"You were dreaming."

Spock opened his eyes, tensing for an instant before memory connected. He lay in Adrianna's bed. She gazed down at him with concern, golden hair spilling over her bare shoulders. His conscience began to stir. Firmly pushing it aside, he stretched and said, "Are you a dream?"

Adrianna relaxed into a smile. Taking his hand, she placed his fingertips to her temple in invitation, and Spock unashamedly joined her thoughts. For unmeasured time their minds mingled with such love that Spock wondered how he had survived the dry, solitary years. But a sudden, troubling image intruded—a woman-child waiting to claim him on some Vulcan desert plain. How could he go to T'Pring after what he had shared with Adrianna this long night?

The halfling saw the direction of his thoughts and Spock felt her keen jealousy. Her hand lingered on the smooth skin over his ribs as she said aloud, "Forget her. She belongs to the past now."

But it was not easy for Spock to separate his past from the present. Vulcans valued their traditions. Vulcans honored their commitments. He found his mind drifting back yet again to that distant world and its concerns.

"…Spock, Spock." A gentle, insistent voice drew him back into Adrianna's presence. Her hand tipped his chin and she bent down to kiss him. Every worry and regret fled away as he tasted the urgent warmth of her desire.

ooooo

Spock returned to the research base at midday and was relieved that his disappearance had drawn little notice. The relaxed atmosphere at the encampment contrasted sharply with the tight scheduling and discipline aboard a starship. Here, the scientists merely attributed his absence to "solitary Vulcan ways". There were no questions, only a few tasteless attempts at humor that came uncomfortably close to the truth.

He resumed his research with only half-hearted interest. Concentration was difficult and his work suffered as a result. All through the warm, hazy days of Ildaran summer, thoughts of Adrianna consumed him. Many a time he caught himself staring into thin air like a human, foolishly reliving their hours together—hours of illicit pleasure stolen from another. Forget her, Adrianna would urge, but Spock could not forget. He had broken faith with his betrothed and with the expectations of his family. And now it could be argued that he was also breaking faith with Adrianna. From the first mind touch he had instinctively hidden the full scope of his dilemma from her. He had never opened to her completely, never shared the humiliating facts of Vulcan manhood. The pon farr. The Time of mating madness. When his hour came—though he hoped that his human blood might spare him from its full effect—he would burn with a lust as mindless as any drug state induced by the Donaris. He would commit rape to satisfy the brutal demands of his Vulcan blood…or die trying.

Who but another Vulcan could endure that, forgive him that, and draw off his shame in the healing he would need to go on living afterward? Spock's mind turned to his human mother and Vulcan father. He felt uncomfortable envisioning his parents' intimate life. His thoughts narrowed to a dark bedroom door, firmly shut, and he wavered like a curious, guilty child before it. Perhaps what transpired there in private moments had given the human Amanda the strength she needed every seven years. If only he could be sure that Adrianna would be such a bondmate, that she would never shrink from him in horror and perhaps even leave him to die.

With his leave coming to an end, Spock knew he must decide soon. Choose the safe, sane path of Vulcan custom, or continue along the path of rebellion and sever his link with T'Pring, his one certain promise of security as a Vulcan male.

Was that all T'Pring had become to him? An element of his survival? A useful object?

As a gray dawn marked the passage of another restless night, Spock rose from an unsatisfactory meditation and began stretching his body in the Vulcan manner. The Enterprise was returning for him tomorrow, and still he floundered in indecision, at war with the demands of his conscience. A choice that should have been as simple and clear as any equation was driving him to frustration. Logic seemed to have forsaken him completely. The thought of leaving Adrianna left him aching and empty.

A quiet rapping on the door broke into his dark reverie—then came a warm, seeking tendril of thought. With a thrill of recognition Spock straightened. Adrianna here? Though he knew it would court gossip, he called out, "Yes, come in!"

The door swung open and Adrianna slipped into the cramped quarters. Spock regarded her with undisguised affection. Soundlessly she crossed the room and greeted him with a kiss. In an answering rush of pleasure he embraced her, but she pulled away. Only then did he notice the disquiet in her eyes. His heart gave a sickening lurch—and in that single instant of fear he knew there would be no leaving her…willingly. Had there ever been a choice? His path was now irrevocably joined with this woman's, wherever it might lead.

"Something is wrong," he managed to say. Had she learned of the pon farr on her own? Now would she tell him goodbye?

A weak smile pulled at her lips. She looked flushed, nervous. "It's Mother. She's found out about us. Everything. She's absolutely furious."

Spock let out a slow breath of relief. Though the news was not good, he could face Justrelle's wrath. He could face even the censure of his Vulcan relatives as long as Adrianna was beside him. Taking her hands, he said, "It had to happen eventually. We could not go on hiding our relationship." The amber eyes lifted, deep and penetrating in their apprehension. "You are not a child. She cannot control you. Gather your belongings and bring them here. We'll be married by my captain when my ship comes tomorrow."

The slim, feminine hands felt almost feverish in his grasp, but Adrianna broke into a smile of joy.

ooooo

Silver-rimmed clouds drifted low in the sunset. High overhead the sky deepened to purple as Spock stood watching fliers wing home to their burrow nests. Soon he, too, would have a home, perhaps even children of his own. Marriage. All this last day he had wandered deep in the treeclan, preferring to work rather than confront his misgivings. Now, in the lingering dusk, he spoke the word aloud. "Marriage." It sounded so very human. No Vulcan bonding ceremony, no traditional linking of minds. Well then—they were half human and they would bond in their own time, their own way.

And now that he was committing himself to such a marriage, there were other, equally serious considerations. Foremost among them was his Starfleet career. There were no provisions made for families aboard starships. With T'Pring, that would not have mattered. There was no driving need to be at her side; his normal leaves would have been sufficient. Adrianna changed everything. He would need to request a base posting—give up Space exploration—and if that were not possible? Spock dreaded the thought of leaving Starfleet altogether, but life sometimes demanded hard choices. Were his decisions any more difficult than those faced by others?

He had tarried long enough. By now Adrianna would surely be awaiting him. With that thought, Spock slowly headed down the encampment trail, but when he arrived at the bunkhouse Adrianna was not there. And neither were her belongings.

Only moments ago he had felt his commitment to her wavering, yet now, faced with the possibility of losing her, he experienced something very much like panic. Where was she? What had become of her? Had she changed her mind…or was this her mother's doing?

Street lamps were brightening to life, casting an eerie glow on the misty evening air when Spock reached the cottage on Burrow Street. After several firm knocks, the door cracked open.

"You again!" Justrelle hissed through a chain-secured slit. "Did I not make myself clear? You and your kind are not welcome!"

Mindful of the reason behind Justrelle's hostility, Spock attempted to be polite. "I have not come to see you, Madam. I've come for Adrianna."

"Are you deaf?" she shrilled. "You tromper, you fool, I have—"

"Tell Adrianna I am here," he cut in, readying to stop the door from closing. "Surely you realize that she is a grown woman. You cannot hope to impose your will on her."

Justrelle narrowly appraised him. "Sorry, lover boy." The slow words reeked sarcasm. "My daughter is too sick for romancing."

Spock's face burned. A single thrust of his arm could snap the flimsy chain barring his way, but for now he rejected the tempting idea. Violence would only fuel this woman's hatred, and there was a possibility that she was telling the truth about Adrianna. It may have been something other than emotion coloring her cheeks this morning, and making her hands so warm. Surely if Adrianna was well, she would have come to the door by now.

His mind reached toward Justrelle with conciliatory thoughts, but the many layers of malice resisted him. He remembered the tricorder still slung over his shoulder. Taking it in his hands, he said, "This instrument can provide and evaluate some medical data. I am trained in its use."

Justrelle stared at him long and hard. Boldly meeting her dark eyes, Spock used his mind on her again.

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You are not a doctor."

"True," Spock said, "but I can operate this diagnostic tool." And he added, "It may save you the expense of a doctor."

The woman considered a moment longer, then a chain rattled. Justrelle swung the door open. "Be quick," she said with a wave, stepping far back to avoid any physical contact between them.

Spock hurried to the bedroom with Justrelle's shout ringing in his ears. "Keep your hands off her!"

He was first to reach Adrianna's bedside and his fingers stole defiantly over the flushed cheek nestled in the blankets. Her eyes opened wearily. "Spock…" she said in a hoarse voice, and her hand fumbled to find his. Justrelle arrived and tore the limp fingers from his grasp.

Keeping taut control over his emotions, Spock ran the tricorder and concentrated on its disturbing data. "It does not appear to be contagious, however…" raising his eyes to Justrelle Lemoine, he said with grave emphasis, "this is a very serious illness. We must bring her to Doctor McCoy."

ooooo

The starship Enterprise lay in orbit above Ildarani. All day Spock had avoided sickbay so as not to be conspicuous. With day shift coming to an end, he entered Doctor McCoy's office and asked if there had been a diagnosis in Adrianna Lemoine's case.

McCoy ran a hand through his rumpled hair and eyed Spock strangely. "She's an interesting hybrid, that one. A real beautiful lady. Unfortunately…"

Inwardly Spock braced himself. "Yes?"

"Unfortunately, she's also a very sick lady. Have you ever heard of J'Reneset Syndrome?"

"I am not familiar with that term," Spock admitted.

McCoy released a sigh and seemed to fumble for words. "The syndrome is…uh...really quite obscure. It…afflicts only young Sy females. Very destructive, I'm afraid…" He paused to nibble at his lip. "Pregnancy is the triggering factor and…nothing can stop its progression…not even if the pregnancy were terminated."

Pregnant! Spock could scarcely contain his dismay. It was not possible for him—a Vulcan—to impregnate a woman outside his Time. That could only mean that Adrianna had lain with another. Perhaps her aggressive partner at the Governor's Ball?

Very quietly McCoy said, "You didn't know…did you? Spock. The baby is yours—and it's a girl."

Spock stared at the doctor, scarcely comprehending. He felt his knees start to give way and sank into a chair. "Impossible. That is completely contrary to Vulcan physiology."

"I know. Vulcans become fertile only once every seven years, during the pon farr. Are you telling me that…while you were on leave…" McCoy's voice trailed off. He cleared his throat.

Deeply embarrassed, Spock admitted, "It was not my Time."

McCoy nodded. "Well…you're not entirely Vulcan, are you? One has to expect some variations from the norm." The doctor's eyebrows arched. "I suppose now you're going to tell me that you two didn't…dance the horizontal dance?"

Spock understood the doctor's meaning well enough and saw no reason to answer. His silence was humiliating enough.

A long moment passed before McCoy spoke again. "The captain has agreed to transport Adrianna and her mother to Starfleet Medical Center, since we're headed to Earth anyway. That's where she can get the best treatment. Even with the finest medical care, the recovery rate is estimated at …only about five percent. Of course," he quickly added, "there's also her humanness to consider, as well as other factors beyond the scope of medicine—even if you won't acknowledge them. Things like luck…and love."

Slowly Spock rose from the chair and was about to leave the office when a thought struck him. "The captain—does he know…"

McCoy riled. "What do you take me for? I'm a doctor, for godsake, not a back fence gossip!"

ooooo

…Spock's mind drifted back to the present. At Starfleet Medical Center, the day staff had come on duty. To Spock it meant only another change of personnel at the nurses' station; just another guard keeping him locked away from the frail patient in room 204. In reality it was not the staff, however, but Adrianna herself who had denied him visiting privileges and even health updates since leaving the Enterprise. He had been told that she was angry with him, and that was surely understandable. The child she was carrying—his child—had sickened her like a disease. But he suspected there was something more at work here, namely, the bitter influence of her mother. If only he could reach Adrianna's side and let her know of his continuing support.

Spock gazed at the metal security door and considered the possibility of breeching it. Suddenly the door opened. Justrelle Lemoine came out and caught sight of him. Dark eyes flaming with hatred, she strode into the waiting area. Spock rose to meet her.

Justrelle nearly shouted. "She does not want you around, comprenez vous? Not today, not ever, not after what you have done to her!"

Spock was aware of the duty nurse looking up, listening. In a low voice he said, "Madam, can you at least tell me her condition?"

Justrelle spat on his coat and strode away.

Stunned and revolted, Spock watched her disappear down the long corridor that led to the turbolift. He found a rest room and cleaned himself. Then, once again, he approached the nurses' station.

The nurse looked up, clearly embarrassed over what she had witnessed. "Yes, sir? Can I help you?"

Spock took a moment to review his decision, another moment to gather the mental energy he would need. This was becoming all too easy. Fingering the cool countertop, he focused the same telepathic ability he had used on Ildarani to get past Adrianna's mother. With all his strength he projected a single thought at the unsuspecting nurse.

Open the door.

She frowned. One hand rose absently to her temple, rubbing at the confusion. Then her face cleared. Reaching for a switch panel, she pressed a bright red button.

Spock froze, expecting an alarm. Instead, the security doors slid aside.

He hurried through and quickly located room 204. Adrianna lay with her eyes closed, her golden hair spread over the pillow. She was pale to the lips, yet beautifully captivating. A quick glance at the monitor above her bed revealed vital signs buoyed by life support systems.

Spock leaned over her and spoke. "Adrianna." There was no response. With a gentle shake he repeated, "Adrianna." Still nothing. She appeared to be comatose.

Spock's long fingers clenched the bed rail with a pain that helped steady him. He had made his decision, but he must be swift. Now that the nurse's mind was free, he might be discovered at any moment. Unclamping his fingers, he settled them over a limp, unresponsive hand. A sudden wave of emotion threatened his composure, but he blinked back the hot rush of moisture stinging his eyes. No! Not here, not now when there was finally a chance to reach her…He drew a breath deep into his lungs and slowly expelled it. Gently he arranged his fingertips over the facial contact points…and with an abrupt mental thrust, delved for the sweet consciousness.

Blackness swallowed him. Silence, but for the incessant roar of blood surging, surging. In growing alarm he explored the dark empty currents, probing blindly for even a flicker of awareness…

Abruptly the probe ended—an unseen force wrenched Spock's hands away from Adrianna's face.

"You there!" a woman shouted. "What do you think you're doing?"

Spock's mind began to clear. He found himself surrounded by medical and security personnel. His eyes traveled to Adrianna's body and he managed a hoarse response. "I…I only meant to…"

A gray-haired doctor wearing commander stripes motioned toward the door. Spock was firmly guided down a short hallway to an office, where he was seated under the watchful gaze of two security men.

The doctor addressed him. "My name is Benton Ward. I don't know who you are or how you got past security, but I strongly suggest that you explain yourself right now."

Spock sat back in his chair. Tiredly he recited, "Commander Spock S'chn T'gai, serial number S179-276SP. Current posting, U.S.S. Enterprise. As for the patient, Miss Lemoine is…was…an acquaintance of mine. I had only hoped to…speak with her."

Ward consulted his computer screen. Looking distinctly uncomfortable, he sent the guards from the room. "Okay," he said, "your identity checks out. As for what's happened here…it's not so much your idea of "speaking" to the patient, but the fact that you had no business being there in the first place."

Spock might have revealed the deeply personal "business" that surely gave him some rights. He preferred silence.

Apparently, so did Benton Ward. With his eyes back on his computer, he said, "You have an exemplary service record. I'd like to keep this out of official channels, if possible. After all, there was no real harm done." He called up more information on the screen. "I see that Doctor Leonard McCoy has remained a consulting physician on the Lemoine case…and you two are shipmates. Good. I don't have time for this. I'll let him deal with it."

ooooo

Doctor McCoy responded to the summons with a nagging sense of disquiet. The instant he entered Benton's office and found Spock under guard, he knew his intuition had been right on target. There was trouble in the air.

The short briefing held few surprises. Then the office cleared and he was alone with Spock. Still standing, McCoy shook his head ruefully. "Dammit, you've really outdone yourself this time."

The Vulcan leaned toward him. "Doctor, how long has Adrianna Lemoine been brain dead?"

McCoy settled behind Ward's desk and changed the subject. "No Spock, you tell me something. How in blazes did you slip past the duty nurse?"

Spock sighed. "It was not through any fault of hers."

"I just bet it wasn't!" McCoy exclaimed. "What's wrong with you?" He stopped and lowered his voice. "Nevermind. I know what's wrong with you. I just never thought I'd see the day when you'd let your emotions override common sense."

"Is that how you regard it?" Spock's eyes flamed. Rising, he placed his palms on the desktop and leaned toward McCoy. "Very well, then. A Vulcan in the throes of emotion can be quite dangerous. I strongly advise you to come forward with the information I'm requesting. I repeat. How long, doctor? How long has she been functionally dead?"

McCoy leapt to his feet in defensive anger. "What's this? So now you're threatening me? Get a grip, man! Leave it alone! An hour? A week? What difference can it possibly make? She's gone! All that matters now is the child!"

Spock straightened. Perhaps seeing in McCoy's outburst a mirror of his own frustration, he brought himself back under control. But it was McCoy, shoulders slumping wearily, who finally spoke. "Why, Spock? Why is it so important for you to know? That's privileged information. Only her mother, as next of kin—" He blinked. "Oh, wait. Don't tell me. It's her you're after, isn't it?"

" A short time ago, she said Adrianna did not want to see me. An obvious lie, considering. How long did her lies keep us apart?"

McCoy looked upon his shipmate with genuine sympathy. "Spock, she's just a foolish, vindictive woman. Hasn't there already been enough pain? Just let it go. Promise me."

The Vulcan answered with stony silence.

ooooo

Today there had been times when Spock seriously considered revenge. Curious, that he felt so little anger in this moment of confrontation. His eyes roamed almost dispassionately over the sparse furnishings of Justrelle Lamoine's hotel room. It bore no resemblance to the homey cottage left behind on Ildarani. This place was strictly functional—a sterile, lonely way station adjacent to the medical center.

His gaze settled on Adrianna's mother. She was clearly furious that he had located her and forced his way in.

"So you found out she is gone—morte!" Justrelle shouted at him. "Are you satisfied? I tried to warn you how this would end, but you would not listen, would you? You had to keep coming around her, you would not give her up because of the way she made you feel." Hands on her hips, she beheld him with contempt. "Well, how do you feel now that she is dead—now that she died hating you, you bastard!"

"Did she?" Spock said levelly. "Only today you claimed that Adrianna did not want me visiting her. She could not possibly have said such a thing. She was already brain dead. How long have you kept that fact from me?"

Justrelle's eyes glittered dangerously. "Listen to you! Why do you still persist? Have you not figured it out yet? Have you not wondered how it was that she could stir the icy-thin blood of a Vulcan—un etranger like you?"

Spock's face warmed. There had been many times when he wondered, when he struggled with private shame for his lack of control. Thinking of what the birth of an illegitimate daughter would mean in terms of public shame made his stomach twist into a knot.

"Well?" Justrelle's voice was strident and demanding. "Think about it, Vulcan, it there is anything left of your mind. Think of how you hungered after her like an animal in heat." She nodded her head knowingly. "Mais oui. Some Sydoks have a way with men—with les hommes—so I had read, and as Adrianna grew into womanhood I saw the truth of it. Over and over and over again. Oh, yes. Did you honestly believe you were the first?"

Suddenly Spock had had enough of this spiteful woman. He wanted to leave—leave quickly, before she could say anything more. Since finding Adrianna dead, there had been no chance to properly assimilate the shock, and the shocks kept coming. He could no longer seem to think clearly. Too late, he realized that he should have saved this crucial meeting for another day. He needed time alone to calm and re-order his mind, but Justrelle's next words kept him rooted to the spot.

"My daughter was a Sy-jeera. A Sy-witch. Surely you have heard of them. They are like cats the way they toy with men, only smarter. They can build pleasure out of pain. They can tear a man's heart from his chest and leave him grateful for the attention. 'Merci,' he will cry, "me donner plus! Give me more!'"

"That is only legend," Spock said, but his words lacked conviction. The hollow ache like a wound in his own chest seemed to verify Justrelle's ugly claim. He recalled a crude story he had heard in his academy days of a Sy-jeera and her bungling, foolish victims. "You say that you tried to warn me, yet you made no mention of Sy-jeera then."

"Would you have believed me? You may be Vulcan, but you are a man just the same. Telling would not have convinced you once Adrianna wove her spell. It would only have inflamed your mindless loyalty. Mindless, stupid tromper!"

Spock turned from her.

"Oh, does that hurt?" Justrelle did not wait for an answer. "Bonne," she sneered, "good. I hope it hurts like hell. I knew someday Adrianna was going to pick the wrong man. You and your alien seed murdered my daughter, just as surely as the Donaris murdered my husband on Sydok. You bastard! I would have ended Adrianna's pregnancy to save her life—I would have rid her of your seed. But by then it was already too late. She would have died anyway..." Her voice trailed off and she seemed to shrink with grief. "Now…that child…is all I have left. Un petit enfant…a little unborn Sy-jeera."

A little unborn Sy-jeera. The words lanced into Spock. According to legend, Sy-witchery was inherited. All at once he envisioned the baby growing in Adrianna's womb—a monstrous little creature with the incipient power to stir up and manipulate male passions. The thought repelled him.

"The child is all I have left," Justrelle repeated in a firmer tone, "and I intend to keep her. I intend to raise her as my own, comprenez-vous? I will give you fair warning, long-ears. Try to interfere, even come near the girl once, and I will instill in her such loathing that she will gladly kill you…if I do not kill you first."

The sickness rose in Spock's throat—a hot, bitter taste like murder itself. Slowly he moved to the door and paused there, one hand on the latch. He could not bring himself to look at Justrelle Lamoine, even knowing that it would be the last time. In a ragged voice he vowed, "I have no child."

"Then out!" she exploded. "I did not ask you to come here! Get out of my sight!"

Swallowing a primitive surge of rage, Spock opened the door. There was an odd sound behind him, like a grunt of exertion. He hesitated and began to turn back. In the corner of his eye he saw an object hurtling toward him. Then pain shot through his skull. Shards of glass struck the wall, the door. Dazed, he held his head and staggered into the doorframe. Warm liquid gushed through his fingers. He moved them down his ear, to his neck, and found blood spurting. The collar of his coat was wet.

Justrelle observed the green flow with malicious pleasure. "Perhaps my aim was bad. No matter. Nothing is so firm as a contract sealed in blood."

Spock forced himself upright. The bitter image of Justrelle blurred and wobbled.

"Go ahead," she smirked, "swear—I am sure you want to. T'Vareth, kres'ta vora-kam! You know the Vulcan words—say them, you pig!"

But Spock had no breath for swearing. Lifting his hand from his neck, he stared at the gory fingers. He could feel blood gushing from his jugular vein, feel his strength slipping with each pulse. And it occurred to him that he might actually bleed to death unless he could stop the alarming flow.

He could expect no help from Justrelle Lamoine and he was not carrying a communicator or phone. He made a fleeting attempt to control the pain and slow his circulatory system, but his mind was sluggish from the blow. Wanting only to get out of Justrelle's sight, he left the hotel room and began an unsteady walk. Down the long empty hallway and into the elevator, Spock felt each heartbeat forcing more blood between his fingers. He touched the ground floor button. A sudden downward motion upset his balance and he grabbed for the support bar. His hand slid on the metal and he nearly fell. The doors opened and he lurched into the quiet lobby. He stood, wavering.

Someone came through the front entrance. There was a draft of cool air, a sharp scent of damp pavement. Shivering, Spock let his hand drop to his side. His breath came in shallow, unsatisfying gasps as he felt the blood draining from his body.

Blood. Nothing was so firm as a contract sealed in blood.

The room began to whirl crazily. Then he was on the floor.

Somewhere in the encroaching shadows a familiar voice called out, "My God, man, what's happened to you?"

A dazzle of light thrust Spock into partial awareness. He reeled and seemed to be toppling from the Enterprise transporter platform, but strong, capable hands steadied him. He lay in a cloud of darkness, murky with sounds of commotion...

"Pressure bandage!"

"Rig instant I.V. whole T-negative, stat!"

"Ready protoplaser!"

ooooo

Barely controlling his horror, Doctor McCoy worked over his patient with the speed and skill of long experience. In his Starfleet career he had treated a host of grisly injuries—never pleasant, but out in Space he expected them. Not here on Earth—and definitely not Spock.

Green blood was everywhere! It seeped from beneath Spock's pressure bandages and oozed from his drenched clothing onto the examination table. Underneath McCoy's surgical gown, his own uniform bore the gory marks of helping Spock aboard ship. He shuddered to think what might have happened if he had not tracked the Vulcan to Justrelle Lemoine's hotel. He tried not to think of what might still happen as the monitor panel flashed critical warnings overhead.

McCoy turned his attention to Spock's neck. Rapidly he removed bits of glass and repaired the torn jugular vein with a protoplaser. Looking pale as death, Nurse Chapel handed him a medscanner. He cursed under his breath as the instrument located the gashes in Spock's blood-soaked hair.

"Shave the area," he ordered, stepping aside. Watching Chapel work, he called over his shoulder, "Get the captain!"

ooooo

…Hovering on the outer edge of consciousness, Spock heard a persistent buzzing sound and felt a swarm of insects stinging his ear. He winced and turned his head.

"Four cc's of endorphine stimulator."

"Doctor…who do you suppose did this?"

"See if you can clean him up a little, Christine. Has anyone found Jim?"

"Sir, the captain's not aboard ship."

"I know he's not aboard ship. Where is he?"

The stinging subsided, the pain eased to a dull manageable ache. Spock felt the gentle scrub of a wet, warm cloth on his face, his arms, his chest. He felt the natural pull of a healing trance coming on, and fought against it. His sodden trousers were being cut and stripped away when he drifted back into the darkness…

ooooo

McCoy was worried. On the bed monitor all Spock's vital signs were sliding into normal range—for a half-Vulcan. A small beep signaled that the final transfusion of blood was complete, and he lifted the intravenous cuff. Chapel immediately started cleaning the exposed area.

"That's good enough," snapped McCoy, gruffness masking his concern that Spock had not awakened. There were no physiological signs of the Vulcan healing mode, which was very odd. He rechecked the results on Spock's brain scan. It showed only a moderate concussion, no appreciable damage from lack of blood. Judging from past performances, the Vulcan should have been sitting up by now, ready for an argument.

Chapel took another tentative swipe at Spock's arm with the washcloth, but McCoy shooed her away and shut the cubicle door. Alone, he gazed down at his bandage-swathed patient. Spock's color looked good. He touched the greenish facial skin. It was reassuringly hot. Taking up a light, he manually tested the pupil response of each eye. Satisfied, he gave the Vulcan a gentle nudge. "Okay, sleepyhead, time to wake up." Nothing. "Spock, I'm starting to think you don't want to wake up. Is that it?" Still nothing.

McCoy sat beside him on the bed. "Maybe you're sorry I came after you. Maybe you wish I'd let you bleed to death. You never were afraid to die, were you? Living is the hard part. Having to deal with people, with emotional situations, with your own emotions."

Spock's eyes slowly opened and shifted pointedly to the ceiling. McCoy suspected that he had heard everything. Good, he thought and continued talking as if he was not shaky with relief. "I had a feeling that you'd get yourself in trouble tonight. You went after that Justrelle woman, didn't you? What in Sam Hill happened? I pulled enough glass out of you to make a crystal chandelier."

McCoy saw the Vulcan shiver and got up to adjust the bed temperature. Spock still had not met his eyes…nor answered his questions. "Alright. You think saving your hide doesn't give me any right to pry into your personal affairs…but this looks like a matter for the police. You'd better come out with it, man. What did you do down there?"

Spock struggled to sort through the jumbled memories of the past hour. Justrelle's sneering face…the staggering blow to his head. In the space of one spiteful breath, all that remained to him of Adrianna—her memory, her child—had been turned into a bitter mockery. He did not want to consider any of it. In his weakness, the crush of memories and emotion threatened to overwhelm him. With an effort he revealed, "I did not harm the woman."

McCoy visibly relaxed. "Well, that's good news—but she sure as hell took a bite out of you." Glancing at the bed monitor he asked, "Feeling any pain?"

A most ironic question. Spock cleared a damning thickness from his throat. "I can deal with the discomfort, Doctor. I wish only…to be alone."

McCoy studied the averted eyes, watched another chill shake the tense Vulcan before nodding his consent. "Alright. By the way, Jim's with family in Iowa. Since you're stable now, he says he'll come by in the morning."

Spock roused and looked straight at him. "Doctor, you haven't—you won't—"

"Tell him the whole story? No—I haven't and I never will. Get that through your thick green skull." He dimmed the lights and closed the door, leaving Spock lying among the shadows.

Alone now. In the brutal clarity of loss, Spock found that countless details emerged from his memory. Golden eyes shining with love...hair the color of ripe earth wheat…breath puffing into clouds on a crisp Ildaran morning…an unexpected touch…a smile…a tender word. All lies.

Intimacy. Passion. That aching, hollow part of him heated to liquid flame. Was none of it genuine? Was it nothing more than a cruel game? Like a cat, only smarter.

Spock tried to concentrate on each ragged breath. The discipline…of Vulcan…must be invoked…But he had entered her mind! How could she have fooled him so completely? Tears welled from his eyes. Angrily he brushed them away. So it would be, as it was meant from the beginning. A lone Vulcan standing upon the sacred ground of his forefathers, waiting to join his betrothed. Strangers bound for life by the ancient rites.

He would have married her—he would have sacrificed his career. For a lie? Let the aching memories die here and now. Face the failure and learn from it. Accept the loneliness, forget the enticing Sy pleasure.

But how? How—when even now he could feel it dancing along his nerves?

In a ragged voice Spock recited the familiar mantra. "I embrace logic—an inner discipline founded on reason—total self-mastery through the guiding principles of Surak—" Choking, he wadded the blankets in his hands. He clenched his teeth. He would not indulge in sentiment or self-pity. He would not shed tears over a delusion. Once and for all he would put Adrianna behind him and live on.

By force of will, he lowered his hands to his sides. Consciously releasing the tension throughout his body, he closed his eyes. Little by little Spock's mind contracted to a single dispassionate point, and he felt himself sink into a healing trance…