Deep in thought, Spock stood gazing out his apartment window as the sun dipped toward the horizon. His eyes lingered on the vivid blue sky with its scattering of clouds, on the extravagance of trees casting long shadows over the Academy greens. He had been spending the summer Earthside, designing new curriculum for his trainees and overseeing maintenance on the Enterprise. An entire year had gone by since his health was deemed adequate, once more, for command. The months had passed swiftly, due in part to an evolving relationship…

A knocking sound roused Spock from his reverie. Straightening his uniform jacket, he went to open the door.

His guest offered him a warm smile and said, "Captain. I hope I'm not too early..."

"Lauren." Spock inclined his head to the young woman. "Please come in. I am ready for you."

Indeed, the external sound damper was already engaged in preparation for the day's musical session—one of an ongoing series he had quietly initiated during the last training voyage. There was a sense of the clandestine in these private interludes that Spock rather enjoyed.

Doctor Fielding entered, carrying a flute case and bringing with her the heady scent of gardenias. Spock led her to the small sitting room where his own flute awaited. Under her weekly tutelage and his own private study, he had easily mastered the fingering and had no difficulty accompanying her in today's "Lord of the Rings" arrangement for two flutes. It was a simple but beautiful piece. As the last notes faded, he lowered his flute and gazed upon his lovely accompanist.

A discordant sound intruded. As he was expecting an important call, he had not turned off his phone. Excusing himself, he went to his corner desk. A dark-haired girl appeared on the screen and said, "Hi!"

Some indication of his shock must have reached Spock's face, for the child giggled delightedly. "Oh Father, I guess I surprised you, alright!"

Spock regarded his daughter with a stern expression. He had left T'Beth in her grandparent's care on Vulcan, yet now she was speaking to him from an Earth phone link. Considering her past exploits, Spock could not help thinking she had embarked on some new mischief. "T'Beth. What are you doing on Earth?"

She laughed again. "Don't you mean 'what on Earth are you doing'?" She looked offscreen as if someone there had spoken to her, and she began to get up.

"T'Beth!" Spock called. She cast him an amused glance before moving out of sight. A slender, gray-haired woman took her place on the screen. Spock was aware of every muscle in his body relaxing. "Mother," he said, feeling decidedly foolish. "Then you are with her."

Amanda gave him a polite smile. "Of course, Spock. We're in Minneapolis." The shell of a smile faded away completely. "Roger has died."

Roger. The name conjured larger-than-life images of a bearish man given to outbursts of laughter and loud teasing, much to the chagrin of his young nephew. With a twinge of regret Spock realized that such childish memories were all he had of his aunt's husband. "I grieve with you," he said. "Please extend my condolences to your sister."

Amanda nodded. "There wasn't any funeral. I came anyway to spend a couple of weeks with Doris, and since T'Beth had never seen Earth…"

The girl appeared at her grandmother's shoulder, her face alight with excitement. "Can I come see you, Father? Can I come to California?"

Amanda shushed her and gave Spock an apologetic look. "I understand this is terribly short notice, but if you aren't too busy…for even a day or so…" Her eyes shifted and seemed to refocus on some part of the room behind Spock. The concurrent brightening of her expression made Spock acutely uncomfortable.

"Say, isn't that Doctor Fielding with you?"

Spock looked over his shoulder at Lauren, who smiled at Amanda and gave a little wave. Amanda waved back.

Turning so that his body shielded Lauren from any further scrutiny, he guided the conversation back to its original course. "It is well that you brought T'Beth with you. I'll see what I can arrange in regard to a visit, and call back."

T'Beth loosed a cry of happiness.

Amanda's eyes warmed. "Spock, I'm so glad. We'll let you get back to your company now."

There was a faint click and the images of his mother and daughter vanished. For a moment Spock remained seated, his eyes on the blank screen, his thoughts on the distant past.

"I…couldn't help but overhear that," Lauren said. "Was Roger a relative?"

"An uncle…by marriage." He turned, knowing he would find Lauren's eyes on him. They were full of compassion.

"I'm so sorry," she said, rising gracefully. "You probably want to be alone."

"No." He stood up, quite certain that he did not want her to leave. "I knew him only from rare visits to Minneapolis in my childhood. I had little understanding of humans then."

Her gentle blue gaze seemed to delve inside him, seeing and touching areas he had always kept carefully guarded. With her, it did not feel like a violation.

"How sad," she said.

If she had been standing near, Spock might have reached out and touched her, but the intensity of the moment passed without having been acknowledged. Spock returned to his flute and in a deceptively calm voice said, "Shall we attempt the Paganini?"

Lauren sat down across from him and gave her attention to the music.

ooooo

T'Beth arrived in a breathless rush of excitement. Stepping off the midday air shuttle, she ran straight for Spock, her valise slapping against her leg. There was little traffic at the Academy depot during summer break. A lone pedestrian who stood gawking was no doubt relieved when T'Beth stopped short of colliding with the captain.

"Mek'hino," she grinned, using the Vulcan word for father.

"T'Beth-kam." With a nod and a lift of his eyebrow Spock catalogued the changes in his daughter. She had grown yet again since he last saw her, and not only in height. The tailored fit of her jumpsuit revealed a subtle widening about her hips, and her chest had lost some of the boyish flatness he remembered. In the space of a few months T'Beth had moved from childhood into adolescence. Yet looking at her now, it did not seem so ominous a transition as he had anticipated. T'Beth's golden-brown eyes held only honest affection, with no sign of the cunning one might expect from the daughter of a Sy-witch. She had made progress learning the mind rules taught to every Vulcan child. Hopefully the training would help regulate whatever telepathic ability she possessed and any unfortunate Sy tendencies toward seductive, controlling behavior. Picking up her valise, he guided the wide-eyed girl to his quarters in the faculty section.

There, behind closed doors, T'Beth threw her arms around him with complete disregard for Vulcan decorum. Spock was thankful she had restrained herself until they were alone so he could return the embrace in his own less demonstrative way, without risk of embarrassment.

"Oh, this must be a dream," she said, snuggling against his shoulder. "On Earth…at Starfleet Academy." She lifted her head and stepped back, her face aglow. "I can't believe I get to spend the rest of the summer with you—and ride a starliner back to Vulcan all by myself."

Looking at her, Spock privately wondered how well the arrangement would work out. But the plans were set. "Remember, you will be in a day program when I am working—that is, unless Doctor McCoy or Admiral Kirk have time for you."

"I know." At that she darted away and dug through the contents of her luggage. She pulled out a hardbound book Spock recognized from his mother's collection on Vulcan. "Tales of the Old West", she quoted from the cover. "Gram said you read it when you were little."

"Yes," Spock conceded. At one time or another he had read all of his mother's books. "It is about that segment of Earth history known as the American frontier."

"Pioneers, outlaws, riverboat gamblers…" T'Beth's expression became rapturous as she clutched the book to her pubescent bosom. "And horses! Can you imagine? Why, it isn't just history—our own great-great-grandparents were a living part of it!"

"You would need to carry the regression a good deal further," Spock pointed out.

"Oh, that doesn't matter," T'Beth said with some impatience. "They were there, and that's almost like us being there. You know what I mean."

"Hmm." Spock restricted himself to the single vague utterance.

T'Beth's eyes took on a faraway look, as if she had momentarily slipped back in time to some frontier dream world she had created for herself. "I've never even been on a horse," she said sadly. "Have you?"

"No," Spock admitted. The equestrian urge was foreign to him, but he knew several humans who took great pleasure in horseback riding. Unfortunately they were either on leave or, like Admiral Kirk, deeply immersed in their duties.

"Has Doctor McCoy?" T'Beth persisted.

"I don't know." Spock found the image of McCoy on a horse rather amusing. "The good doctor has invited us to his home for dinner. You can ask him then."

T'Beth's jaw dropped in astonishment. "He's cooking?"

ooooo

"Of course I can cook," grumbled the doctor that evening. "I'm a McCoy!"

Despite the gruff posturing, T'Beth seemed to know that the doctor was not really angry. Spock watched her give McCoy a second hug, then sniff worriedly at the aromas drifting out from the kitchen. "Well, it smells good, anyway," she said with exaggerated concern.

Spock was about to rebuke her for rudeness when McCoy pretended to take a swat at her. Spinning away, she easily escaped, only to be captivated by the view from a picture window. McCoy's San Francisco home was located in an historic section of the city, with a walled garden that thrived in the frequent fogs that rolled in off the Pacific Ocean. Gazing at the bright jumble of flowers, T'Beth sighed, "Oh, your yard is beautiful…"

McCoy moved close to Spock. "She's getting to be quite a beauty herself," he said under his breath. "Have you noticed? That kid of yours is growing up."

"Yes," Spock said. "I noticed."

T'Beth turned around and caught them looking at her. The flush of excitement tingeing her cheeks made her even more attractive. She asked, "Father, what did you notice?"

Caught off guard, Spock cast about for some safe, partially honest reply. "The view," he said at last. "I was remarking on the loveliness of the view."

Smirking, McCoy escaped into the kitchen. A few moments later he reappeared with two platters of steaming food and placed them alongside the salad on the dining room table. "Dinner time!" he called unnecessarily.

T'Beth hurried into a seat and at McCoy's urging began to fill her plate. Spock followed her to the table and eyed the meal with some trepidation. Though he had refrained from any comment, he too had some doubts regarding the doctor's culinary ability.

McCoy noticed him holding back. "Spock, it's meatless spaghetti, for heaven's sake. You've eaten spaghetti, haven't you?"

"I have," Spock conceded.

McCoy plopped a serving of the heavily sauced pasta on Spock's plate, along with a strip of bread that reeked of butter and garlic. Then McCoy ignored him and settled into his own meal.

"Mmm, this is good," T'Beth said between mouthfuls.

McCoy beamed. "My dear, you have what is called a 'discriminating palate'. It sometimes skips entire generations. You probably got it from the Grayson bloodline."

At the mention of bloodlines T'Beth lowered her fork and leaned forward. "Bones," she asked breathlessly, "do you know how to ride a horse?"

McCoy stared at her, a blank look on his face.

Repressing an urge to smile, Spock twirled a single strand of spaghetti onto his fork and cautiously tasted it. The blending of flavors was surprisingly good. He took a second, larger bite and waited for the conversation to unfold.

"A horse?" McCoy shrugged. "Sure, I rode a few times back in Georgia, when I was a kid—but I'm no horseman. Why?"

T'Beth listlessly toyed with her piece of bread. "I've only seen a real horse once. It was back on Ildarani, and I couldn't even get close to it."

Spock cleared his throat. "T'Beth has been reading about the days of the old American frontier."

"No kidding." McCoy broke into a grin. "Cowboys and Indians? Range wars? Gunfights? Hey, T'Beth, did Spock ever tell you about the time we shot it out at the OK Corral?"

Her face lit up. "Were there any horses?"

"Not even in our imagination," Spock answered dryly and returned to his food. He had discovered that the salad and bread were every bit as palatable as the main course.

"Wait a minute." McCoy snapped his fingers. "It's horses you're after, right?" T'Beth nodded eagerly. "And cowboy hats and wide open spaces and gritty little western towns?"

"Uh-huh," she said, "that's it!"

"Well then." McCoy settled back with a smug look that meant trouble. "I know just the place for you, young lady. VantageWest."

Spock lost track of what he was doing and bit his tongue. The unexpected pain was all that prevented him from speaking out forcefully against the doctor's idea.

"VantageWest," McCoy rhapsodized like a commercial, "the ultimate in role-playing adventure. Leave your cares at the bar, mount up and ride through the vortex into the glory days of the Old West."

An appreciate audience, T'Beth bubbled over with fresh excitement. "There really is such a place? Like going back in time? With horses and everything?"

"Yup," McCoy said gleefully.

Spock recovered sufficiently to put down his fork and say, "No. It is out of the question."

T'Beth turned to him, stricken. "But why not?"

"Yeah," demanded McCoy, "tell us why."

Spock could think of a dozen objections to the popular Vantage Park experiences with their obscuring of personal identity and surrender of control. But he knew that such arguments would not likely sway his daughter or Doctor McCoy. Finally he said, "She is too young."

"She is not," McCoy shot back. "The ads say 13 to 113."

"And I'm 13 now, remember?" T'Beth interjected. She faced Spock with tears in her eyes, hands clasped in supplication. "Oh please, Father, can't we go? There's nothing like it on Vulcan."

"With good reason."

"But it sounds like such fun!"

Spock gazed at her, outwardly poised but inwardly torn. He often wondered if he had made the right choice in taking such a spirited child to live on Vulcan. There was no tolerance in that rigid culture for the kinds of amusement she craved. Sometimes she must find life there very dull.

"C'mon," wheedled McCoy, "cut the kid a little slack. Nothing's going to happen to her. Thousands of people go through the vortex every day. Let her have some fun for once."

Spock detected a scheming glint in McCoy's eyes, but he was not without a scheme or two of his own. Such enthusiasm as the doctor's should be put to good use. "You may have a point," he said grudgingly, "however…"

"However, nothing!" McCoy snapped. "This is a chance of a lifetime."

Spock let his expression soften a bit as he turned back to T'Beth. The child looked at him in an agony of pleading. Gently he told her, "I will not go into the vortex…but since McCoy feels so strongly about it, perhaps the good doctor would like to come along with us and accompany you on the adventure."

ooooo

Predictably, McCoy had agreed, which made him something of a hero in T'Beth's young eyes. But the more the doctor read about Vantage parks, the lower his spirits sank. The vortex process bore an uncomfortable resemblance to transporting, only instead of arriving at a predetermined location, the traveler dropped into some no man's land with a hazy sense of identity. It had seemed like such a great idea when he was planning it for T'Beth and Spock.

Damn tricky Vulcan, McCoy fumed, sat there eating my food, figuring out new ways to make my life miserable. If he thinks for one instant that he'll actually get away with this…

Sweet visions of revenge began to form in McCoy's mind…maybe a good practical joke? Inspiration struck and his lips curved into a calculating smile. If he had to go scramble his atoms, at least he wouldn't be the only one suffering. No, siree. There was one thing absolutely guaranteed to irritate the hell out of Spock…and McCoy knew just where to find her.

ooooo

Blazing sun reflected off the pavement, searing the three pedestrians moving past rows of skimmers and ground cars in the VantageWest parking lot. McCoy looked enviously at T'Beth in her breezy shorts and sandals. The closed shoes and long pants he wore trapped the heat. His bare forearms felt prickly and burnt. Sweating, he glanced at Spock. The black-clad captain looked like an old west outlaw, as cool as a Vulcan cucumber in the triple digit temperature.

McCoy scowled. "Nice weather, eh, Spock? Just the way you like it—hotter than hell."

"The upper Sacramento Valley of California is noted for warm summers," Spock said serenely.

With wicked pleasure McCoy thought, in just a minute, my friend, you'll find things a bit less comfortable than you'd anticipated. And sure enough, as they neared the broad entrance pavilion, a young woman left the shade and came toward them, her lacy white sundress swaying, her blonde hair smoothed back into a French braid.

McCoy felt like kissing her. "Laurie!" he called out, happily waving his arm. "Glad you could make it!"

Spock came to a halt. Thoroughly enjoying the moment, McCoy watched infinitesimal flickers of expression cross the Vulcan's face as he stared at his approaching nemesis. Openly gloating, McCoy said, "Spock, I hope you don't mind that I invited her. Laurie can keep you company while T'Beth and I are enjoying ourselves in the vortex."

To his credit, Spock managed to regain his composure and offer Doctor Fielding a polite nod. "That is quite all right. Any guest of yours is certainly welcome."

Lauren smiled. "Captain. T'Beth. A beautiful day, isn't it?"

Grabbing her father by the arm, T'Beth tugged him onward through the heat waves. "Come on, we're wasting time! Let's go have some fun!"

The girl's level of excitement mounted as they passed through the amusement park gates and found themselves in a replica of a booming western town, complete with costumed inhabitants engaged in all sorts of frontier activities. There was a crack of gunfire in the near distance. Shouting men rode by on horseback. Buckboard wagons churned clouds of dust into the air as they jolted along the dirt streets.

Keeping to the wooden sidewalks, McCoy and his group came to a row of saddle horses tied outside a noisy saloon. T'Beth broke away and began caressing the patient animals, her face aglow. McCoy fought down a nervous flutter in his stomach. "Hell, we'd better get this kid started before she hyperventilates."

Spock looked up from the data on his wrist phone and studied the weather-beaten structure before them. "According to my information, there are several vortices located throughout the complex. This establishment contains one of them."

"The Snake Pit?" Lauren wrinkled her nose at the building's gaudy sign. "Well, why not?" With a feigned shudder, she pushed through the swinging saloon doors, T'Beth right on her heels.

Spock cocked an eyebrow and started after them.

Dragging his feet, McCoy followed. "Once more," he muttered, "into the breach…"

Spock turned his head. "Shakespeare, Henry the Fifth."

"Shaddup, you."

The cool interior of the saloon was a welcome relief from the inferno outdoors. McCoy relaxed a little as he looked around. In one corner a costumed piano player banged out a lively tune from the past, but the place smelled suspiciously like cheeseburgers. Most of the rustic tables were occupied by humanoids enjoying refreshments delivered to them by outrageously clad women. Saloon girls, he decided with an interested stare, and not bad-looking, either. In fact a couple of them were downright—

"Doctor McCoy."

Spock's measured tones broke into McCoy's study of the period. He joined the others at the polished bar where a cold drink awaited him. He took comfort in noting that Spock had seated himself as far from Lauren as courtesy would allow.

"I have made the arrangements," Spock said. He handed T'Beth and McCoy each a token patterned after old west coinage. "When you are ready, present yourselves to the attendant at the end of the bar. The vortex lies just beyond that curtain." His lean finger indicated a fall of scarlet material that looked like stage draperies.

T'Beth hopped off her barstool. "I'm ready!"

McCoy was sure that he was not. "Let me finish my drink," he stalled. But he needed something considerably stronger than fruit soda. T'Beth stared at him, shifting impatiently from foot to foot as he sipped away. Spock's dark eyes watched him just as closely, a maddening hint of amusement in their depths.

"Could it be," Spock said at last, "that you are experiencing second thoughts?"

For answer McCoy swigged down the last of his soda, and clasping the token in his unsteady hand, got off the barstool. T'Beth let out a yelp and darted ahead with an enthusiasm that soured McCoy's stomach. Leaning toward Lauren he whispered, "Quick, who's the patron saint of rotten ideas?"

She smiled at him sweetly. "I think his name is Leonard."

Shaking his head, McCoy headed for whatever lay behind the infernal curtain.

ooooo

Lauren watched Doctor McCoy follow T'Beth into the vortex and sighed. "Poor guy. I hope he doesn't have too rough a time in there."

Spock quietly relocated to the barstool next to her, so near that she could feel the Vulcan heat radiating from his body. It was a very agreeable sensation, despite the summery weather.

Looking at her, he said, "I'm glad you are here."

Lauren's heart beat faster. She did not know what to make of this man and his sudden shifts of mood. Oh yes—no matter what anyone said about Vulcans, this one had moods, at least when it came to her. This past year he had led her on a strange roller coaster of emotion—from cool and proper captain to moments of tautly restrained passion. Though he was starting to drive her crazy, she found herself increasingly powerless to turn away from him.

Now she managed to say, "It was hard keeping a straight face around McCoy. He thinks he's done something terribly clever, inflicting me on you."

Spock's eyes smiled. "I see no reason to disillusion him."

She wondered how he would look smiling with his entire face, what it would take to draw such a response from him. It was almost a relief when he suggested they go explore other areas of the amusement park. Outside and moving, Laurens worked at distracting herself, but that was not easy with him walking right beside her, sometimes so close that their arms brushed.

The day turned rather humid. Up in the sky puffy clouds hinted at the possibility of an afternoon thundershower. Lauren took a long drink at a water fountain and sank onto a shady bench. "Whew," she said, fanning herself, "it must be 110!"

Spock looked down at her with concern. "I should have realized your discomfort. Is there someplace cooler you would rather go? T'Beth and McCoy will not be back for hours."

It was such a kind thing to say, so unlike the cold way her had once treated her. Lauren did not like remembering those difficult days in the past. She would rather think about today, this moment, with the sunlight glinting off his dark hair while he gave her his full, solicitous attention. "Somewhere cool," she mused, "away from the heat and dust and crowds." One of her favorite haunts came to mind, and she smiled thinking of Spock there with her. "Tell me, do Vulcans like the seashore?"

His slanted eyebrow edged upward. "My skimmer is at your service."

"Great!" Though she had taken him by surprise, Lauren could see that this particular Vulcan fully approved her idea. Already feeling better, she stood up. "As T'Beth would say, let's go have some fun."

ooooo

Meanwhile, beyond the vortex…

Beth was thinking only of a cool drink as she rode her buckskin horse down Sawback Ridge toward the creek. Excited at the smell of water, Duke tossed his head, snorting and dancing until the girl reined in, making him step easy along the dried banks of the creek. They reached water and she jumped down to fill her canteen from a reed-choked pool. Duke drank as Beth splashed her face and neck. The water felt cold against the fierce summer sun.

Suddenly Duke lifted his head, ears cocked upstream. He gave a nicker so deep in his throat that Beth broke out in gooseflesh. Easing up beside the horse, she slid her carbine from the saddle scabbard. The Winchester's solid weight reassured her as she crept toward the tangled growth.

"Who's there?" she called.

All around, the insects fell silent. A hot breeze stirred the reeds where they jutted from the gently flowing stream. Duke nickered again and danced away from the water. For a moment Beth considered following him—then low but clear came the sound of stifled coughing. Swinging the gun to her shoulder, she took aim and said, "Alright, mister! Come on out—real easy!"

The blood pounded in her ears as she stood staring down the barrel, her cheek pressed against the stock. Sweat trickled from under her hat, into her damp collar. "This shoots straight!" she warned.

There was a slight rustling among the reeds, then a pair of mud-smeared hands edged into sight. "Don't shoot,' the man said. "I'm not going to hurt you."

His dark hat appeared over the cattails, then his face, streaked red with blood, frightened. Gradually he rose up his full height, waist-deep in the reeds. The creek had spoiled his fancy black suit and brocade vest.

"You alone?" she asked.

He nodded, arms drooping a bit.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "How come you to be hidin' out in our creek, mister? You some kind of desperado?"

"Desper…des…" He frowned, pressing a hand to his forehead as if pained. Blood oozed from a sizeable lump above his left eye.

Beth lowered the carbine. This fellow didn't look so dangerous, not like the sly-faced fugitives on the wanted posters in town. She ventured a few steps closer. Judging by the pallor of his skin, he had not been long in the sun. White as a fish belly and his hands looked baby soft. They made Beth's palms feel gritty and calloused. "You must be city folk," she said, keeping hold of the Winchester. "A gambler, maybe."

"Why don't you put that gun down," he drawled. "I'm not even armed."

"How do I know that?" she snapped. "You a Texan?"

He shook his head and winced. "I'm from…Georgia. I think."

"I think you're a cheatin' gambler. Bought into the wrong game an' got yourself walloped good, dumped in the hills. Well, serves you right." He was trembling like a regular coward. "Come on outa there!" Instead, he dropped as if going for a gun. Beth squeezed off a shot meant to singe the cattails, but in the deathly silence that followed, the girl feared she had hit him after all.

Beth waded in and found the man lying in a muddy swirl of water. Gingerly she looked for a bullet hole. "Well, I'll be," she murmured in relief. Her shot hadn't touched him. He was passed out cold. But now what? Whoever he was, she couldn't rightly leave him here for the buzzards…"