapon—some line of defense against the waking nightmares that stalked her? She sure couldn't look to him for any security. It was no different now than when the Klingons held them. Yes, my lord...no, my lord. That's how it had been under captivity. Watching and waiting for the one unguarded moment when she could run the hell out of there and try to save her own skin. And when the moment finally came, the guilt had come with it, the crushing realization that she couldn't leave her father to Torlath because Torlath would make him pay for her escape—in blood. So she had stayed on, pleasuring the filthy old Klingon—for Spock. Just as she had gone back to the Vulcan elders and confessed her silly vandalism—for Spock. And what had she gotten out of it? Maybe she should have run off and left him to bleed.

oooo

T'Beth awoke with a start. She lay fully clothes on her bed. The room was black and cool, and something moved in the darkness. Gasping, she drew back and nearly toppled onto the floor.

"T'Beth," spoke a gentle voice. "T'Beth, child. It's only me."

The bedside lamp came on. T'Beth found Aunt Doris standing over her in a rumpled pink nightgown.

"Oh dear," Doris said, taking stock of the bruising on T'Beth's face. "Are you alright? I thought I heard you cry out."

The pounding of T'Beth's heart began to subside. Warily she settled back on her pillows. "I must have been dreaming. I don't remember."

"Small wonder," Doris said, "after everything you've been through." Perching on the mattress, she looked at T'Beth kindly. "Your face, dear. It must hurt."

T'Beth did not know what to make of her aunt's show of compassion. Why was Doris stalling? Why didn't she just say what they both knew was coming, and get it over with? T'Beth, I'm sorry you got hurt, but you brought it on yourself. You always do. When I asked you to live with me, I had no idea it would be like this…

"T'Beth dear." Doris' brows drew together. "Why were you carrying that knife? Don't you feel safe here?"

Sighing, T'Beth looked aside. As she struggled with her reply, a warm wrinkled hand closed over hers. The caring touch made a lump form in her throat. "For awhile…I almost did feel safe. And then the trouble started at school."

"Mandy told me what you said. Those horrid girls!"

T'Beth stared at her. "You mean…you believe me?"

"Of course I believe you."

"But Gram thinks—"

"Never mind that." Doris patted her hand. "I believe you and that's all that matters."

T'Beth's head swam with questions. "But why? Aunt Doris, I don't understand. Why would you take my word for it?"

Doris' expression took a distant turn, as if the bedroom had slipped away and she was seeing another place, a bygone era. "Sometimes it's hard to know who to believe. Your father—it wasn't much different for him, those times he visited with Mandy when he was a child. How my boys plagued him. But of course I didn't see it, didn't want to see it. Back then Spock was…an easy target. I'm afraid I wasn't much help to him." Her warm eyes focused once more on T'Beth. "Try to get some sleep, dear. You'll feel better tomorrow."

After her aunt left, T'Beth scooped Mister from the floor and cradled him for a long while. The next morning she awoke late and soaked in a hot bath before dressing. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she braided her long, damp hair into a coil that hung over her shoulder. Better to do it looking out a window than seeing her battered reflection in the mirror. She didn't need any reminders about the knifing. Even with Doris' words of encouragement, it was going to be hard getting through the day.

As she finished with her hair, the door nudged open. Doris' big gray tomcat ambled over and jumped into her lap. Purring loudly, he pumped her leg with his fat paws.

"Good boy," T'Beth murmured, stroking his soft fur. Gathering him into her arms, she walked out to the kitchen. Amanda and Doris were in their usual places, sipping their usual cups of breakfast tea.

Amanda looked at her without expression.

"Morning dear," Doris said. "Are you hungry?"

Amanda's chilly presence stole away T'Beth's appetite. Hugging the cat a little too firmly, she shook her head. The gray bundle of fur and claws leaped to the floor.

Amanda's eyebrow arched. "Fasting? If you think that's going to arouse my sympathy…or your father's—"

T'Beth turned on her, heart pounding. "I don't give a damn what my father thinks!"

Silence, then Grandmother said, "Very well. Then you won't care that a message is on its way to him."

T'Beth's eyes narrowed. "You couldn't wait, could you? I can just imagine what you said."

Doris raised a hand. "Now, now. Calm down, T'Beth. Spock will know your side of it, too."

T'Beth wiped at an angry tear threatening to run down her cheek. Her fingers came away trembling. "Did you tell him, Aunt Doris?"

At Doris' smile, Amanda went stiff with indignation. "Doris, no! Don't you realize the child is lying?"

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Doris answered mildly, "but there are two sides to the issue. Her father has a right to know."

"To know the truth!" Amanda countered.

The two sisters glared at each other across the table. Before either could put in another word, the phone rang. Doris went into the living room. A moment later she was back, her blue eyes flashing, her lips pursed. "It's Baybridge. For you, Amanda."

Only Doris' presence kept T'Beth from going to the doorway and listening in on her grandmother's conversation. It was all she could do to stand there waiting, knowing with terrible certainty that something more had happened, something even worse, something that would make Amanda nod and say, See, Doris? It's just like I told you. Heaven knows, I've tried my best to teach that girl right from—

"Mandy!" Doris exclaimed. "What is it?"

Amanda stood in the doorway, white to the lips, one hand clinging to the doorframe as if for support. In a panic T'Beth thought, Zorlaa's dead! Now I'm going to be arrested—charged with murder!

Doris went to her sister. Putting an arm around Amanda, she gently guided her to a kitchen chair. "There now," she soothed. "Tell us what's happened."

Amanda drew in a deep breath and folded her hands on the table. Little by little the color returned to her cheeks—so much color that she appeared to be blushing.

T'Beth could no longer bear it. "I should never have come to Earth," she agonized. "Gram, you're right. I'm just—"

"No," Amanda broke in. "That's not it. In fact, it seems…that I owe you something of an apology."

T'Beth stared at her, open-mouthed.

"A student at Baybridge has come forward and collaborated more of your story. Of course, that still doesn't excuse your use of the dagger, but under the circumstances…"

"Who?" T'Beth scarcely had enough breath to speak. "Which student?"

"Admiral Morrow's son."

oooo

It was actually good to be back. T'Beth had never thought she would feel that way about Baybridge, but now that Zorlaa was expelled and the days warming their way toward summer, there was nothing better than spending her spare time on horseback roaming the pleasant tangle of campus trails. She knew them all by heart, just as she knew every one of the horses. It had not taken her long to befriend the fine animals, or master the slim graceful saddle called "English". Riding came naturally to her. Sometimes, when the far meadow was deserted, she even improvised a low barrier and jumped—although it was strictly against the rules.

Just now she was content to move slowly, thinking, the reins light and easy in her hands. This morning there had been word from the Enterprise. Its mission was at an end. Jim and McCoy looked forward to camping with her soon at Yosemite. And Father? Well, it looked like he would be there, too. For once she had opened his message. He said he would deal with her and the matter of the Vulcan dagger when he arrived.

Her lips pressed into a grim line. As if he didn't owe her a serious explanation or two. But never mind that—she would handle the situation somehow, when the moment arrived. This day was too beautiful to waste on worry. Maybe it was the weather, all green and blue and bright with the golden warmth of Earth's sun. A few minutes more and she would turn back and head for the bus knowing that Aunt Doris waited for her at home. It was a good comfortable routine, unspoiled by the tensions and clashes that had marked the final days before her grandmother's departure. She was getting along just fine without Amanda. Now that the worst was over, there were times when she actually felt happy.

T'Beth noticed a shift in her horse's attention and gripped the reins cautiously. A rider appeared in a curve of the trail up ahead.

"Hi!" He waved and urged his dark mount into a trot.

T'Beth continued on and met him. Side by side, their horses sniffed at one another and pawed the dirt restlessly.

"Hello, Morrow," T'Beth said in a formal tone. She couldn't bring herself to say "Kevin", though sometimes she thought of him by that name.

The young man flashed her a peculiar look—part amusement, part exasperation. "T'Beth, there's no need to endure my company just because I helped you out a little. If you don't want me around, just say so."

T'Beth went hot with embarrassment. Hanging her head she stammered, "No. I…I do like you…only…only…"

Morrow have a short nervous laugh. "Only what?"

A moment ago she had been so content. Now, as the horse fidgeted beneath her, she found herself wishing the ground would open up and swallow them—hoof, saddle, and jodhpurs. Shamefaced, she admitted, "I'm not…not very comfortable around boys. That's all."

An awkward silence followed. T'Beth feared Morrow would laugh again, or even worse, ask "Why?" As is she could just tell him something like that, as if there were even words to describe the horrors done to her by his fellow man.

"Well," he said at last, "if that's the way it is, just think of me as a friend." Then taking up his reins, "Hey, friend! Beat you to the stable!"

Morrow thundered off at a gallop. Astonished, T'Beth wheeled her eager mount and stared after him. The young cheat! Was this his idea of a contest? Her heart speeding, she eased up on the reins and her horse sprang forward. Before it was over he would run himself into a lather and she would catch hell about that. Heedless, she crouched low at his mane, urging him faster and faster. Flat out, hooves flying, the wind in her face. Oh, it was joy enough, this moment. If only they could keep running forever.