It was an unpleasant task, but one that had to be done. Spock needed to speak with his daughter, and as there were some minor matters demanding his attention aboard ship, it seemed only logical to bring T'Beth on board and tend to her at the same time. After all, she had never seen the Enterprise A—not that he expected even a Constitution-class starship to sweeten the teenager's mood after what had happened at Yosemite.

As he met her in Spacedock, her face was just as cold and sullen as the stormy night he returned her to Aunt Doris after the campout, the night she learned of his impending marriage to Doctor Fielding. Had it already been two days? T'Beth ignored his greeting and they rode the shuttle in silence. Once aboard the Enterprise, he made an attempt to show her a few points of interest, but she responded with complete indifference.

Spock cut the tour short. Taking T'Beth into his quarters, he stood near the door watching her meander, expressionless, through the first officer's cabin. At sixteen she was becoming a young woman. Now, more than ever, they should have been able to communicate. Yet the silence in the room was deeper than that between two strangers.

Stopping at his desk, she turned and looked at him for the first time. "You used to keep the holo of Mother right here next to your computer terminal."

Her words took Spock by surprise. This was one of the very reasons he had brought her aboard—to discuss, at long last, the matter of Adrianna's race and what T'Beth may have inherited from her. He said, "Yes, I remember. It was destroyed when the old Enterprise crashed."

Her hazel eyes studied him. "I can have another copy made for you."

"If you wish," Spock answered, inwardly bracing, "but it would be inappropriate for me to display it."

"Of course. You'll want to display Lauren's picture." The sneering inflection clearly showed her low opinion of Spock's future wife.

He clamped down on a stirring of anger. He would not let himself be provoked. Later, he could school her on the matter of proper respect, but for now there might never be a better moment to broach the delicate subject of his daughter's Sy heritage. "T'Beth," he said carefully, "we need to talk about your mother."

T'Beth's face hardened. "You mean my Sy blood."

It was not easy for him to say it. "Yes."

"I already know—remember?"

He could not very well forget the ill-mannered way she had flaunted her knowledge to him only a few days ago. "Yes. You made that abundantly clear. But I am interested in knowing exactly what it was that Doctor McCoy told you."

Her eyes flashed. "You should have been the one to tell me. But you didn't—did you?"

Spock doubted she would believe what he had to say, but he said it anyway. "It had been my intention to tell you everything when you first arrived on Earth. Unfortunately, I was called away."

"How convenient," she said with sarcasm.

Once more Spock chose to disregard her attitude. "Perhaps I should have told you sooner, but it seemed such a heavy burden to lay on a child."

Turning aside, she tucked a few strands of dark hair behind the hybrid ears that had always embarrassed her. "I've never forgotten what you once told me," she said in a voice shaky with emotion. " 'Concern yourself only with reality—accept the truth and live with it. To do anything less is to fool yourself'. What happened? Did you change your mind about that?" She swung around and looked at him, her eyes awash with angry tears. "Or don't you even remember anymore?"

"I remember," he admitted with some chagrin. "In retrospect it seems a rather harsh thing to say to a child of eleven."

"Yeah, well, you said it."

Spock moved beside his desk and considered his words with extra care. "T'Beth, I am sure Doctor McCoy did an excellent job of explaining…the possible implications of your Sy blood. However, I want to be sure of two things. First, that you realize the Sy way is no less natural than the human way or the Vulcan way—and second, that you realize how easily it can be misinterpreted by non-Sydoks. I know from painful experience. That is why…you must take care."

"You think I'm turning into one—don't you? That I'm going to be Sy-witch like Mother."

Shaking his head, he gently corrected her. "A Sy-jeera, T'Beth. Whether or not you inherit the tendency is unimportant. What matters is that you understand it…and respect it. To that end I have prepared some research that I think you'll find interesting." Taking a computer disc from his desk drawer, he held it out to her.

She gave it a derisive glance. "So that's going to take care of it—a little biology lesson. That's going to take care of everything."

"No," he said, "not everything. But it is a good beginning."

Frowning, she took the disc from his hand and slipped it into her pocket. Then moving away from him, she resumed her slow study of the cabin. Her fingertips trailed across the tops of his chess pieces, knocking the white queen on its side. She did not bother to put it back. Pausing at his sleeping alcove, she peered in and said, "I guess Doctor Fielding is a lot different from Mother."

"Yes," Spock said, "she is. And yet she also possesses an indefinable quality somehow reminiscent of Adrianna."

She turned and looked at him. "Is that why you're marrying her? Because she reminds you of my mother?"

Spock very nearly sighed. "No, T'Beth. Lauren is a unique individual."

"Then you're really going to do it, aren't you? You're really going to marry that…that—"

"Starfleet doctor," he interposed firmly. "Yes. I am."

She glared at him. "She'll never replace my mother."

"Of course not," Spock agreed, "however, you will treat Lauren with respect. I am telling you this once, and once only."

T'Beth's face twitched and she quickly turned away, her slender hand tightening on the room divider.

Spock thought it best to move on to the next subject. It had long troubled him that, due to his career, he could not provide the kind of family life T'Beth expected when she was younger. These days he no longer knew what she wanted from him. "For now," he said, "Lauren and I will keep our positions here aboard the Enterprise. If repairs proceed according to schedule, we will not ship out until the tenth of July."

"Lauren and you," T'Beth choked out, her back to him. "Lauren and you. What about you and me? Doesn't that matter anymore?"

"It matters," Spock said levelly. "However, you must realize—"

"Sure," she interrupted, "I realize, alright. The Enterprise is the important thing—and so is she."

Spock struggled to comprehend. "You have given every indication that you no longer want me in your life. Have I misread you?"

She kept her face averted.

Finally he said, "If you really want time with me, you will have your opportunity. It is Lauren's wish—and mine—that you spend the weeks preceding our wedding with us at her house on the beach."

T'Beth swung around and stared at him, open-mouthed. "Do I have to?"

Spock's eyebrow climbed. He had foolishly believed she would be pleased to visit the seaside. He had almost passed beyond the point of trying to comprehend her. "I am sorry if you find it inconvenient," he curtly replied, "but yes. You will come."

"This is my punishment, then? For the trouble at school?"

"I would hardly call a vacation at the beach 'punishment'."

"Then what is?"

That much had also been decided. "I have secured a summer position for you at Starfleet Medical Center. You begin work tomorrow."

"A job?" her voice rose. Spock could almost see her brain calculating behind that brash exterior. "How much does it pay?"

"I believe," he said dryly, "that you have volunteered."

"You're making me work? For nothing?"

"To the contrary," Spock said. "You will be putting your time to valuable use caring for the sick and injured—and learning, I would hope, that compassion and healing are far more beneficial than anger and violence."

She stood silent, her eyes simmering. "I'm not going to handle any stinking bedpans."

The look of rebellion on her face made Spock all the more determined that she would obey him. "You will do as you are told," he sternly, "and I do not expect any problems."

"So that's it?" she flared. "You've decided where I'm going to live. You've decided what I'm going to do. Doesn't it matter what I want?"

"Not in this instance," Spock said with finality. "You will come below with me now and we will get your belongings. Then we are going to Lauren's house."

He started for the door as if he had every confidence she would follow, but her feet remained stubbornly rooted to the spot. With a sinking feeling Spock realized that one of these days he might lose control of her completely—but he was not willing to accept that it might already have happened. Fixing her with a searing look of disapproval, he said, "Could it be that you did not hear me?"

This time, she followed.

oooo

T'Beth sat brooding near the top of the stairs, one arm hooked through the smooth wooden banister. The old house creaked and groaned as if it were alive, its joints protesting the damp morning cold pressing in on it. The rising of the sun had brought more fog. It would be hours before it burned off and the day grew warm enough for swimming.

Suddenly T'Beth heard Lauren and her father talking down in the kitchen. Curious, she tiptoed to the foot of the stairs and listened. They were discussing the wedding again, as if they had not already exhausted every fussy little detail. The closer it got to the actual day, the tighter T'Beth's stomach knotted. Each time her father called Lauren "aisha"—beloved—it made her want to throw up.

But this conversation was different. Edging closer to the kitchen door, she strained to hear. There was a problem about the Vulcan ceremony? T'Beth's heart beat faster as she took in the words.

She heard her father say, "The healer will not agree to perform the ritual without first touching your mind."

"Because I'm human? "Lauren asked.

"Because it is the custom," Father explained. "I have already submitted to her touch."

"But…" Lauren sounded very reluctant. "Spock, I don't know. I don't like it. After what happened with Sybok…"

"I understand why you are fearful," Father said, "but this kind of mental contact in no way resembles what Sybok did to you. You can trust T'Mira. It was her patience and skill that helped bring about my recovery." A pause, then, "The marriage ceremony will also involve T'Mira's mental participation in a deeper form. Should you decide against it, there can be no proper bonding."

"But maybe there's something else we can do. Some other way."

Firmly Father said, "The healer's wishes must be honored."

No one spoke for a while. Then Lauren broke the silence, a brittle edge to her voice. "Is that the only thing that's important to you? T'Mira's wishes? Then maybe you should marry her."

T'Beth smiled to herself. Good girl. Stand your ground. Don't give in to him.

"Aisha," Father said gently.

There it was again. With a sound of disgust, T'Beth left her listening post and headed for the front door.

"T'Beth?" Lauren called out in a changed tone.

Ignoring her, T'Beth went outside and let the door bang shut. Why did Lauren always act so darned nice toward her? Deep down Lauren probably didn't even want her around, Spock's pain in the neck daughter, always getting in the way. It made T'Beth uncomfortable staying in her house.

Hopping off the porch, she ran down to the beach and jogged along the wet sand. Seagulls keened overheard. Breakers churned and foamed almost to her feet, but she hardly saw them. Her life was falling apart. Did anyone notice? Did anyone care? Aunt Doris just kept telling her to "make the best of it", and so did Doctor McCoy. Her one and only friend Kevin was off on vacation with his parents. And as for Jim…

Coming to a stop, she gazed out at the ocean waves and hugged herself against the chill. She had been calling Jim Kirk every time she got the chance—he never returned the calls, and had sent only one brief, impersonal text message. But there had been nothing impersonal about the way he kissed her at Yosemite. The memory tore at her. Jim had said they must never kiss again, but she couldn't turn her feelings on and off like a faucet. How could he? Unless, of course, his fleeting moment of desire was only a Sy-induced reflection of her own—just like it said on the disc Father gave her…

Now she heard Spock's skimmer approaching along the beach, and right on schedule it landed beside her. Climbing aboard, she slumped into the passenger seat and triggered the door shut. When she had fastened her seat belt, they arced into the air and flew inland.

Staring out the side window she asked, "So…did you two finish your fight?"

"Eavesdropping is a bad habit to acquire," he said, obviously not in the best of moods—although he would have denied experiencing anything as human as a mood.

"How else am I supposed to find out anything?"

"You might ask," he suggested.

"Okay then," she said, "I'm asking. Who is Sybok and what did he do to Lauren?"

He stiffened.

"I remember hearing that name once before," she persisted, "when you were arguing with Sarek on Vulcan. During the big storm. The night you left for Seleya." In the silence T'Beth sighed and crossed her arms. Oh yes, he remembered alright, but he wasn't talking. "See what I mean? You only answer me if you feel like it—but woe to me if I don't answer one of your questions. It's not fair. I think that parents should—" But what was the use?

"Someday," he said unexpectedly, "I will tell you about Sybok. For now, I ask you never to mention his name to Sarek. It is…culturally forbidden."

Forbidden? But you did, T'Beth thought, staring at his stony profile. Aloud she said, "Okay. Now I have another question. Is the marriage off?"

"That question," he declared, "does not merit a response." They were halfway to the medical center before he spoke again. "I am disappointed in you, T'Beth. More than a week has passed, and it seems that you have not even made an effort to accept Lauren. And as for this practice of lurking behind closed doors—"

"You're right," she cut in. "I shouldn't have mentioned the fight. It was stupid to give myself away like that. Next time I'll be smarter."

Spock turned from the controls and looked at her. "There will be no 'next time'."

That's what you think, T'Beth's glare told him, but nothing more was said. At Starfleet Medical Center they parked and, much to her embarrassment, Spock walked her in as he did each day, personally depositing her with her supervisor. Only after he disappeared out the door did she begin to relax.

It had become one of her most closely guarded secrets. Once she had made it through the first difficult day or two she had discovered that she liked it here—that, in fact, she actually enjoyed this daily time away from the beach house, away from the tension she felt every time Father and his paramour came near her. It was ironic. What was supposed to have been punishment was turning out to be the best part of her summer. The simple duties she performed gave her a real sense of satisfaction. No one criticized her, even when she made a mistake. They just showed her how to do things the right way. And the appreciation she received from the patients made her feel good about herself.

After changing into her volunteer uniform, she began collecting breakfast trays from the east wing patients. There had been several new admissions overnight. All young, all injured, some hurt too badly to eat any solid food.

She paused at one bedside and stared into the healing glow of a burn unit. The human girl inside hardly seemed any older than herself. Much of her dark hair had been singed in whatever accident injured her, but her youthful face bore only a few marks. Dark, distinctly Asian eyes looked quietly at T'Beth.

"Hi," the girl said in a weak voice.

"Hi," T'Beth answered. "Are you okay?" A dumb thing to say, considering.

"Yeah," he girl replied. "I'm okay. At least I'm alive. Some of us weren't so lucky."

T'Beth moved closer to the field. "Do you mind if I ask…what happened?"

The almond-shaped eyes closed for a moment, then reopened with a chilling look of remembered pain. "Border Patrol. The Sy-Don Treaty Zone. The Donari attacked…no reason…no warning."

T'Beth's mind raced. Despite her Sy blood, she had never paid much attention to the politics of that region. She was only vaguely aware of an ongoing conflict between the Sydoks and Donaris. As she recalled, the Donaris were a desert-bred race—somewhat like the Vulcans, or what Vulcans had once been. Openly savage, warlike. She knew from her own family history how they had plundered and used their sister planet even after Sydok came under the protection of the Federation.

"I…have a Sy grandfather," she found herself saying. She had not thought of it in a long time. Now she wondered if he was still alive, and if she might ever meet him.

"You're part Vulcan, too," the girl said. "Aren't you?"

T'Beth nodded. "Were you on a patrol ship?"

"An SP-12 fighter—my first tour. Gunner Lelia Chan, second class."

"T'Beth," she introduced herself.

Three times during her shift she came back to Chan's bedside, and though the girl slept, T'Beth was reassured to see that her vital signs were steadily improving.

oooo

It was past noon when Lauren pushed back from her biocomp and sighed in annoyance. No use even pretending to do any research. The steady thunk, thunk, thunking sound out in the yard had effectively shredded what little remained of her concentration.

Going to the front windows, she drew back a curtain and peeked outside. She watched Spock wield the old posthole digger, repeatedly slamming the twin blades into the soil, gouging, scooping, scraping out the groundwork of a geometrically perfect fence line. Wearing an old pair of her brother's Levis and a faded shirt, he was a grim study in Vulcan determination. This was one useful lesson he had learned among the Klingons—that hard physical labor could sometimes calm and clear the mind as well as any meditation.

How symbolic that he had chosen to vent his frustration on this particular project, at this particular time. The property had been without its weathered picket fence ever since the whale-probe storm demolished it. She could have hired the work done. But no—he would do it himself—a precise, flawless corral around the beach house, around his daughter, around her.

The sun was piercing through the fog when she went outside. Spock had finished digging. As he dropped the last post, lopsided, into its prepared hole, he paused and looked at her. She came down off the porch. Taking hold of his dirty hands, she turned them palm-side up and examined the blisters.

"Well, doctor?" he said.

She felt the last of her anger melting away. Sheepishly she gazed into his eyes. "I don't really want you to marry T'Mira…and I know you won't be content with anything less than a Vulcan bonding. You shouldn't have to be. And neither should I. But Spock…" fear crept into her voice, "what if the healer does this mindtouch and still refuses to marry us?"

Gently Spock closed his sore fingers around hers. With all the finality of a promise, he said, "She will not refuse."

An hour later they stood before the healer at the Vulcan embassy in San Francisco. Spock, in his civilian best, exuded an outward appearance of calm dignity that Lauren envied. Butterflies flitted through her stomach as the austere Vulcan woman invited her to sit down beside her on a small sofa.

Then the healer said, "Spock. You will please wait in the next room."

Lauren flashed Spock a look of pure panic, but his eyes told her to cooperate, there was no cause for alarm. With a slight bow to the healer, he left, shutting the door behind him.

Lauren swallowed hard.

"You must not be anxious," the healer said with unusual warmth for a Vulcan. "I will not harm you. It is like…asking a question. All you need do is answer."

"What if…" Lauren's voice wavered, "if I don't know the answer?"

"You will know."

Inwardly trembling, Lauren closed her eyes, flinching slightly as the strange hot fingers met her face. Why hadn't Spock prepared her for this? Why hadn't he told her the answer?

Then, all at once, T'Mira's question found her mind and she nearly laughed with relief and astonishment. Even had Spock revealed the healer's question—for surely she had asked him, too—he could not have answered it for her. Only Lauren could answer for her own feelings, for her commitment to Spock and their bond. And only by looking into her mind could the healer rule out every possibility of deceit.

"Yes!" The word filled her, bubbling up into a joyous rush of language. "Yes, T'Mira, I do! I will!"

oooo

T'Beth was sure, quite sure, that as long as she lived she would never understand her father. Take this fence, for instance. As the last of the warming sun disappeared into the ocean, she sat on the porch steps, chin in hand, watching him laboriously paint the final pickets a pure gleaming white. She found the whole thing vaguely embarrassing. He was a scientist, a Starfleet officer—not a handyman. It had been bad enough when Torlath forced him to work like a slave. Given a choice, why would he dig and hammer and paint on a piece of property that did not even belong to him, did not even entirely belong to Lauren? Her brother owned half of it. And from what T'Beth had picked up, Spock's future brother-in-law was not too pleased about the upcoming marriage. Well, neither was she.

T'Beth tensed as Lauren came out on the porch. "It's beautiful!" she called to Spock. "I especially like the gate."

"A Vulcan design," Spock said, straightening. "I had to improvise, but even so I think the latch came out well."

As he carried the paint and tools around back, Lauren turned to T'Beth. "Well…tomorrow's the big day."

Without saying anything, T'Beth got up and went into the house. She was sitting at the old piano, listlessly plucking out a somber tune, when the phone rang. She answered it, and the sight of Doctor McCoy on the screen momentarily lifted her spirits.

"So," he said to her, "how are the three of you getting along?"

Her face fell. "Just great. I can't wait until the 'Big Day'."

"I bet," he said dryly. Then, with a funny little smile, "Say, is that father of yours around? I need to borrow him for a couple of hours."

T'Beth found him out in the dusk with Lauren. The two were so absorbed in one another that they did not even acknowledge her approach.

"Father," she said, all too happy to tear him away. The hand that had been touching Lauren dropped. Turning, he looked at her. "Doctor McCoy's on the phone. He wants you to come over." Maybe Jim would be there, too. Following her father into the house, she asked, "Can I come along?"

"Perhaps," he said.

But the brief phone conversation made it disappointingly clear—this time only Spock was invited. In a matter of minutes he showered and was back downstairs in clean civilian clothes. Before leaving, he took T'Beth aside.

"I trust," he said, meeting her eyes, "that you will find something to do while I am gone."

"Something harmless, you mean?"

"Then we understand one another."

She nodded. In this instance, she understood him well enough. As the sound of his skimmer faded, she found herself standing in the living room with the object of her father's concern. They silently appraised one another for a long moment.

"Well," Lauren said with the hint of a smile, "it's been quite a while, hasn't it? The last time we were alone together, you sent me on a wild goose chase through the Enterprise. It took me ages to find my way to Engineering. Clever little imp."

"I did that to everyone," T'Beth said, "who was stupid enough to ask for directions."

Lauren sighed and sat down. Her troubled blue eyes searched T'Beth's face. "I'm glad we finally have this chance to talk—just the two of us. I'm afraid your father's been standing guard over me as if…"

"He's worried about what I might say to you."

"He shouldn't be, because I really want to hear what you're thinking, what you're feeling. I know you don't want us to marry. I know you don't even want me in your father's life, and I can't say that I blame you. I probably wouldn't feel much different in your position. But T'Beth—believe it or not, it won't be half as bad as you think. In fact, there may even be some advantages to having me around."

"But you're not going to be around," T'Beth coolly pointed out. "You're going to be aboard the Enterprise. Both of you."

Lauren looked at her with maddening sympathy. "That's true—and it isn't fair, is it? Starfleet is awfully hard on families."

"Oh, don't blame Starfleet," T'Beth said. "There are plenty of ground assignments. Father doesn't have to be on a starship."

"You're sure of that."

"Yes, I'm sure!" T'Beth's voice rose. "He could be off that ship in a minute if he really wanted to, if he really gave a damn. But no—he's never thought of me as family. His family is on Vulcan. His family is aboard the Enterprise. And now it looks like you're going to be part of it. Well, congratulations!" Flushed with anger, she headed for the stairs.

Lauren stood. "T'Beth! Wait!"

T'Beth stopped at the base of the stairs and looked daggers at her.

"T'Beth," Lauren said, not at all angrily, "I really am glad you've been so honest. You've given me a lot to think about."

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" T'Beth's voice dripped sarcasm. Turning away, she ran up to her room.