Bundled in a coat, Spock stood at the edge of the Pacific Ocean, but his eyes were not on the restless water. They were on Lauren Fielding as she flipped off her sandals and dropped her purse into the sand.

"I bet you've never done this in your life!" she said. Hiking up her skirt, she ran barefoot toward the waves. Foam rushed around her ankles. She laughed and hopped about in the surf, her cheeks flushed, stray curls of hair tossed by the cool salt breeze. "This is wonderful!" she called over the sound of the breakers.

Wonderful indeed, thought Spock. Here was a side of her that he had never seen before—as spontaneous and carefree as a child. Captivated by the sight, he could not help smiling—faintly, discreetly, and they were alone on this secluded stretch of beach.

Lauren put her hands on her hips and faced him. "Captain, are you just going to stand there? Take off your shoes. Get some sand between your toes. Come on."

The invitation took him aback. Then surprising even himself, he reached down and slipped off his shoes and socks. The sand felt cold and moist under his feet as he moved a few tentative steps nearer to Lauren and the foamy surf. It was not, as she had accused, his first time doing this, but it had been many, many years since he left his footprints on a beach. Perhaps too many. Only the delight in Lauren's eyes kept him from feeling ridiculous. Then her expression changed. Gradually it grew so warm and inviting that he could not help but respond.

"Captain…" she began and went silent.

"Spock," he said. "Please…call me Spock. We are not in uniform. We are not even in shoes."

She smiled at that. Tipping back her head, she gazed up at the gulls wheeling in the sky. Behind her an unusually large swell gathered force and rushed for shore.

"Watch out!" Spock shouted. He started toward her, but there was no time. The wave knocked Lauren to her knees and dissipated in a wash of spume that swirled over Spock's feet.

Lending her a hand, he asked, "Are you alright?"

"Just a little wet." Half-soaked was more accurate, but she got up laughing and wrung the seawater from the bottom of her dress. "I love the ocean. Always an adventure."

Spock moved with her away from the surf. "You speak as if you come here often."

"I practically grew up here. Well, not in this particular spot, but I spent a lot of summers with my grandparents down the coast near Carmel." She squinted southward along the shore where breakers pounded against stone outcroppings. "They ended up willing the place to my brother and I. The old Stemple beach house is ours now."

Spock gazed at her curiously. "Your grandparents' surname was S-t-e-m-p-l-e?"

She turned to him. "Yes, that's the spelling. Joe and Phyllis Stemple. Why?"

From long habit Spock hesitated before revealing information of a personal nature. "It…so happens that I also have Earth ancestors by that name."

"Really!" She seemed intrigued by the coincidence. "Were any of them Jewish?"

Spock's eyebrows climbed steeply. "In fact, they were."

"Well, isn't that something," Lauren said, and Spock found himself nodding.

ooooo

The sun blazed down fiercely as Beth grasped the stranger by his limp shoulders and shook him. His eyelids cracked open and widened a little when she splashed cool water on his face, washing away the dirt and blood. Duke was not much help as Beth helped him onto the saddle, and the big horse clearly resented her climbing up as well. But eventually the three of them were heading back up the ridge toward Chimney cabin.

The ride was mercifully short. At the cabin Beth slid off Duke and eased the southerner down beside her. Despite his wobbly legs they made it inside, where he flopped onto the dusty bunk and gazed at her with troubled blue eyes.

"Well," she declared, "now that I've rescued your tender hide, s'pose you least give me your name."

He sighed, rubbing a smooth hand over his face. "Coy. My name is Leonard Coy."

"Ain't never heard of any Coys."

"I ain't—I told you I'm not from around here," he said in an uncertain voice. "At least, I don't think so." His eyes roamed over the rough-cut boards of the cabin, then squeezed shut.

"You in pain?" Beth asked.

Another sigh. "Yes, my head hurts like hell, but I'll live."

"I can fetch a doctor. There's one in town, half a day's ride."

He looked at her with a bewildered expression. "I…I'm not sure, but I think I am a doctor."

"You think!" With a disbelieving snort, Beth pulled off her hat and began swatting cobwebs from the shelves. "Well, Doc, nothing much here to eat but a couple tins of beans. Pa's bringing up supplies." She turned around and caught him staring at her dark hair braid. His gaze shifted to her face.

"How old are you?" he asked in a gentle voice.

Beth tossed the braid back over her shoulder where it belonged. "Old enough. An' don't you go gettin' any notions, mister. My Pa's a far sight stronger than you, an' mean as sin."

His eyebrows raised up and he broke into an odd little smile. "I'll try to mind my manners, miss. But I suppose you have a name, too?"

"Beth. Beth Grayson."

She turned away and rummaged through a box of old clothing until she found a shirt and trousers that might fit him, along with a pair of socks. "These ain't too pretty," she said, tossing them his way, "but at least they're dry. Unless you have some kind of objection to honest work clothes."

Coy held up the faded plaid shirt and denim, a peculiar far-away look on his round face. "I think these will do fine, Beth. Thank you."

The girl tactfully wandered outside. There was a dampness in the air, and a long line of thunderclouds building above the mountains. Better be rain. With so many creeks drying up, the cattle were getting mighty restless. She loosened the cinch on Duke's saddle and staked him out in the shade of an oak tree beside the porch. Then she brought the Winchester and her canteen into the cabin.

Coy was dressed, sitting hunched over on the bunk, holding his head. He did not seem to notice as she hid the gun behind the stove. He looked to be in such pain that Beth reached into the spidery depths of the cupboard for Pa's emergency store. The bottle had accumulated quite a layer of dust. Wiping the bottle on her pant leg, she said, "Age has a beneficial effect on whiskey."

Coy lifted his head. "Whiskey, you say?"

She handed it over. He uncorked the bottle, sniffed, and took a swallow. "You ain't really no doctor," she said. "Are you?"

He stared at her a second before taking another swallow. Returning the bottle, he stretched out on the bunk as if any sudden move might shatter him. Beth edged nearer. In the pale light he looked gray and weary and not much of a threat at all. "Maybe you ain't no gambler, either. How come you to be on Grayson land in such a condition?"

His fingertips found the dark scab forming along his brow. He winced. "There were loose stones in that shelf above the creek. I…lost my footing and fell."

"Well, that might be true enough," she said, "but it still don't really answer my question. Does it, mister?"

Coy looked at her with those eyes blue as the summer sky. "Girl, this is God's own truth. I don't really know how I got here…" his voice trailed away to a whisper, "and I can't think of how to get back."

The cabin dimmed as a cloud slid across the sun. There was a distant rumble of thunder.

"That don't make no sense," Beth said, fighting down an odd shiver. She hugged her arms tightly across her lean body and suddenly wished she were not alone with this strange man.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," he said.

"I ain't scared," she protested.

Coy looked at her stubbornly set jaw, at her odd ears and angular features, and his eyes filled with tears. "You remind me very much of…of some other girl…but I can't seem to remember—" His voice choked off.

As he lay struggling with his emotions, Beth couldn't help but feel sorry for him again. "Hey mister," she said in a gentle voice, "now don't go frettin' yourself. Everything's gonna be alright."

ooooo

Mellow afternoon sunlight glinted upon the ocean surface. The relentless tide action sent each wave rushing higher onto the beach. Lauren's dress had dried and now she was searching for shells and other small specimens of marine life while Spock sat watching. Soon they must board the skimmer, but he resisted the thought of leaving. These pleasant hours with Doctor Fielding had passed much too quickly.

As if sensing his thoughts, Lauren stopped what she was doing to glance at her wrist chronometer. "Almost time to go!" she called.

He stood up and brushed the sand from his clothes. Lauren came over to get her sandals and noticed that his shoes were already in place. "Cold feet?" she asked.

Spock considered the phrase with its diverse meanings and chose to respond to its literal interpretation. "Yes, they were going numb."

Lauren looked distressed. "Oh no. You've probably been half frozen all this time."

"To the contrary," Spock reassured her. "I have found the afternoon most agreeable."

Her blue eyes shone. "Really, Captain?"

"Really, Lauren." Spock spoke with gentle irony. "Aside from your unfortunate habit of clinging to military forms of address."

She glanced down at the sand shyly. Her cheeks, already made pink by the sea breeze, deepened in color. The sound of the waves retreated, the sun paled before the sudden depth of feeling she invoked in him.

Reality intruded in a rude blast of contemporary music. Turning, Spock saw four boisterous youths coming down to the beach. A small sigh escaped him.

Lauren picked up her purse. Softly she said, "Spock…we'd better move along. It's getting late."

He nodded without looking at her. Finally she had spoken his name, but a stirring of disquiet tarnished any pleasure at the development. Would he ever move beyond the past and its painful relationships? Could he ever give himself fully to this woman—to any woman?

The trip back to VantageWest passed in near silence. Rumbles of thunder greeted them as Spock parked the skimmer. As yet there were no strikes directly overhead and they reached the Snake Pit without being caught in any of the rain showers visible in other parts of the valley. A sign glowed in the saloon window: Sorry, no travel tokens will be accepted at this time.

Inside, the piano player performed for a weary-looking group of male Andorians. The rest of the place was empty of tourists. With Lauren as his side, Spock went straight to the bar and addressed the idle attendant. "Is there some difficulty with the vortex?"

The young costumed human eyed him curiously. "No sir, we're just shutting down for regularly scheduled maintenance. Everyone will be coming through shortly. Would you two like something to drink while you're waiting?"

Not quite satisfied with the employee's report, Spock shook his head and went to a table. Lauren ordered some orange juice and joined him. Moments later, four blue-skinned travelers emerged from the vortex and were met by their companions. Talking excitedly in their native language, they swept out of the saloon together. The man at the piano stood up, stretched, and ambled to the bar where he struck up a conversation with the attendant. Several more minutes went by.

Spock found Lauren's eyes on him. "They're late," she said, "at least according to my chrono. But maybe it got damaged by the wave."

"No, it's correct." There was nothing wrong with Spock's inner time sense. "T'Beth and Doctor McCoy are seven-point-four minutes past their scheduled return."

"I'm a little worried," admitted Lauren.

Spock could not bring himself to say there was no reason for worry. He, too, was troubled by the delay in a supposedly "safe and fun entertainment breakthrough". How much did he actually know about the vortex process? Due to patent laws, its most sensitive workings were a closely guarded trade secret. He had abandoned his daughter and his friend to the good judgment of the Federation Safety Commission—in other words, to a dark unknown.

He waited another fifteen minutes before approaching the bar with his concerns. The attendant offered more of the gentle reassurances that no doubt had been drilled into him at some employee training session, then presented Spock with conciliatory coupons for free refreshments compliments of the Vantage Corporation.

Spock felt as if his intelligence were being insulted. Unfortunately he had no authority outside of Starfleet. Barely containing his annoyance, he said, "Very well, young man, I will continue to wait—but not indefinitely. When I come back, I will expect to consult with your supervisor."

The attendant did not seem at all impressed.

ooooo

There were beans for supper, served cold on dented tin plates. Perched beside Beth on the bunk, Coy picked at the food before setting his plate on the gritty floorboards. "Sorry, guess I'm not hungry."

"You must be feeling poorly," Beth said, passing along her canteen.

McCoy hesitated before swallowing the creek water. Heaven only knew what microbes it contained. And then he thought, Now why in hell am I worrying about that? I've probably been doing fine on this kind of water up until now. But why couldn't he remember? As he lay back, his emotions surged dangerously near the surface again. Like a desperate litany he told himself, calm down…the confusion won't last…it's only from my injury…in a little while everything will come clear…The words rattled around inside him, as if he were an empty shell of a man.

Beth rose and began clearing away supper. Another thunderclap rumbled outside, nearer this time. With the storm moving in, the temperature had dropped considerably. A faint, distant smell of rain blew through the open doorway.

Briefly Coy wondered about the hour. Between the storm clouds and the fading daylight, he could scarcely see the pine knots on the cabin walls. The stubborn ache in his head made him want to close his eyes and sleep away this whole bad dream.

Finishing up, Beth pulled a dusty container from the shelf. "Here's some tobacco—stale, I'll grant you, but better than nothin'. There's a pipe here, too."

Coy shook his head a bit too forcefully. The stab of pain took his breath. "No! Most certainly not." He wondered what she was doing with an illegal substance.

Beth shrugged. Prying off the lid, she began tamping brown tobacco flakes into a round-bowled pipe.

"I said I don't want any," Coy repeated.

"An' I heard you," she declared, striking a match against the wall. Like an expert she balanced the pipe in her mouth, drawing the flame to the tobacco until it caught. She casually exhaled a fragrant cloud.

Stunned, Coy rose to his feet. He watched her take in another lungful of smoke and could restrain himself no longer. Striding over, he snatched the pipe from her astonished lips and shouted, "What do you think you're doing!"

Her eyes hard on him, she backed toward the stove. "Mister," she said in a cool and steady voice, "s'pose you pass that back, right now, an' go lie down for a spell."

"But don't you realize—" Coy glanced down at the pipe, still hot in his grip, and his mind recoiled with confusion. Horses…rustic cabins…a rifle-toting, tobacco-smoking girl. He sensed that it should all mean something to him, but it didn't. He felt like he should know this girl, yet she was a stranger. "I…I'm sorry," he said. "Maybe I had no right—but you're so young—and this stuff's not even legal."

"Not legal! Then why's it sittin' in every store? Mister, your brains is scrambled."

Reluctantly Coy handed over the pipe. He went to the doorway and gazed out at the storm so he would not see her smoking. Jagged forks of lightning streaked across the darkening sky, ending in rumbles that vibrated through his boots. He could remember being frightened by such storms as a small boy, but the fear he felt now had nothing to do with thunder. With an effort he asked, "This is Earth, isn't it?"

There was uneasy laughter behind him. "You jokin', mister?"

He turned, suddenly determined to know all the facts, however painful. "I'm dead serious, Beth. Where are we? What year is it?"

Her smile faded. Pulling the pipe from her lips, she said, "All right. This is California, July of 1875."

Coy sagged against the doorframe. A sizzling flash rent the air and a boom rocked the cabin. Duke's scream of fright sent Beth racing outside. Numbly Coy moved along the porch, his hair whipped by a dusty gale. Beth had the horse by its bridle, trying to calm him, but Duke's eyes were white-rimmed with terror.

"Get the canteen!" she yelled over the tempest. "An' the Winchester—it's behind the stove!"

Coy gaped at her in disbelief. Was she going to ride in this weather? Then he heard brush crackling and caught an acrid scent driven along the wind.

Beth screamed "Fire!" and he whirled to face a solid wall of flame. For an instant Coy's heart stopped altogether. Then he was running. Canteen and Winchester in hand, he leapt off the porch and scrambled onto the panicky horse, behind Beth. Fiery heat reached for them as Duke wheeled and bucked wildly, resisting the bit tugging at his mouth. A gust of wind brought cinders to his flank, and he bolted.

ooooo

Spock's rigid formality betrayed the depths of his irritation as he conversed with the Snake Pit supervisor. Then the costumed woman walked away and Lauren watched Spock cut across the empty saloon to their table.

In a tight voice he reported, "She claims that such delays are not uncommon during electric storms." Taking a seat, he steepled his lean fingers on the rustic tabletop. "It seems that VantageWest advertising does mention sensitivity to atmospheric conditions—in very fine print." As an afterthought, he quietly said, "I should never have allowed T'Beth to go."

"You couldn't have known this would happen," Lauren protested and was quick to add, "not that anything really has happened, apart from their being a little late."

"One hour and twenty-seven minutes late."

It somehow seemed worse, spoken in such a blunt, precise manner. This was starting to feel like a nightmare to Lauren. Spock's unusual display of self-recrimination showed how deeply he was frustrated—and alarmed. Realizing the uselessness of offering more empty reassurance, she pulled a pamphlet out of her purse. Its contents had been making bothering her ever since the delay.

Handing it to Spock, she said, "Do you know there are people who won't go through the vortex for religious reasons? Someone was passing these out in the parking lot."

He read aloud from the paper. "The vortex experience goes beyond even traditional role-playing to obscure one's self-identity and moral standards…"

"I've heard you raise those same objections today. There are some interesting firsthand accounts."

Quickly scanning the pamphlet, Spock rose. "I'm taking this to the park office. Will you wait here?"

"Of course," she answered. "They might come through any time."

Then the saloon doors swung closed behind Spock, and she was alone with her worries.

ooooo

Coy hugged Beth's slim waist as he struggled to hold his precarious balance atop the galloping horse. Up ahead, the sun-dried grass burst into flame. Duke reared and slashed the smoky air with his hooves, then plunged down a slope, slapping the rider's faces into tree foliage.

"Hang on!" shouted Beth.

Coy saw a gap coming up fast and clung tight, but Duke's clumsy leap unseated him. He landed in the dirt with a force that took his wind. Dazed, he watched bushes flare up around him like torches. Duke plunged back into sight, whinnying frantically as Beth whipped him toward the blaze.

She thrust an arm down to Coy. "Get up here! Hurry!"

Flames licking at his backside, Coy scuttled up behind the girl, and Duke took off running. With a fierce lash of reins Beth urged the horse down a narrow deer trail. Coy's head dropped, his cheek pressed to the girl's dark hair. Smoke choked the sky like an evil blanket. No flashes now to light their way—only the angry rumble of thunder somewhere above. Hot ash drifted down in a hellish rain.

Coy felt the girl coughing and pressed his mouth to her shoulder, fighting for breath. Suddenly she reined up. He straightened in the saddle and found their path blocked by a sheet of roaring fire. Duke whirled in a tight circle, snorting with terror.

"We're trapped!" Beth cried desperately.

ooooo

In a lonely corner of the Snake Pit, Lauren huddled over a cup of coffee. She sincerely wished Spock were not off prowling through the complex. She considered phoning him and changed her mind. Taking a sip, she swallowed pensively, her eyes alternating between the saloon doors and the curtain behind the bar.

Stormy flashes lit the summer dusk outside. With a shiver, Lauren glanced out the windows at the menacing cloud cover. Thunder rumbled nearby. The saloon lamps flickered. This really was looking more and more like a nightmare, but she wouldn't be any help to Spock if she started falling apart. What an incredible notion that still seemed: helping the captain. Yet this man she was coming to know not only accepted her help now, but actually seemed pleased by it in his own quiet Vulcan manner.

An explosive thunderclap rattled the rickety-looking window frames. Lauren gave a start and was relieved to see Spock enter the saloon. She stood up, anxious for news. "Did you find out anything?"

"Nothing," Spock said, making little attempt to hide his exasperation. "I was told that the pamphlet is not accurate, that the vortex provides a 'safe, entertaining experience.'" Dropping her pamphlet on the table, he went to stand at a window, hands tightly clasped behind his back.

Lauren tasted her now lukewarm coffee, made a face, and tossed the flimsy cup into a disposal bin shaped like a spittoon. After a stretch, she joined Spock and they watched hailstones ricochet over the dusty western street.

ooooo

Both ends of the trail were lost in flames, with the main blaze swooping toward them from the hill above. Their only escape lay through a tangle of brush and young oaks. A person might make it, but not a horse. Coy jumped down and grabbed Beth from the saddle. "Come on!" he yelled, pulling her along. "This way!"

With astonishing strength she wrenched free, making a grab for Duke's reins, but the horse reared and backed away.

"Leave him!" Coy hollered. "Leave him or we'll all burn!" He caught hold of her left arm. She spun around and punched him but he held tight, dragging her from the panic-stricken animal into a manzanita thicket. A hard fist landed across his mouth. Tasting blood, he tried to seize the offending arm. She countered with a kick to his shinbone. Half-blinded with pain, he gave her a shake and yelled in her face, "We have to save ourselves!" Tears welled in her eyes and his voice softened. "Beth, we have to…"

She nodded. He took her by the hand and forced a path for them. Sharp branches tore at his clothes and scratched his exposed skin. Near the bottom of the slope he stumbled into a small clearing. Not far below, there was a meandering line of cattails and willows.

"The creek!" said Beth.

The next gust of wind brought flames leaping through the brush. Beth set off down the hill and Coy followed. A minute later they were cooling themselves in creek water, watching fire lick into the parched grass near the edge.

"I'd feel safer if this stream was wider," Coy said, "but we might just be alright."

Beth sank down in the pool and by the fire's eerie glow her smudged face looked desolate. Coy suspected that she was no stranger to wildfires—or loss. His voice husky from smoke, he said, "I'm sorry about your horse. But who knows, maybe he got out of there somehow."

"Maybe." Her dark eyes met his, full of solemn gratitude. "You likely saved my life, Coy."

A little embarrassed, he looked aside and hunkered lower in the water. "Well, you did me a few favors, too."

Thunder jarred the earth. A sudden load of hailstones pelted down, then mingled with sooty raindrops, becoming a downpour that sent plumes of smoke from the dying flames on the hillside.

"It's over," Beth said.

As Coy gazed at the vanquished brushfire, his relief was tempered by a nagging sense of disquiet far more troubling than his stubborn headache. Who was he, really? Where did he belong? A lightheaded feeling began to creep over him. There was a dizzy sensation of slippage, of the creek bed giving way. Startled, he cried out to Beth—and in that terrible, wonderful instant he knew this girl—and himself.

Floundering, McCoy thrust his hand toward Spock's daughter, but a dark whirl of motion seized him. Somehow he landed on his feet. Lights came on, revealing a small chamber enclosed on one end by scarlet drapes. Dressed in shorts, T'Beth stood safe beside him.

"Welcome back, pardners!" boomed a recording. "Just head on through the curtain for more rip-roarin' fun at VantageWest, your doorway to adventure!"

Catching hold of T'Beth's hand, McCoy numbly shoved aside the drapery and walked into the deathly still saloon. For one awful moment he thought he had entered another VantageWest nightmare. Then he spied two figures standing by the windows. With a cry T'Beth broke free and ran to her father. She threw her arms around him and held on as if she would never let him go, and for once Spock did not look embarrassed.

Lauren came over and welcomed McCoy with a swift, kindly embrace. "Something went wrong," she said. "It had to do with the storm. You alright?"

"Yeah. I think so." His fingers wandered over his forehead. The pain was gone, the skin smooth and uninjured. Not quite believing the evidence, he glanced down at himself. Twenty-third century street clothes, clean and dry. It was as if he had never stepped into the vortex. "This place should be shut down and investigated," he griped, heading for the door. He heard the others following him into the rain-fresh summer evening. Stopping on the boardwalk, he gazed upward and inhaled the cool, clear air. The storm had moved along, leaving patches of velvety sky bright with stars.

"Doctor." Spock moved in beside him and said dryly, "Was it not entertaining?"

The anger brewing in McCoy flared to the surface. "I bet you'd like to know, wouldn't you? Well then, maybe you should've gone with T'Beth and learned firsthand." He poked Spock's chest with an index finger. "Dammit, you are her father."

Lightning flashed in a distant bank of clouds. Holding Spock's eyes, McCoy waited for a rumble that never came. Sensing the tension of their companions, he backed off.

Lauren spoke, no doubt trying to smooth things over. "T'Beth…were there horses?"

T'Beth took her father's hand and gazed teary-eyed at the street. Her voice quavered. "There was a horse, alright…and a brushfire."

"A fire?" Lauren turned from the stricken girl to Spock. "That doesn't sound very safe…or entertaining."

McCoy snorted. "Wait until you hear."

"Yes," Spock said, "I expect a thorough report of what transpired. As you may recall, Doctor, I was opposed to the idea from the beginning."

McCoy could have punched the Vulcan. "Later for the debriefing, Captain sir. I'm hungry enough to eat a snarth."

T'Beth wiped her eyes. "Please don't. If it was anyone's fault, it was mine. I wouldn't take no for an answer. I wouldn't listen. Doctor McCoy, if you never talk to me again, I'll understand."

McCoy shook his head in amazement. "Darlin', I'm not mad at you."

"You're mad at my father."

McCoy barely kept from rolling his eyes heavenward. "Okay, okay. It's been one heck of a long day. Why don't we just cut our losses and find a restaurant?"

"An excellent suggestion," Spock said under his breath.

"See?" McCoy favored the Vulcan with a broad, toothy grin. "Your father and I are in perfect agreement. Why, the next thing you know, he'll want to jump right through that vortex and get his ass burned, too."

Spock gave him a stony look.

"Dinner sounds great," Lauren chimed in, "and it's free." She waved a fistful of meal coupons between the feuding men. "Plenty of restaurants right here in the park. What will it be? Chinese? Offworld? Pioneer favorites?"

"Offworld," Spock said immediately.

T'Beth made a face but offered no other objection.

Lauren nudged McCoy. Without saying a word, her eyes managed to make him feel downright ashamed. After all, he had used her to get under Spock's skin. Her day with the Vulcan couldn't have been any picnic, either.

"Well?" she prompted.

With a shrug he said, "Anything." But he could not resist one last grumble. "Anything but cold beans and barbecue."