With the passing of the weeks, Simon escaped more and more into his music. It was the only part of his world that he felt like he could control. Everything else had changed.

He ached for the easy closeness he had once shared with his father, but every time Simon saw him, he remembered the scolding. He was ashamed of not living up to his father's expectations. No matter how hard he tried to do better in science, he always seemed to mess up.

At school now, Mrs. Caprino checked everyone's hands before a test. The other children resented it. They all knew it was because Simon had cheated. Sometimes they gave him dirty look and called him names under their breath.

And then there was his mother. As Christmas approached, her stomach kept growing bigger and rounder, so there was no way to forget about the twins coming. Simon noticed how gently Father treated her, and the way his eyes looked when he touched her stomach and felt the babies moving. Mom had made Simon feel them, too, but he didn't like it. It felt like snakes wiggling around in a sack.

Day by day Simon grew more afraid. It didn't matter what anyone said, he knew what was going to happen when the babies came. Mom had told him how much she and Father loved him when he was born. Well, soon there would be two new babies. There wouldn't be much love left over for Simon-the-cheater. With each twitching and kicking of the dreaded twins, Simon could feel his parents slipping further away. He had to work extra hard to make himself lovable. Maybe if he did everything just right…maybe if he even passed science...

Late into the night Simon's Padd shone under the covers as he struggled to absorb each boring assignment. It always seemed as if he had learned them, but as soon as he faced the weekly test, something inside him panicked and his mind went blank. There was going to be a big examination before school let out for Christmas. The closer it came, the more Simon realized that there was only one way he could ever pass it. It seemed that whatever he decided to do, he would end up being a big disappointment.

For days he wrestled with his conscience. If he didn't cheat, he would fail science. If he helped himself out with a few notes, at least he would have a chance of getting away with it. And if he got caught again?

Simon shivered to think of the Vulcan whip he had seen among his father's things on Vulcan. He had never even been spanked before, but he could imagine that something like a sturpa would hurt a lot. Where was that sturpa now? Where would Spock keep something like that?

On the afternoon before the big test, it rained hard. Simon was alone with Mrs. Sakata when he decided to look for the sturpa. Going upstairs, he sneaked into his father's study and eased the drawers open, one at a time, careful to leave everything exactly as he had found it. Even the drawer with the lock opened easily, but the sturpa was not inside.

Father kept the room very warm. Simon was beginning to sweat, but he went to the closet anyway. The shelf was too high for him to reach. Rolling the desk chair over, he stood on it and pulled down a box.

Suddenly the door to the study opened. Simon's heart leaped and he sucked in his breath as T'Beth walked in.

His sister caught sight of him and said, "Simon! What are you doing in here?"

Because of the pounding rain, Simon had not heard her come into the house. He was so embarrassed and angry that he shot back, "What are you doing in here?"

"Looking for you," she answered. T'Beth always had an answer. "Hey, I bet you're snooping around for Christmas presents, aren't you?"

Simon put the box back on the shelf and said, "Maybe."

He got down from the chair. His shoes had left funny marks on the seat, and the carpet was tracked from the chair's wheels.

T'Beth noticed, too. "Uh-oh, now you're in for trouble. You better get out of here."

Simon turned on her. "Why? Are you going to tell on me?"

Her eyes opened wide. "Simon, how can you say that? What's the matter with you lately?"

"You weren't any angel, either," he accused. "I've heard about some of the things you did."

T'Beth gave him a pained look. "I'm sure you have, Simon. And someday I'll tell you more about it, so maybe you won't make the same stupid mistakes."

Simon shoved Father's chair so hard against the desk that it banged. "I'm not stupid!" he shouted. "You think you're so smart because you're Vulcan-looking—but you're not smart at all! You're dumb and you're ugly!"

His heart hammering, he ran to his room and slipped under the bed where it was dark and quiet. He had thought that T'Beth would send the babysitter home, but a few minutes later Auntie Sakata opened the door to his room and walked in. The old lady had been working for the family since he was a baby. She was the wife of their Japanese gardener, much wrinkled and very clever. She knew all his tricks.

Sitting down on the bed, she said, "Okay Simon, if you won't come out from there, I'll just talk to you like this."

Simon heard the mattress creaking above him. Resting his head on his arms, he stared at the back of Auntie's shoes.

"Why you being so mean to your sister?" she asked. "T'Beth came to take you shopping and buy a special gift for Doctor and the captain. Maybe a cheeseburger for you, too. But now you hurt her feelings and she went alone. Why you such a bad boy today?"

"I am not!" he cried.

"Ah-hah!" she said. "I knew you were down there. If you're such a good boy, why not show your face?"

Simon waited to see if she would go away. She didn't. Finally he crawled out and sat far away from her, near the head of the bed. Still angry, he said, "She called me stupid!"

Auntie's sharp eyes studied him. "Just like that? I don't think so. Maybe you misunderstood a little."

In his heart Simon knew she was right; he had deliberately taken T'Beth's words the wrong way, just because he felt like yelling at her. Now his sister was hurt and he had missed out on some fun, too. Rising, he left the room and went downstairs.

Later, T'Beth came back with a gift-wrapped present and put it under Mom's Christmas tree in the living room. Simon would not meet her eyes when she looked at him. He was too proud to ask her what was in the gift; besides, she probably wouldn't tell him, anyway.

After dinner he went to his bedroom and took his violin from its case. The new, larger instrument had been a present from his parents on his last birthday. He loved its flawless, satiny blend of woods. He loved the way he felt when he ran the bow across its strings, making the beautiful music vibrate against his chin. He loved the painless world into which its music drew him—a place where he was always brilliant and accomplished and powerful.

Lifting the violin into position, he closed his eyes and began to play. The music flowed from her, in turn both sad and joyous. As he neared the end of the composition, he opened his eyes and found his father standing just inside the door, arms crossed, watching him.

Simon froze. The bow skittered sourly across the strings, ruining everything.

"I did not mean to startle you," Father said. "What is that piece you were playing? It is unfamiliar."

Simon thought about the marks on the chair and on the carpet in Spock's study. He tried to remember if he had shut the closet door. Finally he said, "Oh, it was just…some dumb little thing I made up."

A smarting conscience made Simon's gaze drop to the violin in his lap. If he had been looking at his father, he would have seen an open display of astonishment. In the corner of his vision he saw Spock uncross his arms. Though his father had never in his life struck him, Simon tensed as if expecting a blow.

"You composed it?"

Simon nodded stiffly.

"It is not 'some dumb little thing', Simon. It's very impressive. Have you written the notes down?"

Simon shrugged. "What for? It's in my head."

"For others," Father said in the very patient tone that meant he was not really feeling very patient at all. "For others, so that they can also enjoy the music. You should be proud to share such a wonderful gift."

It felt like Father was calling him selfish and giving him another scolding. Simon just wished he would go away.

Instead, Spock said, "I know you are still having difficulty with science. I want to offer my help once more. You know there are Vulcan ways of imparting knowledge that are quite effective."

Simon panicked at the thought of Father entering his mind and seeing all the bad things hidden there. Yet to turn down his father's help would be like saying he didn't need it, that he could pass the test all on his own.

After a moment Father said, "I will be downstairs if you want me." Then he left the room.

Simon's eyes filled with tears. He felt like running after his father and letting him do anything he wanted, anything, just to bring back the feeling of closeness they used to have. He didn't want Father to leave him and go downstairs with T'Beth and Mom and the babies-that-were-on-the-way.

But Simon sat on his bed, as still as stone. What was he going to do? The big test was tomorrow. Now that he had refused Father's help, there might be trouble if he failed. And Simon knew without a doubt that he was going to fail that test.

oooo

It was late. Simon had gone to bed hours ago. Even T'Beth was upstairs in the room she used whenever she slept over. The fire in the living room hearth had burned low, and music played softly.

Kicking off her slippers, Lauren tucked her feet underneath her and leaned back on the sofa. "I'm glad tomorrow is the last day of school," she said to Spock, who was busy at a corner cabinet. "Maybe Simon will unwind a little during vacation. He's been so tense. I wish I knew what was going on inside that head of his."

Silently Spock poured a libation from his odd collection of Vulcan brews. Aside from the decanter of shayo preserved from their bonding day, these concoctions were mostly non-alcoholic fruit-based teas. Lauren had been known to tease him about the content of his mixed drinks, but some of them actually tasted quite good.

The white pinpoint lights of the Christmas tree shone on him as he swirled the purple tea called ratochi in a flared crystal goblet. He rose from his thoughts to say, "Our son has become noticeably withdrawn."

"Exactly," Lauren said, "and it's really beginning to worry me."

Spock took a sip from the glass that they would share together—a Vulcan courtesy that stemmed from the dim past when barbarism and intrigue made poisonings commonplace on his planet. The first time he had engaged in this custom, she had mistaken the caring act for bad manners. Now she knew better.

Spock joined her on the couch and passed her the goblet. With a glimmer in his eye, he said, "I am sorry that I have no jelly doughnut to offer you."

Lauren felt a warm flush, and smiled. Ever since her difficulties with a certain doctor on Vulcan, the mention of doughnuts had held a private meaning for them. She deliberately turned the goblet so her lips touched the same place from which Spock had drunk—an additional Vulcan intimacy reserved only for lovers. Like jelly doughnuts, it also had a special significance that made her feel as if the room's temperature had just risen several degrees. Meeting her husband's eyes, she swallowed a little of the ratochi. Its flavor reminded her of cherries, with a pleasant mint aftertaste.

"Simon has great depth," Spock said. "Did you know that he has begun composing his own music?"

Lauren pulled her mind back to their son. "Composing? I've heard him play a couple of little tunes he made up."

"No," Spock said, "I don't mean those. "Surely you heard the piece he played after dinner."

Lauren was shocked. "You're telling me he wrote that?"

"Yes." And he added, "I do not believe Simon would lie about his music."

Lauren held his gaze, too stunned to say anything. Spock took the goblet from her hand and set it aside.

"It is rather daunting," he remarked, "isn't it? To be the custodians of such talent."

Lauren put a hand on her expanding middle and absently stroked it. "Before Simon was born, I always pictured him being so ordinary."

Spock's eyes smiled at her. "I remember. In the beginning you envisioned him with lots of golden hair, just like yours."

"I guess I was wrong about a lot of things. I can't even imagine what these two will be like—and I don't mean physically. The genetic scan shows I'll get my blondie this time."

"Another golden-haired girl," he briefly mused.

Then he was leaning closer and Lauren felt herself falling into the shadowed depths of his Vulcan eyes. Their palms, somehow, were touching. The enticing pressure made her forget everything but the warm resonance of Spock's thoughts teasing at the boundary of her mind. Captivated, she eased back onto the cushions and welcomed him.

A pair of eyes watched from high on the staircase.

Simon had been secretly observing his parents for several minutes. Not that he could hear what they were saying—he was not close enough for that, but he just knew they had been talking about them—about the babies and how wonderful they would be.

Then Father had started the hand-thing with Mom. Simon had seen them do it only once before, and it made him feel funny, the way they stared into one another's eyes. Now Father was kissing Mom on the mouth. It was a long, wet-looking kiss, and Simon screwed up his face in disgust. Before it was over, he got up and quietly started back to his bedroom. After one step he came to an abrupt halt. T'Beth stood at the stop of the stairs, her eyes locked on his blushing face.

If he made a single sound, his parents would hear and T'Beth would tell them what he had been up to. Maybe she would tell Father about being in his study, too. Then there'd be more trouble—lots of it.

Trying not to show his fear, Simon continued up the stairs and hoped that she would just let him go past. When he reached the top, she took him by the arm, pulled him into his room and shut the door. Then she slapped him hard on the seat of his pajamas.

"Quit it!" he cried out, but not as loud as he would have liked. "I'm going to tell!"

T'Beth released him. "Go ahead, go tell on me right now. Simon, you know better than to spy on people."

"I was just sitting there!"

"Uh-huh," she said. "Want to tell that to Father's face? I already saved you once, today. I fixed his study so he wouldn't know you were in there poking around. But you didn't deserve it. I should have left things the way they were."

Simon glared at her. "Leave me alone."

Jumping into bed, he turned his back on her and pulled the covers tight against his chin.

"Simon," T'Beth said in a gentler voice, "sometimes it's awfully hard being a kid. I know—"

"You think you know everything," he cut in without looking at her. "You think you're so smart. Well, just go away!"

After a moment T'Beth turned out the light and left.

Alone in the darkness, Simon rubbed his stinging bottom and let the tears come. T'Beth used to be his friend. She didn't have any right to hit him. She didn't have any business telling him what to do. He'd do whatever he felt like. He'd show her. Tomorrow he'd show all of them.

oooo

Spock found the message at his academy desk when he returned from a faculty meeting. The principal of the Virginia Hatch Institute requested that he get in touch at his earliest convenience. Spock called immediately and was informed by Mr. Budhram that Simon was suspected of cheating on another science examination.

Hearing the unpleasant news, Spock sat back in his chair and considered. It was difficult to believe that Simon would try such a thing after the lecture he had received last time. He said, "You sound as if there is some uncertainty."

The principal held up a little slip of paper. "He was consulting this during the test. Our scan determined that it's Vulcan script. Science terms from the unit Simon is studying."

Spock's face remained carefully impassive. How clever of the boy. Even if he were caught, no one would immediately know the script's meaning. Clever…but not clever enough.

Leaving his assistant in charge, he donned an overcoat and flew his skimmer through a chilling rain to Simon's school. The campus was among the most beautiful that Spock had seen anywhere in his travels through the galaxy. Built over two hundred years earlier, no effort had been spared in providing an esthetically pleasing environment. But Spock's mind was not occupied with such matters as he landed the skimmer and strode through the storm. He approached the ivy-covered walls of the administration cottage with one thought consuming him.

How would he handle his son?

A secretary ushered him into the principal's plush office. Inside, Spock found Simon hunched down in one of the antique chairs lining one wall. Spock looked him in the eye and Simon's gaze slid away. In that instant he knew without a doubt that the boy was guilty.

Turning to the principal, Spock exchanged greetings and then sat to examine the crumpled paper taken from Simon. The cramped, childish symbols would be painfully clear to any Vulcan. Spock read aloud from the list of scientific facts, and then looked once more at Simon. In the brief meeting of their eyes, Spock thought he detected a stirring of anger along with the fear and crushed pride he had expected. Did Simon actually feel betrayed by him? Had the boy expected Spock to pretend ignorance?

Spock put the paper in the pocket of his overcoat and addressed the principal. "Thank you for calling me. Please accept my apology for the disruption my son caused. I am sure Simon also wishes to apologize."

Simon straightened in his seat, blue eyes wide open.

"Stand up," Spock told him.

Simon rose and mumbled something that even Spock could not hear.

"Louder," Spock said firmly.

Simon's lip began to tremble. Tears spilled down his cheeks. Facing the principal, he said, "I'm sorry that I cheated, Mr. Budhram."

There followed a brief review of the school disciplinary policy, which did not improve Spock's frame of mind. Simon was under suspension for a week, to be imposed at the end of vacation. One more serious infraction and he would be expelled from the institute.

There was no other school of this kind in Northern California. Because of its excellent musical program, Spock had never begrudged the high cost of tuition at V.H I., but now Simon's behavior was jeopardizing his chance at a fine education.

Spock took his downcast son out to the skimmer and lifted off in silence. All the way home, he grappled with his anger. Lauren was just entering the house when they arrived. After informing her of the situation, he confronted Simon right where the boy stood.

"Just last night," Spock said, "I offered to assist you. Instead, you chose a crooked path."

Simon hung his head and began to weep quietly.

"Why?" Spock demanded. Surely that was not too much to ask, yet the boy remained stubbornly silent. "Do you no longer care about music?"

That brought his head up. "Yes, I do care!" Simon cried. "Music is everything! It's all I have!"

"Well then. That is a start. Did you hear what your principal said? One more violation and you are expelled from the institute. He warned you the first time. Why would you risk your musical education by cheating yet again?"

Spock heard the rain pounding as he waited in vain for his son to respond. At last he said, "Go wait for me in my study."

Simon turned away and climbed the stairs slowly. It was a moment before Spock looked at Lauren. Her eyes were deeply troubled. Did he see in them a stirring of distrust?

"What," she asked, "do you intend to do?"

He had no immediate answer. "Cheating. On Vulcan such behavior is—"

"I'm sick and tired of hearing how it is on Vulcan," she flared. "This is Earth. From Day 1, I told you Simon would be raised human."

Spock's anger freshened. "To the contrary—on Day 1 you had no intention of keeping him."

Very quietly and distinctly she said, "And perhaps you will remember why? Or must I spell it out for you."

His gaze fell, turning inward to the painful images that never entirely left him. "That will not be necessary. I remember. You know full well that I remember." Taking a breath, he faced her. "Kindly tell me—as a human, how would one deal with Simon's behavior?"

"There's always an old-fashioned spanking."

Spock's stomach tightened as he recalled the many childhood beatings he had endured at the hands of his great-grandfather Solkar. "Out of the question," he said. "But talking to Simon has not yielded satisfactory results. Apparently the boy has not been inclined to listen."

"Well then," Lauren said. "Have you tried listening to him?"

oooo

Spock entered his study and closed the door behind him. Simon stood by the desk, the fingers of one hand clutching at its edge. His wet, frightened eyes went to Spock's hands and saw that they were empty.

"What are you going to do?" his voice tremored.

The knot in Spock's stomach cinched tighter. "Simon, you were warned, yet you decided to go ahead and cheat anyway."

"But I was going to fail," Simon choked.

"Cheating," Spock said, "is a far worse kind of failure. I would not be nearly as displeased by a bad grade."

Fat tears dripped onto Simon's school jacket.

"Sit down," Spock said in a gentler tone.

The boy sank into a chair, looking utterly miserable, and Spock settled behind his desk.

After a moment of thought, Spock asked, "Are you happy?"

"No," Simon moaned.

"Then if cheating does not make you happy, why would you do it?"

The boy bent over and buried his face in his arms. "'Cause."

"'Cause is not a proper word. You were deeply afraid of failing and I want to know why."

When no answer came forth, Spock confined him to his room until he was willing to speak.

oooo

Simon was hungry. A delicious aroma drifted upstairs, and he knew the family was eating dinner. By now even T'Beth probably knew what had happened at school, and he did not want to face any of them. Before the talk in Father's study, he had heard his parents arguing—probably about him. Where they still angry at one another? And at him?

Seated all alone on his bed, he took up his violin and began to play "Away in the Manger", a sad piece that suited his mood perfectly. He kept thinking how good it would be if he had never cheated, and no one was arguing, and he was downstairs with his family right now—even with the babies. He remembered how he sometimes used to tiptoe up behind Father sitting on the sofa and suddenly hug him around the neck. Father would break his hold and pull him onto his lap, and then they would talk "man to man", as Mom called it. But that was before Simon had started worrying about everything.

He finished playing and put his violin aside. Reaching into the bookcase on his headboard, he picked an antique book and settled back against his pillows. The Christmas carol played on in his mind as he studied the colorful illustrations. One picture showed the baby Jesus in a manger full of yellow straw. Light streamed from around the soft curls on his head, making him look very sweet and holy. His eyes were filled with love.

Mom said that God loved everyone, and if you opened your heart to Him, He would help you to be loving, too. Simon had seen the scars on his sister's legs and heard her tell how she had been healed on another planet, just by prayer—Donari prayer. T'Beth said that God was everywhere in the universe, that He cared about everybody, that life without Him was dark and empty.

Dark and empty—that was exactly how Simon had been feeling lately. With a sigh he studied the comforting picture in the Christmas book. Father never talked about God. T'Beth said it was because he didn't believe God existed, and he had made an agreement with Mom to let her handle that department.

A tapping sound drew him out of his thoughts. Mom came into the bedroom and Father was right behind her. Simon could tell at once that they were not arguing anymore, and was relieved.

Unexpectedly his mother said, "Tomorrow we're all going to the beach house. You can bring your violin and we'll play music together. We haven't done that in a long time."

Simon perked up at the thought. Father knew how to play the piano at the beach house, and he also played the flute as well as Mom. T'Beth played the piano, too, but not very well. It did not seem to bother her the way being bad at science bothered Simon.

He was sorry now that he had yelled at his sister and said mean things to her. But he was even sorrier that he had broken his promise about cheating.

Mom came closer and her voice was very gentle. "Simon, downstairs you said that music is all that you have. What about us? What about your family?"

Simon rose from the bed and gave her a hug. With a timid look at his father, he said, "You're so strong and smart and brave. You have a stack of degrees in science, you've taught science, and you've been a science officer aboard starships. You've even made scientific discoveries all your own, and written about them, and had them published in journals that other people read. And I can't even pass a simple, ordinary test." Tears stung his eyes. "I'm sorry I'm no good at it. I'll never be like you…but maybe the babies will."

Mom gazed down at him and said, "You're not your father. You've got yourself tied in knots over this. Just relax and be yourself. We love you just the way you are."

Simon waited hopefully for Spock to say those three special words. It had been a long time since his father had even said, "I care deeply". Now he simply said, "Your mother is right. I never expected you to be like me. Everyone is different. We must all learn to live within the bounds of our own strengths and weaknesses."

"But you don't have any weaknesses," Simon said.

Father's eyebrow went up. Mom looked at him and smiled. Then she started laughing.

Father gave her a severe look. "I do not see anything humorous about it."

"Oh, believe me, Simon," Mom said, "your father's not as perfect as you seem to think. Why…" she hesitated, "he can't play the violin."

"But he plays the piano," Simon pointed out, "and the flute and the lyrette."

"That's true," Mom said, "but I bet he couldn't get the roses to bloom the way Mr. Sakata does…or bake double chocolate chip cookies from scratch. And he couldn't throw a decent curve ball to save his Vulcan soul. Do you remember what happened when he tried?"

Caught up in the moment, Simon blurted something that was supposed to be a secret between him and T'Beth. "And he doesn't believe in God, either!"

Things got very quiet. His parents looked at one another with serious expressions.

In a small voice Simon asked, "But doesn't that take brains, too?"

"Well, yes," Mom said softly, and put her arm around him. "But mostly, dear, it takes faith. Now come downstairs and get some dinner."

oooo

Later, standing in the privacy of Spock's study, Lauren drew close to him and joined her hands behind his neck. Her pregnancy was really starting to get in the way.

"Sorry about Simon's God comment," she said. "I didn't tell him."

Spock's eyes reproached her. "You speak as if I should be ashamed of my views. I am not the one filling his young mind full of myths."

"Oh hush," she said fondly. "The point was that you are not an expert on everything, and Simon needs to know that." She paused and smiled at him mischievously. "You can't argue with what I said about the curve ball. We had the broken window to prove it. Remember?"

"Of course," he said curtly, "and as I recall, the wind that day was gusting to forty miles per hour. Even so, with the proper calculations, I believe that I could have—"

Lauren gave him a shake. "Listen to you! You're just as bad as your son, always wanting to be the best."

He looked genuinely annoyed. "Not the best, Lauren—my best. Or are you implying that there is something wrong with wanting to excel?"

She slid her hands down the sides of his neck and considered throttling him. Instead, she drew him into a kiss.

A bang startled her, and Simon burst into the bedroom doing a dance of joy. "It's snowing, it's snowing! Look outside!"

Flinging open the doors, he ran barefoot onto the balcony and jumped up and down in the icy slush. Lauren and Spock went over to see the rarity of San Francisco weather for themselves. After a moment even T'Beth crowded in. Close by Spock's side, Lauren watched the white flakes swirling in the light from the doors.

Then something very strange happened. Without warning, a peculiar stab of fear caught her. Turning, she searched her husband's face. Didn't he feel it—the danger creeping in on them like a dank, malevolent cloud? How could he not feel it?

The lights from the study cast an eerie orange glow in his eyes. Shivering, she drew back as if he were a stranger.

The moment passed. Once again, he was familiar. Lauren reached for the reassuring warmth of his hand. Spock was not given to intuitions and forebodings. It was difficult for him to understand anything beyond the Vulcan life experience, grounded in cold facts and hard reality. Yet somehow she would have to convince him to take this warning seriously. Something terrible was going to happen—she was sure of it. And it was going to happen soon.