Spock's heart pounded as he took position beside Cristabeth on the transporter platform. It was more than the thought of dealing with the child and her emotions, though that was a formidable prospect. It was Ildarani itself, the lush paradise where he had met Cristabeth's alluring mother and succumbed to her alien wiles. No, this time he was not beaming into a government building for a diplomatic function. And now, in this final instant, Spock wondered how he would deal with his own emotions.
They emerged from effervescent darkness into the bustling spaceport of New Florida. Quickly Spock took the child's hand before she could escape into the crowd. Her emotions lapped at his consciousness—mainly relief to be off the ship—and he shielded against the contact. For a moment he remained on the relay pad, working through the personal jolt of remembrance. The port had changed very little in twelve years.
Lost in her separate thoughts, Cristabeth murmured something. Spock found a smile stealing over the youngster's face. Not the sullen smirk that so repelled him, but something completely new—an honest, unaffected grin of delight. Never had she looked so thoroughly unVulcan, or so attractive in the flowered sundress Uhura had fabricated for her.
Spock assisted her from the platform. Heads turned as they walked through the terminal. Vulcans were rare in this colony world, even more so a Vulcan wearing the uniform of a Starfleet captain. As they stepped out into the sunlit Ildaran afternoon, Cristabeth inhaled the pollen-fragrant air and laughed. The rich, joyous sound was unlike Adrianna's bubbling laughter, yet somehow familiar to Spock. With a jolt he remembered the few instances in his life when he had actually laughed aloud. The sounds were very similar.
Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, he cast about for something to say. In the end he resorted to scientific data. "You may experience a disorientation from the relative time disparity." Cristabeth's blank look called for further explanation. "The Enterprise operates on Earth's Pacific Standard Time, approximately five-point-three hours behind New Florida time. As you can see, the sun is well past its zenith."
The smile vanished completely, and with it the curious aura of beauty. Cristabeth scowled. "You're hurting my hand. Let go of me."
Spock did not quite believe her. Nevertheless, he readjusted his grip on the uncooperative fingers before continuing on. He hailed a cab, which drove them to the cemetery gate. From there, it was a short walk over level paths, but with each step the child increasingly dragged her feet until it became an effort to pull her along.
Finally Spock stopped. "I realize this is not pleasant for you," he said, not unkindly, "but it is important that you see the truth for yourself. If necessary, I will carry you."
Cristabeth's eyes flamed with hate. "I'll walk, okay? Just let go!"
Spock had no choice but to refuse. Holding her hand tightly, they arrived on the grassy knoll as the funeral was beginning. Only eight colonists attended the memorial. Ignoring their curious glances, Spock securely seated Cristabeth beside him. The child dug her fingernails into his palm throughout the service. Her eyes remained locked on the blue metallic coffin, but she did not shed a tear. When the last of the mourners had drifted away, Spock turned to her and spoke gently. "I am sorry for your loss, Cristabeth. I know your grandmother was very dear to you."
The child sat unmoving.
"Would you like to visit your home now?" Spock asked her. Without looking at him, she nodded.
There was a route near the cemetery that Spock remembered well, a narrow foot trail that briefly entered the New Florida treeclan—habitat of those plantlike beings he had helped research years ago. He was not surprised to find the "Treeple" unchanged. Even a century would leave little mark on these long-lived creatures. Pausing to touch the pseudo-bark of an ancient female, he offered silent greeting and was welcomed by a tranquil flow of life energy.
Cristabeth's voice distracted him. "What are you doing?"
"Communicating," Spock told her. "Have you ever placed your fingers on the bark and opened yourself to their thoughts? It may be that you have inherited some Vulcan telepathic ability."
She had silently watched the meld process and seemed genuinely interested. "You mean these shaggy old trees really do think? Can I try?" Already touching the warm epidermis with her free hand, she tugged against Spock's grip.
He let go—and the child took off at a sprint. In the blink of an eye she darted into the shadowy depths of the treeclan. Recovering from his surprise, Spock ran after her and caught sight of the child as she dove into the next thicket. From there, she led him through a maze of divergent paths that she obviously knew well. This was, after all, her territory. She had no trouble keeping beyond his reach, steadily increasing the distance between them until she disappeared completely.
For several minutes Spock searched unsuccessfully before coming to a halt in a small, shady clearing. There was no birdsong or drone of insects. The silence was absolute, except for the blood pounding in his ears. Inwardly berating himself, he called to the Enterprise for a tricorder and awaited its arrival. He had suspected Cristabeth would attempt to escape him, but he had allowed her to bolt, anyway—here, in this land where death prowled after dark. What was one child more or less to a hungry bengati? A single bite of its serpentine jaws, a mere mouthful…
A sudden ringing signaled an impending transport, and a tricorder appeared at his feet. He quickly ran a 360-degree scan for humanoid life signs. Yes. She was there—quite near, in fact—crouched behind a thick Tree. Stealthily Spock approached her hiding place until only the trunk stood between them. He let the tricorder hang free at his side. With his hands raised and ready, he gathered himself and lunged for her. But he had underestimated the child's reflexes and animosity.
Though her arms were a blur of motion, Spock saw the club coming. Instinctively he acted to protect his face, but the weapon took a low sweep, slamming hard into his abdomen. A gasp of pain escaped him. Breathless, he doubled over and barely managed to fend off a second blow aimed at his head. Seizing the child's arms, he pinned her against the Tree. She thrashed and kicked at him, but still holding her tight he moved aside, effectively avoiding her feet.
"Stop it!" he ordered. "That's enough!"
She ignored him. He tore the calcified branch from her grip and hurled it away. Now that she was weaponless and held fast, her struggles subsided until only her face spat defiance. Spock looked upon this girl who seemed little more than a barbarian and considered dealing with her in a way she would clearly understand. His middle ached from the unexpected blow, this shocking violence of child against elder. Such an affront would not happen on Vulcan, nor would he tolerate it here.
Meeting the fury in her eyes, he warned, "Strike me again, and it will not go well for you."
After a taut moment she hissed, "Alright! I heard you!"
But gradually her bravado failed and she turned shakily from Spock's gaze—a yielding of sorts, as much as he could expect from such a child. Taking care that one of her hands remained firmly in his grasp, he moved her down the nearest path. It was a silent trek back to the settlement, on trails strewn with troubling memories. Only his promise to Cristabeth kept Spock from returning to the Enterprise immediately. Though her behavior was reprehensible, he had given his word.
Cristabeth accompanied him with apparent meekness to Justrelle Lemoine's doorstep. The house was isolated from its neighbors by tall, dense hedges planted in the intervening years. The porch trellis had become a solid wall of vine, thick with white honey-scented flowers that rambled about the curtained windows.
Spock tried the door. "It seems we are locked out," he observed, glad to be spared the ordeal of actually entering.
"No we're not," said Cristabeth. Poking around in the porch foliage, she retrieved a hidden access card and coolly placed it in his hand. Her eyes narrowed at him, and her touch lingered a bit longer than necessary.
An odd sensation came over Spock.
Then it struck. Waves of raw emotion pounded his mental barriers—grief, rage, hatred—an assault so unexpected and jarring that he shoved the child from him with an invective. "You devious little Sy—" He barely checked himself in time and began over. "Forcing mental contact is…is despicable!"
The savage thrust of his words held Cristabeth immobile, all notion of escape temporarily forgotten. But it did not matter to Spock anymore—come what may, he would not touch the creature again. He had had enough of her uncivilized antics, and clearly she wanted no part of him. When they finished here, he would call for a direct beam-up to the Social Monitor Division and hand her over to the state.
Spock moved to unlock the door.
"I…I didn't know," Cristabeth stammered behind him. "I didn't mean…"
That, Spock doubted. He had seen the conniving look on her face, and apparently he had learned a painful lesson about the power of a budding Sy-jeera. Ignoring her, he opened the door and went inside. He had expected many changes here. Of course, the room would appear different. Walls, carpet, furnishings—twelve years of redecoration. Yet by the soft light streaming through the curtains, he could not help searching for some familiar objects. He could not entirely quell his disappointment at finding so few. Adrianna no longer lived here, except in memories of the most wrenching sort. Ready to leave, he turned.
Cristabeth stood frozen in place, her face very white. With a shiver she said, "It…it's cold in here."
"We'll go now," Spock told her.
"No," she said, "please, not yet. I want to get some things."
Spock followed her down the hallway, past her grandmother's empty chamber, to her own bedroom. At the doorway he hesitated. The strange, girlish trappings could not allay the ache of recollection. He could almost feel Adrianna here.
"Do you think there's ghosts?" Cristabeth whispered apprehensively.
Absurd, thought Spock, and yet... He gave himself a mental shake. "Of course not."
In a hushed voice she said, "This was my mother's bedroom. Her name was Adrianna and she died when I was born. She was a lot more beautiful than me—but then, I guess you know all that."
"Yes." He knew all that. Adrianna had been remarkably beautiful…and remarkably treacherous.
The child picked up something from her bedside table and held it out to him. With a searing flash of recognition, Spock took the holographic image into his hands.
"It's her," Cristabeth said.
As if he needed an introduction. Minutes passed unmeasured while his eyes devoured the golden likeness. Days merged with nights, weeks flashed by, long lonely years compressed inward to crush him with their emptiness. And all the while Adrianna smiled knowingly within the confines on her Argian crystal plate—agonizingly exquisite and forever beyond his reach. In his life there were few material objects Spock truly cared about. Suddenly, this shiny bit of glass outweighed them all—a precious treasure, a dangerous temptation that made his blood run hot. What was wrong with him? How could he love her still?
At last, he managed to say, "This is…very special." His hands trembled a bit as he returned the hologram to its rightful owner.
Cristabeth's eye widened. "You really did love her!"
Spock's face warmed and he turned to a window. He was not sure how to handle the child's blunt remark, or his reflexive feeling of shame. It had taken Vejur, a barren machine intellect, to show him the intrinsic value of emotion, properly used. He could acknowledge that now. But there was nothing proper in the emotions Adrianna evoked from him. They were mindless responses to the captivating wiles of a Sy-jeera—nothing more.
He cast about for some delicate way out of this. "Your mother was…an unusual woman."
"And you loved her," the child persisted as she plopped down on her bed. "I've heard that Vulcans are heartless, but I'm part Vulcan like you, and I have feelings."
"That is certainly evident," Spock said with some sarcasm.
Cristabeth's face clouded. "So…you felt nothing for Mother, then. And you can't really love anyone." Miserably she added, "No wonder you stayed away all my life." The hologram slipped through her fingers and landed with a soft thud on the carpet.
The sound drew Spock's attention. He focused on the crystal's captivating image before looking at Cristabeth. How had she arrived at such an erroneous conclusion? But why say more? What difference would it make at this point? The state of New Florida was waiting to receive her, and he would return to the quiet, orderly routine to which he was accustomed.
Cristabeth was on the verge of tears. "Now I know why Mama would never talk about you. When I was little, I used to daydream about my father. He was someone kind and wonderful. He wanted so badly to come for me, but he was being held captive on some alien planet."
"Fantasies," Spock declared. "An illogical waste of time. You should concern yourself only with reality—accept the truth and live with it. To do anything less it to fool yourself."
Her tears brimmed over and ran down her cheeks as she gazed at him. "Then tell me, Captain. Just tell me. What is the truth?"
He was properly trapped now. Throat tightening, he glanced aside as he considered his reply. Then quietly he said, "Perhaps…your dreams were not so far wrong, after all. There are many kinds of prisons in this universe."
"Then you did care? Wherever you were, you cared about me?"
Spock cleared his throat. "Parental concern is natural. You are my child."
Her lower lip began a quivering dance of despair. "Some parents…feel more. Mamá loved me. Oh, why did she have to die? I don't want to be all alone…" Choking, she threw herself facedown on the bed and began to sob.
Spock waited in acute discomfort for the storm of emotion to pass, but the child continued weeping. If only he could voice the simple words she so desperately needed to hear. But he could not lie to her, or to himself. At last, his rising sense of guilt drew him to the bed, and he sat beside her. Tentatively he reached out his hand. It was still longer before he could bring himself to touch the distraught child, awkwardly, on her thin convulsing shoulder.
He said, "You are not…quite alone." And he gave the shoulder a little squeeze.
Abruptly she sat up, and throwing her arms tightly around him, buried her face in his middle. With his mind shielded from her emotions, it was not so very difficult to hold her, Spock discovered after a time. And with the nearness came an unexpected dawning of compassion. As her crying subsided, he was content to sit gazing at the soft, dark hair sliding through his fingertips over and over again, content to feel the pressure of her hands on his back.
He noticed the room's chill deepening. Taking off his uniform jacket, he arranged it around her. For once he was not bothered by the cold, for there was a pleasant sense of warmth inside him. "Cristabeth," he said gently, "because I am Vulcan…because I never contacted you, I might seem uncaring." Sitting quietly, she wiped her eyes. Spock did not look at her. Perhaps that made it easier for them both. "The reasons for my absence are complicated, and I will not, cannot explain them at this time. But I want you to understand about Vulcans and this myth…this misconception that we lack emotions. Believe me when I tell you: beneath the rigid layers of self-discipline, there exist the usual array of feelings."
She gazed up at him thoughtfully. "Then…you're really human inside?"
He was beginning to perspire like a nervous human from the scattering of glands in his hybrid skin. "No," he tried to explain, "I am not human, but neither am I entirely Vulcan. I am—"
"A halfling, like Mother!" With a tremulous smile, she leaned over and reached under the mattress. She came up holding a small, tattered book. "I know. It's all right here. The way you met Mother, the way she felt about you. All her worries and her dreams—everything."
Spock stopped breathing. Everything?
Cristabeth placed the book in his lap. "It's Mother's diary. I found it here under the mattress when I was eight, but I never told Mama. I was afraid she'd take it away."
Letting out his breath, Spock touched the worn cover. His fingertips lingered over the faded blue velvet.
"Go ahead, read it," urged Cristabeth. She flipped the book open. Neat rows of handwriting filled the pages. "Don't worry. When it gets to that part, it only says that you slept with her. I already knew you did because I'm here. Right?"
Spock was too mortified to venture a comment. His eyes lit on the letters of his name. It was a poem—a love poem. He wanted to close the diary. He wanted to tear it to shreds, destroy it along with every other painful memory of that time. Instead, he turned a page. Then another and another as the simple, moving phrases drew him deeply into an unexpected past.
Where was Adrianna's cunning? Her sadistic pleasure in controlling her male victim?
"…I am so confused," he read. "I feel it flowing out of me again. I feel him trying to resist, I feel him responding, and I don't know how to stop it. Yes, I love him. I want him more than anything, but must it always be like this…?"
"…It would almost be better if he despised me. Oh, how it would hurt, but at least I'd be sure that his feelings were his own. I could go on loving him, and it wouldn't make a bit of difference. In a sad way it would be wonderful…"
"…I love it when he shares his mind with me, but it's a little frightening, too. I have my secrets. He probably has his. What happens if everything comes out in the open? I know I can handle anything he might tell me. It's him I worry about, and what he'll think of me if he finds out…"
Spock felt a nudge. He found a wide pair of hazel eyes questioning him. Cristabeth said, "There are things in there I don't understand."
He could scarcely understand it, himself. How could he possibly explain his complicated relationship with Adrianna to a child—her child? It seemed that he had lived the past twelve years believing a half-truth. He had listened to Justrelle Lemoine instead of his own heart.
In solemn retrospect, Spock said, "It was…a very difficult time." Nor was it over, by any means. As long as there were memories of Adrianna, there would be questions that no diary could fully answer.
He became aware of the light fading from the windows. For once he had lost track of the hour, and suddenly realized that the state offices would soon be closing. Steeling himself, he returned the diary and said, "Gather your things. It's time to leave."
Cristabeth handed him his jacket and took one of her own from a closet. She put the hologram and diary into a small tote, along with a few childish treasures. Then she solemnly stood before him.
"Is there nothing more?" Spock asked her. She shook her head. Outside, he noticed, the day had given way to dusk. Slowly he rose and put on his jacket, taking more time than usual to fasten the turnbuckles.
"I'm hungry," she said. "Are you calling a cab?"
Spock met her eyes. A cab would cause even more delay. There was simply no time for it. He touched the communicator on his uniform emblem…and ordered a cab. It was almost dark when the cab arrived. The Social Monitor office would be closed. They rode in silence to the spaceport.
As they were walking to the transporter station, Cristabeth suddenly stopped and looked up at him. "If your last name is Spock, what's your first name?"
He raised an eyebrow. "By that, I assume you mean my given name. You see, on Vulcan, the clan name comes first. Spock is my given name. Like most Vulcans, I use it generically, as it is easier for offworlders to pronounce."
She looked rather bewildered. "…Um…so then…what's your last name—I mean your clan name?"
There was no time for Spock to answer. In his periphery he observed a man striding toward them. Fair, tall, Terran-extract humanoid—Spock recognized him at once from the funeral service.
"Captain Spock of the U.S.S. Enterprise," the man said.
"Yes," Spock replied, quietly appraising the well-dressed stranger.
The man flashed an identification badge on the lapel of his suit. "Freedor Belvin, Colonial Solicitor." His pale gray eyes shifted. "And this is Cristabeth Janis Lemoine, colonial ward of New Florida. Goodeve." He inclined his blond head slightly, in the Vulcan manner.
With some effort Spock returned the courtesy.
Belvin gazed at him coldly. "It seems you've had some difficulty locating the Social Monitor Division. I can assist you."
At his words, Cristabeth latched onto Spock's arm, a move that jarred him to the soles of his boots. His daughter was afraid—and in her fear she was turning to him for protection. Did she fully grasp Belvin's intent? Had her grandmother warned her?
Spock carefully phrased his words. "Your concern is praiseworthy, Solicitor, but we have carried out all our plans for today. The child has had an upsetting time. She's hungry and tired and anxious to beam aboard ship. I regret if we have inconvenienced you."
Belvin's lips parted in an insincere smile. "This is not a matter of convenience, Captain. It is a matter of law. Less than twenty-four hours remain. Should you…inadvertently…
Spock quickly interrupted. "Be assured, your instructions will be followed to the letter. Now, if you will excuse us…"
Belvin moved to bar Spock's passage. "My office as Colonial Solicitor gives me authority, if I see fit, to—"
"One moment," Spock cut in. Gently disengaging his arm from Cristabeth, he drew Belvin aside for a hushed consultation. "Even in the best of circumstances, the child is, shall I say, a very headstrong young lady. Forcing her to go with you tonight would surely precipitate a disagreeable scene."
"That is not my concern," Belvin said haughtily.
Spock found it increasingly difficult to conceal his dislike for the inflexible bureaucrat. "I am only asking that you wait until tomorrow. By then I will have had time to prepare the child."
"You have had ample time already."
That, Spock could not deny. "I give you my word—as a Vulcan—that I will personally deliver her to the Social Monitor Division. On time."
Belvin looked over to where Cristabeth stood waiting. She stared back at him with open hostility. "Very well," he said. "This one reprieve only—provided that Cristabeth shows no inclination to go with me."
Spock was in no position to disagree. He followed in silence as Belvin approached the child.
"My dear Cristabeth," Belvin addressed her with a show of straight, white teeth. "Wouldn't you rather spend the night here in New Florida? I'll take you out for dinner, and you can stay in a home full of other little girls just like you. They'll be your friends."
Cristabeth imbedded herself in Spock's side, and somehow his arm went around her. "T'Beth?" he prompted, spontaneously contracting the name that had never quite suited him. Meeting her questioning glance, he repeated its pleasing Vulcan sound. "T'Beth, do you wish to stay with this kind official?"
Perhaps she had heard him too well. Glowering at the solicitor, she answered, "Not in a pig's eye!"
Freedor Belvin's pale gaze chilled to ice as he stepped aside, bowing a trifle too low. Had he lashed out and cuffed the impish child, Spock might have struck him down...but during the course of the beaming process, Spock recovered his Vulcan composure. He expected Cristabeth to come off the transporter pad as cocky as an Ildaran brushcat. Instead, she was quite subdued.
In full view of transporter crew, he admonished her. "You were exceedingly disrespectful toward Mister Belvin."
The child only shrugged. "But Doctor McCoy says it. 'In a pig's eye'—I heard him."
A sound suspiciously like chuckling escaped a trainee, but one wilting glance from her captain put an end to it. Spock moved Cristabeth into the corridor and in a disapproving tone informed her, "Commander Uhura is on her way. She will take you to the dining room. Afterward, you will go to her cabin. Find in the library reader the lesson entitled 'Fundamental Human Courtesy'. Write it down and study it. Be assured, I will question you on the material."
ooooo
At first, Sulu had felt relieved. Under his guidance, the morning trade session had resulted in an agreement that left all parties more or less appeased, with the Federation's vital interests preserved. By week's end the documents would be drawn up, duly signed, and recorded. All's well that ends well, he had thought…until Spock emerged from a trainee class and invited him into the captain's quarters for a late dinner. Now, trying not to squirm, Sulu picked at the food on his plate. Never before had Spock called him to the 'inner sanctum' for a meal. Why the change? After nearly a year, it made Sulu damned nervous. He kept expecting a tongue-lashing.
Seated across from him, Spock took a bit of Ando-Saurian fruit salad and continued reviewing the conference transcript on his Padd.
"Captain," ventured Sulu, "about yesterday…"
"Yes." Spock's eyes remained on the Padd display.
Sulu took a sip of water to moisten his mouth. "Sir, I wasn't questioning your ability to command…or reason."
The Vulcan calmly looked up. "I realize that, Mister Sulu. Neither of us was at our best yesterday. I should have told you then that I appreciate the effort you've invested in this conference." Pushing aside his Padd, he speared a blue wedge of melon and chewed meditatively while Sulu reeled from the shocking morsel of praise.
Spock swallowed and set down his fork. "Our difficulties this past week indicate a serious need for better communication between us. Don't you agree, Mister Sulu?"
Sulu nodded a bit dazedly.
"In the future I will make myself more available to you, both on and off duty. I want you to feel free to approach me on any matter that concerns you, and in turn I will attempt to be more…informative." Spock considered his fruit salad, the tabletop, the golden band on Sulu's ring finger. "To that end, I am informing you that I paid a visit to the interhull last night, where I observed the usual…traffic."
Sulu nearly choked. He was a married man. The gosh-awful notion flashed into his mind that Spock thought he had seen him there. Oh," he managed to squeeze out. "Really?"
"Yes, Sulu. Two of them appeared quite youthful. In fact, they were trainees—and fraternization of that sort is strictly against regulations."
Visibly relaxing, Sulu said, "Yes, sir. Against regulations…but I suppose there's always something of that sort going on." He could not resist adding, "There's a certain Cadet Kirk who had quite a reputation…or so I've heard."
Spock's eyebrow quirked upward. "Yes. There have been persistent rumors to that effect." He interlaced his fingers on the table's edge. "The mission of the Enterprise is one of exploration, but during training missions it also functions as a school. We are a Space-bound city, a predominantly human community subject to those strengths and failings inherent in all humankind. As you phrased it, 'there's always something of that sort going on'. And while I cannot overlook cadet violations, I also recognize the need for a…balanced perspective." Pausing briefly, he finished, "I am putting the guilty parties in your charge, Hikaru. Do keep them busy."
For an instant Sulu doubted his hearing. Had Spock really said "Hikaru"? Just an hour ago, he could not have imagined this easy conversation. Breaking into a smile, he said, "Yes sir, I will—I'll keep them very busy."
ooooo
In the old days it had not been unusual to see a tall, slim exec walking the corridors beside his captain, sharing unhurried conversation. It came to be expected, as if the then-Commander Spock were a Vulcan extension of the human Kirk. Of course there had been a few jokes from the lower ranks—some less than appropriate—but Sulu had never tolerated them within earshot. Finding himself in a similar position now, he was glad of his consistent loyalty. Pride lightened his step as he accompanied Captain Spock through the Enterprise. This was as it should be, as it should have been from the beginning. He offered silent thanks to whatever Vulcan god of logic had worked this miraculous change.
Eventually the tour brought them to the recreation deck, where a handful of personnel were enjoying their off-hours. Sounds of splashing and laughter drifted out from the pool area. Balls thudded off court walls. The plaintive strains of a Dulo harp weaved intriguing harmonies with a Spanish guitar.
Moving on, they came at last to the track-gymnasium. In the center island two young crewmen were making use of the body building equipment—and judging by their thick muscles, the pair were not new to weight training.
"Look at those kids," Sulu said with a hint of envy. He seldom found enough time anymore—or the partners—to practice the martial arts and swordplay he enjoyed. He told himself it was the many demands of his position as executive officer. But maybe it was just plain old-fashioned inertia or—he winced at the twinge of sore muscles from his recent workouts—maybe it was a touch of age.
"Interesting," murmured Spock as a grunting power lifter hoisted his barbell overhead. "But lacking in grace."
Sulu had to agree. "I've always preferred karate. Too bad I've let myself slip this past year."
"Practice is necessary to maintain any skill." Spock clasped his hands behind him. His next words were oddly hesitant. "Hikaru…do you recall Asumi, the ancient warrior discipline of Vulcan?"
Sulu could hardly have forgotten. Those bone-jarring sessions between Captain Kirk and Spock had been great entertainment—and the side bets were sometimes profitable, too. It was always a challenge predicting the winner—or rather, whom Spock would allow to win. "Yes, sir, I remember. It's been a long time."
Spock nodded pensively. "Perhaps overlong. Without practice I may soon be reduced to a yellow sash."
Kirk's level, as Sulu recalled, and quite an accomplishment for a human. Despite athletic ability and strenuous effort, he had never risen above it. Sulu briefly wondered why his captain was mentioning this. More oil for the rusty wheels of communication? Those brown Vulcan eyes were so watchful, so expectant.
The answer struck Sulu as his captain slowly turned for the corridor. He's waiting to be asked! Dangling a fat Vulcan carrot under his first officer's rather obtuse nose. Say nothing, and they would simply continue on their tour—a pair of middle-aged men observing life from the sidelines.
"Captain?"
Spock swung around, his face unreadable. Sulu hoped to hell he was not making some horrendous blunder in Vulcan etiquette. "Captain…would you consider taking me on…as an Asumi initiate? Surely a poor challenge is better than no challenge at all."
Spock almost managed to look surprised as he said, "What a fascinating suggestion."
Within minutes Sulu emerged from a fabricator wearing a white Vulcan-style dobok. His white beginner's sash was in stark contrast to Spock's scarlet—the distinguishing mark of a master. Facing him on the mat, Sulu experienced a moment of serious doubt. What had he let himself in for? He tried to ignore the curious trainees and crewmembers gathering out of nowhere as Spock led him through the basic mirroring exercise of V'asumi. He tried to ignore his groaning muscles as he struggled to balance himself hand to hand, leg to leg, against sheer Vulcan rock. Each slow, deceptively simple-looking movement proved so arduous that he was soon slick with the sweat of concentrated effort…and primitive annoyance. He refused to be completely outdone by a man umpteen years his senior, even if Spock was half Vulcan!
But Sulu's body was not entirely in agreement. With their hands joined, Spock began some impossible knee flex with opposing leg extension. Sulu teetered on the outer edge of balance and sprawled to the mat, taking Spock for a fall.
There was laughter. Sulu felt himself turning crimson. "Sorry," he mumbled, crawling out from under his captain.
Unruffled, Spock rose to his bare feet and resumed position, indicating the lesson would continue. His quiet voice held nothing but encouragement. "Free your mind, Hikaru. Let me be your guide."
Something strange happened when their hands met. The ring of spectators watching every maneuver was not quite so distracting. As Sulu followed Spock's patient instruction, the pain and stiffness left his muscles. And he forgot all about competing.
Moving through the exercise, Sulu seemed to sense an odd current flowing directly from Spock into his mind and body. He had never experienced anything like it. They began functioning as a unit, and the pleasure this brought Sulu was openly mirrored in Spock's eyes. The captain was really enjoying this!
Sulu let himself be lifted in a graceful roll over the captain's back. He landed catlike on his feet, ready for more. Spock did not disappoint him. Somewhere in the midst of the routine it occurred to Sulu that Spock was a born teacher. Of course! He had only accepted starship command after the Enterprise was assigned to Academy training. Missions like this diplomatic milk run were the crosses Spock bore in order to work as instructor to his beloved trainees. That would explain a lot of things—practically everything but Spock's nervy little guest from Ildarani.
Across the mat, Spock detected a waver in the Asumi energy. Was his student tiring at last? He had thought never to face another human in whom the flow was so dynamic. Captain Kirk had struggled for days to achieve the grace Sulu had shown in this single lesson. Spock looked forward to developing his first officer's natural receptivity and limber strength.
Slowly now, he worked through first level T'hyvaj one last time—a dance of balance and brawn practiced by every Vulcan boy. It would do for today. Straightening, he gave the signal of completion and bowed formally to his new student. The spectators applauded.
Suddenly finding himself at the center of attention, Sulu grinned and ran off to the changing room. Spock was about to follow when the audience straggled away, revealing Doctor McCoy and a very wide-eyed girl. Spock's sense of satisfaction faded away. Since returning from Ildarani he had deliberately remained apart from Cristabeth and focussed his attention on his trainees and crew. But there was no avoiding the child or the life-altering decision thrust upon him by her very existence.
McCoy said, "Someone wanted to see you."
"Shouldn't she be in bed?" Spock questioned.
"Damn right," McCoy solidly agreed. "It's just shocking the way her parents let her run wild."
Cristabeth detached herself from the doctor before Spock could formulate a suitable response. Holding out a notebook, she said, "I thought you wanted to see this tonight."
Spock's memory jogged. "Ah…you have finished. Give me a moment to dress."
"We'll be in the lounge," said McCoy, steering Cristabeth out the gymnasium door.
When Spock returned in full uniform, the child looked up from a three-dimensional game board and gave him a subdued smile.
Seated beside her, McCoy said, "Tell me, Spock. After that lecture on Asumi protocol, you couldn't have challenged Sulu…or bribed him…or nerve pinched him. So how in blazes did you lure him onto the mat?"
Spock innocently shrugged an eyebrow. "Mister Sulu expressed an interest in the discipline. I assure you, Doctor, the lesson was at his request."
"…Which of course you didn't somehow wangle with inscrutable perfection."
"Excuse me," Cristabeth said with studied politeness, "but what does 'wangle' mean?"
Taking note of the time, Spock said, "The good doctor will happily explain it tomorrow. Come with me, Cristabeth. As long as you are still up, there is something I want to show you—but we must hurry."
He did not want McCoy watching them interact, and the destination Spock had in mind would provide some privacy as well as an amply source of impersonal conversation. He summoned a turbolift and they debarked onto the main observation deck. As the doors opened, Cristabeth gasped and ran toward the clearsteel windows with their dizzying orbital view.
"Oh," she cried with delight. "Doctor Chapel brought me here. I love it!"
Going to the upper level, she stood so the icy breath of deep Space touched her through the viewport. Spock went to her side and kept a careful watch over her. He had seen unsophisticated adult guests frightened to the verge of catatonia in this room, but children usually reacted in a positive manner.
He pointed out the cloud-swathed planet below. "That is Ildarani. New Florida lies almost directly beneath us, in the darkness of early morning."
"It's so beautiful from up here," she marveled.
Spock explained, "The Enterprise is in stationary orbit, which means we are maintaining our relative position to the planet. As a result, Ildarani appears to be standing still, when in reality both planet and ship are moving at many thousands of miles per hour." Aware of the time he said, "Look at the uppermost rim of the planet and you will witness a sunrise in Space." It was intended as a gentle warning, for as the system's star flamed into view, eyes were inexorably drawn to the spectacle. As if of its own accord, Spock's hand went to the small shoulder beside him. He felt her sharp intake of breath as delicate tendrils of light writhed upward from the planet. Then the moment passed, alignment shifted, loosing the star's blinding white energy into their faces.
Cristabeth whirled, her eyes aglow. She tried to speak, but failed. Two tears welled up and slid slowly down her cheeks, forcefully reminding Spock of another star-dazzled child, nose pressed to a shuttle viewport while his father, the ambassador, looked on.
Spock had come here hoping to avoid any emotional displays. Now he was forced to clear his throat before saying, "The enormity of the universe sometimes staggers the senses."
Cristabeth cast one final glance at the star-swept expanse. Then wiping soberly at her tears, she pressed the notebook into Spock's hands as if wanting only to be done with it. "Here's my assignment."
They moved to a sofa on the lower level. The deck was empty of visitors, all quiet at this late hour but for the faint, ever-present thrum of power. The paper crinkled loudly as Spock flipped through the neatly written pages. It was all there.
"I see you copied the words," he said, "but have you learned anything from them?"
True to her annoying habit, she shrugged. "I memorized bunches of it."
Spock gave her a penetrating look. Though his mother had tried to school him in human courtesy, it was his years in Starfleet that brought him to a better understanding of its implementation. Yes, Cristabeth would need to be polite, but she would also need to be pleasant. Now he told her so plainly and proceeded to question her on the lesson.
"Well," he conceded at last, "it seems you have absorbed most of the material."
There was no sign of pride in the child. Her eyes dropped, and almost shyly she said, "I…I want you to know that I'm sorry. Oh, not because of that man at the spaceport." She grimaced at the mention. "I'm sorry because…because I want you to like me."
Spock felt a tightening in his chest. Before he could summon a fit reply, Cristabeth pulled a gaily-wrapped present from her pocket.
Softly she said, "I know I've been awful. I didn't want to leave Mama…and you weren't anything like the father I'd dreamed about." She sighed. Fingering her hair into disarray, she stammered on. "Well, now I'm thinking…that maybe you were different back then, when I was a baby. Maybe you couldn't help leaving me. And maybe now you've changed. People do change, you know. I've changed. And I just wish I could start the week over again…and make you like me better." Abruptly she dropped the heavy little parcel into his lap. "Here. I want you to have this before I leave."
Before she leaves. Spock stared at the unexpected gift. She knew, then. She had heard Freedor Belvin call her a "colonial ward of New Florida", and she had understood.
"Open it," she urged.
His hands felt clumsy as he untied the red ribbon and peeled away the brightly striped paper. A burst of refracted light struck his eyes. The hologram? The crystalline Adrianna fit into his palm as seductively as the flesh and blood woman had fit into his arms, his life.
"It's a copy," Cristabeth said. "Uhura had it done here on the ship."
Spock battled to hold his voice steady. "I am…profoundly touched. Thank you."
Tearfully Cristabeth whispered, "Maybe…when you look at it…you'll remember me, too."
Threatened with tears of his own, Spock turned his head aside. He blinked to clear his vision, clear his mind. One thing was certain. People did change. Over the course of this remarkable week, his attitude toward young Cristabeth had undergone many startling shifts, culminating in this moment of decision. For once, emotion and logic seemed in total agreement. He knew what he must do. Perhaps, from the very beginning, it had been the only possible outcome.
Turning back to the child, he said, "T'Beth, you asked about my surname. It is S'chn T'gai, not Lemoine. You may already know that your mother and I never married. Prior to your birth she was much too ill, and as a result, my name was never entered on your birth record. That creates a legal problem, but there are simple medical tests that can confirm our blood relationship. I foresee no difficulty when I file for custody as your natural father tomorrow."
Not even the wonders of deep space had produced such a transforming rapture. She stared at him, mouth agape. "Custody? You mean…I can stay? I can live here…with you…on a starship?"
Here was the first of many complications. Spock's answer was slow in coming. "Perhaps…it can be arranged, for a time. But families are not normally allowed aboard Starfleet vessels. I will have to find some suitable living arrangement for you."
"But we'll be together?"
"Not always," he admitted, "but as much as possible. Unless, of course, you would prefer Solicitor Belvin's friendly home for girls."
A single word exploded from her—part squeal, part sob. "Father!"
Flinging her arms around his neck, she kissed his cheek and hugged him with a fierce joy that swept straight through his mental barriers. Excessive, as always. Hopelessly irrepressible. In many ways very much like her mother, under the skin. But somehow or another they would deal with that, along with every other difficulty that came their way.
Setting down the hologram, Spock embraced his daughter properly, with both arms.