Spock felt unwell. By telecom, Lauren advised him to raise the dosage on his medication, but he was losing all confidence in the capsules. A satisfactory way of regulating the male Vulcan's reproductive cycle had never been developed, yet Lauren continued to experiment. It was in her nature, just as the mating cycle was in his.

Spock overcame his malaise to take Simon into the safebelt on a khree feeding expedition. He had done this often as a boy, and knew the most favorable time of day, and type of food, for luring the timid rodents from their burrows. Together with his son, he distributed some kitchen leavings around the silent khree mounds. Then retreating a short distance, they stretched flat on their stomachs in the hot sand and waited for Eridani to finish sinking below the horizon.

Spock rested his chin on his arms, watching for the first sign of movement.

After a period of quiet, Simon suddenly whispered, "Why doesn't Grandfather like me?"

Startled, Spock turned to find Simon's eyes swimming with tears "Of course he likes you," Spock insisted in an equally low whisper.

Simon sniffled and shook his head. Tears fell from his eyes, into the parched red sand. "No, Father, he doesn't."

"Why do you say that?" Spock asked. "Has something happened?"

Simon fought for control. "I was out on the street with some Vulcan boys. They weren't very nice. Once of them had a little dead animal with bugs crawling on it. He threw it at me and…and said it was my dinner." His voice choked. "He called me a…a meat-sucking Earther."

It pained Spock to hear of his son suffering the same kind of taunts he had experienced in his own childhood. Gently he said, "That was very unkind of him—but what does this have to do with Sarek?"

Simon explained, "He was the only one home. When I told him about it, he just said that I shouldn't let their foolish words concern me, and to go wash."

"Ah," Spock said, "you felt he should have offered you more in the way of sympathy."

Simon nodded. "I don't think he even cared."

Spock opened his mouth to speak. How strange to be defending his father against this particular accusation, when he had carried it in his own heart for so many years. "Simon, your grandfather only seems distant and unemotional because he is Vulcan, but that does not mean he dislikes you."

"I don't know," Simon said, unconvinced. "Maybe he doesn't like me because I'm so human—almost all human."

"Sarek married a human," Spock pointed out. "My mother is more human than even you, and he holds her dear."

"Does he?" Simon's eyes questioned him.

"Of course," Spock whispered. "But Vulcan do not show affection as openly as humans."

"Why not?"

It was time, Spock decided, that Simon was told of Vulcan's savage past and the saving changes in philosophy brought about by Surak's reformation. Simon listened to the story in silence. It was twilight when Spock finished. Little by little the broad face of T'Khut edged its way up from the horizon. As the barren old planet loomed into the purple sky, Simon stared at it and scooted closer to Spock. Clearly T'Khut frightened him, but his fear gave way to delight as first one little furry head, then another, emerged from the khree mounds. Bit by bit the shy, spotted creatures crept from the safety of their burrows and began nibbling on the bait. Soon the whole area was alive with them. When it was time to go, Simon rushed forward to try and touch one, but the panicked khree dove out of sight, and once more the desert was still.

Rising, Spock brushed off his clothes. Out in the distance a LeMatya screamed. Simon gripped his hand tightly as they walked home through the gathering darkness.

oooo

"I can't believe this!" cried Lauren. Taking a generous bite of the raspberry jelly doughnut, she washed it down with something nearly as incredible. Milk—rich, cold cow's milk! So icy that it left frost on the glass. "Travis, how do you do it? How do you get these things out here in the middle of nowhere? On Vulcan, no less."

Across the small table, Van Allen assumed a dramatic pose. "I have my connections."

Lauren leaned back in her chair, in the cool comfort of her air-conditioned room. Maybe she shouldn't have let Travis in, but what else was she supposed to do when he showed up bearing such rare and delicious gifts? And he was so lonely for human company. As they shared their unconventional lunch, she had to admit that she also liked being around him. Maybe a little too much.

Suddenly self-conscious, she shifted and stared down at the half-eaten doughnut in her hand. Even without looking, she sensed that Travis was studying her wedding ring.

"So," he spoke into the silence, "can a half-Vulcan bond? What sort of marriage is it? Term? Life?"

She had to smile. "It sounds like you're talking about insurance."

"That doesn't answer my question."

She looked up at him and felt a warm stirring that she did not want to acknowledge. Travis reached across the table and touched her hand. Abruptly the warmth burst into flame. Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart slammed. What was wrong with her? This shouldn't be happening!

Travis leaned toward her with an honest affection that was almost impossible to resist. Lauren dropped her doughnut and bolted to her feet. Her glass tumbled. Milk ran over the table and splashed onto the floor. Embarrassed, she turned aside, but he had already seen her tears coming.

He laughed uneasily. "Crying over spilled milk, eh?"

"Please go," she said. "I want to be alone."

He got up slowly and lingered by the door. "At least now," he said, "I know what kind of bond it is—or should I say—isn't."

Lauren flushed with shame. After he left, she sat on her bed and covered her face with her hands. In the seven years of her marriage she had scarcely even looked at another man, let alone feel this aching desire for someone other than her husband. Her thoughts drifted back to that other Time, aboard the Enterprise, before things went so terribly wrong. Little by little Spock's need had overtaken her until she was just as enslaved by it as him. Was that it? Was it the pon farr working?

She had been so worried about how Spock would manage his condition without her. Now she found herself wondering how she would manage without him.

oooo

The following day brought little change in Spock's physical state. The continuing struggle to contain his urges and present a normal appearance to his parents and son left him feeling drained and edgy. He tried not to speculate on how long he must endure the torment of his Vulcan blood, or what might happen if his situation suddenly worsened. He missed Lauren acutely.

It was evening and the fever was flaring when Sarek asked Spock into his study. Hardly a convenient time, but Spock maintained an outward show of control as Sarek closed the door. They remained standing.

"You have not inquired about the disposition of Solkar's belongings," Sarek said unexpectedly.

"I…saw no reason to," Spock told him.

"Solkar left me the task of distributing his material possessions. You have been named as a recipient."

Spock stiffened. He did not care to be the recipient of anything belonging to Solkar.

"It is an honor to be so named," Sarek said, a slight chill of admonishment in his tone.

Spock knew what was expected of him. Belated he said, "I am honored."

Sarek went into his closet and came out holding a large sealed carton. "Take it," he said. "The contents are yours."

As chance would have it, Simon was in the hallway when Spock emerged from his father's study with the box.

The boy's eyes lit with curiosity. "What's in that?"

Spock considered setting his unwanted inheritance aside until Simon was asleep, but decided that his son's presence might ease the strain of what was certain to be an unpleasant experience. "Come," he said, much to the boy's delight. "We will find out."

Spock took the carton to his room and set it on the floor beside his bed. Unsealing the lid, he took one quick glance inside before turning the job over to his eager son. Simon dove into the contents as if they were a treasure trove. One by one he brought out the Vulcan lyrettes and horns and woodwinds, pausing to question him about each one and extract a few notes. Spock found a pleasant irony in letting his very human son handle Solkar's precious instruments so carelessly. Knowing that Solkar was the primary channel through which Simon had inherited his musical talent made the situation even more ironic.

Simon bent over and rummaging deep in the carton, came up holding a long, flexible object with a bone handle. His eyes danced as he waved it through the air, producing a chilling sound.

"What's this one?" he asked.

Spock felt the blood rush to his face. "That is not a musical instrument," he somehow managed to say. It was, however an instrument—of untold pain and humiliation. Spock was embarrassed to think of his father inventorying the sturpa and placing it among the other objects in the carton. Had Sarek wondered over the sturpa's meaning? Did he know what agony it had inflicted?

"Put it back," Spock said curtly.

"But what is it?' Heedless of Spock's words, Simon flexed the woven leather between his hands.

Spock snatched it away from him and dropped it into the box, saying, "It is a sturpa—a whip that Vulcans use to punish willful, disobedient children."

Simon's face fell and he studied Spock warily. "Would you… ever use it to whip me?"

"Never," Spock said adamantly. Composing himself, he added in a gentler tone, "It's time you were in bed."

A few minutes later Spock went into Simon's room and found the boy already nestled under the lightweight covers. With a troubled expression, Simon asked, "When you were a boy…did Grandfather whip you?"

It was a moment before Spock answered, "No. Not Sarek."

"Why was that sturpa in with Solkar's instruments?'

Yes, why? Spock wondered. Had it been the old man's intention to shame and intimidate him one last time? Was it meant to remind him of the inherent "human weakness" that had set Spock apart from other boys? The subtle differences that would always set him apart? At last he said, "I don't know. Go to sleep, Simon."

"Mom always gives me a kiss," he said.

Spock was aware of how much the boy missed her. They both did. Feeling very awkward, he leaned down and pressed his lips to Simon's smooth forehead. Simon touched him on the cheek.

"Father," he said, "your face is so hot."

Spock went to the door and turning out the light, said, "Goodnight, Simon."

Back in his room, Spock stood and stared at the box. He wanted no part of Solkar or his belongings, whatever their monetary value. He felt restless and irritable. The demands of his Vulcan blood continued to nag at him, and with night coming on, it was bound to get worse.

Shoving the carton into a corner, he darkened the room. His need for Lauren was fast growing into a painful urgency, but there was nothing he could do about it. Lying down, Spock focused his mind on Solkar's box and kept it there.

oooo

Lauren stood at the window of the isolation room, gazing upon the two Vulcan patients inside. Her histamine therapy had saved Spock, but she was still unable to help a single full-blooded Vulcan. Ten years of research without any success. Sometimes she felt like giving up.

She heard footsteps behind her, and tensed. Fighting her feelings for Doctor Van Allen had become a constant battle. Now his warm hands touched her shoulders and he turned her around to face him. The yearning in his eyes made her legs go weak.

"Travis," she said, "no…"

"It's alright," he said softly. "We're alone."

"No," she objected, "it's not alright. You don't understand."

"Yes, Lauren—I do."

His fingers tightened on her shoulders and he began to draw her into a kiss…

oooo

…Deep in the night a solution came to him. Rising, Spock dressed warmly and carried the carton down the dark hallway, and outside. He paused at the tool shed to find a shovel, then left the yard bearing his unwieldy burdens through the quiet streets of ShiKahr. He encountered no one. Turning away from town, he headed out into the concealing darkness of the safebelt.

T'Khut had slipped back below the horizon, leaving the stars very bright. With his Vulcan eyesight, Spock easily kept his footing on the uneven terrain. He walked until his arms grew weary of the awkward carton, then dropped it to the ground and began digging.

The shovel sank almost effortlessly into the sand. Despite the weakening effects of his fever, it would not take long to make the hole. Soon he would be rid of Solkar's box and its oppressive load of memories. If anyone asked him what had become of it, he would say nothing. A Vulcan was entitled to privacy.

Busy with the spade, he missed the light whisper of footsteps slowly approaching from the direction of town. He was not aware of the silent watcher until he paused to flex his arms.

Then T'Pring stepped forward.

Spock started at the sight of her, a strange mixture of anger and desire flooding him.

"I thought it was you," she said. "Spock what are you doing out here? What is in that box?"

"That is none of your concern," he said brusquely.

Her eyes remained on his face, and she moved nearer. "You are not well. I can see—"

"You followed me," he cut in. "Why?"

"I think you know the answer to that," she said softly. "Spock, remember those other sands? The sands we stood upon as T'Pau pronounced the words of joining? This time I will not turn you away. This time I will be yours."

Spock stared at her, his breath coming fast. Every inch of his body urged him to take her as his own—savagely, painfully. Did she not owe it to him? Did he not owe it to her from a time long before he met Lauren? He did not like leaving debts unpaid.

Tearing his eyes from her, he turned to dig.

"Spock," she said, seizing him by the sleeve.

Made furious by her persistence, he swung around and a sweep of his arm sent her sprawling.

"Go away from here!" he commanded.

She rose up on one elbow, her defiant eyes glimmering. "Are you or are you not a man?" she sneered.

The starlight cast an eerie glow over T'Pring's features. Spock felt his fingers clenching the handle of his father's spade and considered using it on her. Had he not hurt women before? Ensign Weller on Mega Morbidus…and Lauren aboard the Enterprise.

T'Pring's eyes scorned him. "To think of all the years I wasted waiting for you! I was right to choose Stonn! He was not a legend among Vulcans or a Starfleet hero—but at least he was a man!"

Provoked beyond endurance, Spock hurled the shovel aside and stood over her. She was at hand and she was willing. That was more than he could say for his wife...

"…Spock?" A man's voice intruded.

With a gasp, Spock peered into the shadows.

"Spock," it came again...

The desert night faded away. Spock awoke and found himself lying on his bed. He raised his head and saw Sarek standing in the doorway of his darkened bedroom. Sighing in relief, he let his head drop back onto the pillow. He was fully awake now. He took a moment to try and distance himself from the effects of the nightmare. The attempt was futile.

"Yes, Father?" he said at last.

"There is a call from Lauren."

Spock had fallen asleep in his clothes. Rising, he walked as steadily as possible to the message center. Located in an alcove near the hall, it afforded some measure of privacy. At the screen, his eyes devoured Lauren's image hungrily.

"Spock," she said, her voice urgent, "it's gotten worse, hasn't it?"

He sank shakily into the chair. "I am not going to tell you I am alright."

"I don't like the look of you," she said low. "Haven't you been taking the T-ban?"

Spock searched his mind. It frightened him that he could not remember. The pon farr was affecting more than his body now. It was starting to cloud his intellect, and he could not bear the thought.

Lauren's eyes widened with alarm. "That's it—I'm coming back. I'll be on the next shuttle out of here."

He did not object.

"Take two capsules," she ordered. "Take them now, while I'm watching."

The words rankled. Was he a child who must be monitored? He did not care if Lauren was a doctor, he did not like the idea of his woman telling him what to do. Coldly he said, "I will decide for myself if any medication is in order."

Her blue eyes narrowed at him. "Spock, listen to me! You're not thinking clearly. This isn't some macho Vulcan power game. Try, just try, to remember that son of ours. Bring the T-ban to this screen and take two of those capsules. Now!"

He stared at her, the muscles along his jaw working from anger. "Capsules? That is not what I need, woman! A Vulcan would know that—she would give me what I need, and give it gladly."

Even in his present state, Spock recognized the cruelty of his words. He watched, benumbed, as Lauren's eyes filled with tears. Before he could open his mouth again, the screen washed out to static. She had broken the connection.

Dazedly he rose and returned to the privacy of his room. Turning on a light, he found the container of capsules, and spilling a few, dumped the entire contents into his trembling hand. They sparkled in his palm like green gems.

Two. Is that what she had said? Or was it four?

Spock fought to clear his mind. He found himself wondering what would happen if he misjudged the dosage—if, perhaps, he even took them all. Would it put him to sleep? A deep, dreamless sleep from which he could not awaken and hurt someone? Had he not vowed to take his own life if it came down to this again?

He was swallowing capsules when the door to his bedroom opened.

Spock turned and met the dark, piercing eyes of his father. Sarek strode forward and scooped the remaining T-ban from Spock's open hand.

"How many have you taken?" Sarek asked in a tone more urgent than Spock had ever heard from him before.

Spock tried to remember.

"Think!" Sarek insisted.

Spock shook his head, reluctant to admit it. "Father, I don't know. I am not certain."

Sarek stooped down and gathered up the capsules that had fallen on the floor. Then he counted them all.

"You could not have taken very many," he said, visibly relieved. "Get into bed, Spock. I will remain with you until Lauren arrives."

Spock did not question his father's authority. He did not wonder why Sarek had burst into his room and was staying to keep watch over him. Drugged with fever, he went back to his bed and tossed restlessly.

oooo

Lauren flexed her sore hand, bruised from the slap she had delivered to Van Allen's face. He had given her little choice. She did not want to think about what might have happened had she allowed him to complete that kiss.

Tired from the long, frustrating trip to ShiKahr, she reclined the shuttle seat. A sandstorm near ShiKetsu had grounded transportation for hours. As soon as traffic began moving again, she had gone only as far as the nearest transporter station. From there she had ridden the relays all the way to ShanaiKahr. This final leg of the journey was the worst—watching through the window as Eridani tinted the morning sky pink, and knowing he was so near.

Lauren put a call through to Sarek, informing him of her location. She could feel Spock's need reaching toward her across the miles. Over the years their bond had deepened. Now that the pon farr was upon them again, she no longer feared anything it might bring. Her only fear was that somehow she would be too late. She should never have left ShiKahr. She should never have parted from her husband at a time that left them both so vulnerable. A Vulcan woman would have known better.

The sky was pale crimson when she reached the estate house and let herself in. She went straight to Spock's room and opened the door. Pale light streamed from the high windows, revealing Sarek seated in a chair near the bed. Her eyes settled on the still form under the bed covers, and her need sharpened.

Sarek rose and came toward her. In a low voice he said, "I have sent Amanda and Simon ahead to the Lake District, and I am leaving now to join them. We will be gone for two days." Glancing toward Spock he said in parting, "He became…agitated…and I quieted him with a nerve pinch."

Lauren's eyes filled with tears of gratitude. "Thank you."

Alone, she took out her medscanner and approached the bed. Spock lay sleeping on his back, maddeningly desirable. As the scanner hummed softly she wondered how she could have looked at another—as if anyone but this man could satisfy the burning in her body and her soul. With trembling hands, she prepared an injection of the same compound she had been using in the capsules. Spock stirred as the sprayhypo stung his arm. He opened his eyes, blinked in confusion, and then focused on her face.

"Still mad at me?" she managed to say, willing to take whatever came, ready to surrender fully.

"Aisha," he whispered. Beloved. And then with both hands he reached for her.

oooo

The interlude proved to be sufficient. Any residual effects of the flare-up were easily handled during the nights that followed. It was unclear whether or not Lauren's medication had any part in Spock's rapid recovery. But for now the fever was behind him. It would take longer to recover from the embarrassment he was experiencing in his parents' presence.

The day of departure was nearing when Sarek asked his son to accompany him into ShanaiKahr on business. For Spock the hours crept by slowly, and Sarek had flown his skimmer halfway back to ShiKahr when he resolved to say what was on his mind. The day was hot, with a high thin layer of clouds. Focusing on the grayish-pink sky, Spock broke the oppressive silence in the cockpit.

"Father," he said, " I must tell you that I am not entirely unaware of how you assisted me when I was…indisposed. I feel that I should apologize for the inconvenience."

The skimmer's hum seemed unusually loud as it soared over the desert sand. Then Sarek replied, "There is no logic in apologizing for something over which you had no control."

Spock made himself turn and look at his father. They both knew he should not have separated from Lauren when his Time was upon him. It was a sign of flawed thinking that one might attribute to the pon farr…or to an inferior intellect. "That is most kind. However, I feel that I must at least thank you. And Father, please do not tell me that gratitude is also illogical."

Sarek's eyes remained on the course ahead of them. Predictably he said, "I will not remind you of that which you know so well."

Spock suppressed a sigh. "Father…" And he nearly added, "You are insufferable" before he stopped himself.

Sarek's eyebrow climbed. "Yes, my son?"

Spock's lips pressed together and a hint of annoyance crept into his voice. "Father, you are making this very awkward. Why can you not accept something from me as simple as gratitude?"

Wordlessly Sarek cut speed, settled the skimmer into the remote tract of desert, and turned off the engine. The move caught Spock utterly by surprise. Trapped in the grounded skimmer with his father, he repressed a childish stirring of panic.

Sarek looked at him. "Spock, I have no wish to argue. Trust me, I have a passing understanding of what it means to be a Vulcan male. There is no reason to discuss the incident." He paused to finger a particle of travel dust on the skimmer's dash. Then he said, "I asked you on this trip because I wished to speak with you in complete privacy."

Spock waited in suspense for his father to elaborate. He had no choice but to wait.

Once more Sarek faced him, an oddly pained look in his dark eyes. "It is about Solkar…" His deep voice trailed off, as if what he had to say demanded a great deal of effort. "Were you aware that he kept a lifelong journal?"

Spock felt his composure slipping. "No. I was not."

Gravely Sarek said, "A few days ago I began reading it."

Spock averted his face as a warm flush spread over him.

"It has proven to be…most revealing." Sarek continued, barely above a whisper. "I was aware that Solkar did not approve of my marriage to your mother, but later he seemed…more accepting. I had no idea…" He actually faltered. "No idea that he was so profoundly bigoted. I had no idea…of the abuse to which he subjected you…because you were partly human. Had I known—" He broke off and fell silent.

A sudden, searing flood of emotion threatened to bring tears. Spock struggled to stop them.

Quietly Sarek asked, "Why did you not tell me? Why did you not tell your mother?"

Spock swallowed hard against the painful constriction in his throat. In the midst of the nightmare he searched for words with which to answer his father, but there were none.

Finally Sarek said, "I do not mean to suggest that you were somehow at fault for not informing us. If the fault lies anywhere, it is with me. Surely, if I had been more vigilant, I would have seen the signs."

They turned as one and their eyes met. In the moment of relief, Spock could not remember ever feeling so close to his father. He saw Sarek's hands flex on the skimmer's controls and wondered what it would be like to feel those hands on his face—to share a true Vulcan closeness, mind joining to mind.

A few years ago Spock had defied custom to meld with his grown daughter, T'Beth. He did not regret what Vulcans would have considered to be a perversion. The joining had been a deeply moving experience; it had drawn them together in a new bond of understanding. T'Beth had asked for the meld. She had pleaded for it. There were no cultural strictures to prevent Spock from melding with his father, but though he yearned for the closeness it offered, he could not bring himself to ask. And so the moment passed.

Sarek said, "I see no point now in telling your mother. The knowledge would only bring her pain. The past cannot be changed."

"I agree," Spock told him.

He watched Sarek power up the skimmer. Then they were back in the air, journeying as silent and separate as before.

oooo

Tomorrow they were going home, and Simon was restless. Intense heat had kept him indoors much of the time. In San Francisco, he could have invited a friend over to play, but he did not relate well to the Vulcan boys.

Lauren watched him lean over the back of a sofa and stare out the living room window.

"When will Father be back?" he asked quietly.

From her chair across the room, she answered, "Before dark, I imagine."

He turned around. Settling on the seat, he frowned. "Vulcans put people's brains inside balls?"

Lauren stifled a laugh. "No, Simon, not brains. Katras. The Vulcans enshrine them in receptacles called vrekatras." She was not sure that even she completely understood the Hall of Ancient Thought. "I suppose you could think of it as a library, jammed full of knowledge for those who have the proper training to read it."

"Does Father have the training?"

"No, honey, he doesn't. You have to be a kolinahru, and even they only read katras on special occasions."

Simon looked confused. "Then why did he go?"

"Well," Lauren said, "the Hall is more than just a library. It's like a cemetery, too. With permission, Vulcans can go there to visit the resting place of friends and relatives who have died."

Simon picked up a lyrette from the sofa cushion and stroked the polished, ebony surface of its wood before playing a tune. They had not brought his violin with them to Vulcan. It sometimes seemed to Lauren as if Simon immersed himself much too deeply in his music for a child of six, for even a partly Vulcan child. She had thought a break would do him good, but now Simon had talked his father into giving him free play of Solkar's instruments.

Simon's fingers left the strings and he said, "Father's going to die soon, isn't he?"

Lauren's jaw dropped. "What?"

"He's old—as old as my friends' grandfathers."

"He's barely in his sixties," she said, "by human years. That's not old for a Vulcan. Think of how young he looks."

"But Mom," he persisted, "you're lots younger than him—more than twenty-five years."

He made it sound like a lifetime of difference, but Lauren sometimes wished the age gap were even wider. She could not bear the thought of growing old while Spock lived on, filling each moment of his days with all the ordinary happenings she would never share again. Perhaps even finding someone new with whom to share them.

Since the passing of his Time, they were closer than ever. Lauren had expected trouble over Van Allen, but Spock understood the power of hormones and knew that Lauren's passing attraction for the doctor had never posed any real threat to their bond.

He placed most of the blame on Van Allen, and Lauren was not inclined to forgive the conniving T'Pring, either. There was, however, one amusing outcome from the episode at ShiKetsu. Between Lauren and Spock, an "appetite for jelly doughnuts" now referred to hunger of another sort.

"Mom." Simon's voice intruded. Holding the lyrette, he squeezed in beside her. His nose wrinkled with distaste. "What's that awful smell?"

Lauren sniffed the air. Off in the kitchen she heard a knife chopping away on a cutting board, and she broke into a wry smile. "It's plomeek. A popular Vulcan food."

Simon leaned closer and whispered, "Do I have to eat it?"

"No," she answered, "the soup is for your father. But it wouldn't hurt you to taste it." Heaven knows, Spock had been politely choking it down all his life. Amanda had introduced it to him at the traditional feast following his betrothal ceremony at seven years of age, fully expecting that he would enjoy the Vulcan treat. "Well, what do you think?" she had asked with a smile. And Spock had answered, "It has a very distinctive flavor." Being a little too human, he had not wanted to disappoint her. From there, the misunderstanding had snowballed (if anything could be said to snowball in Vulcan's heat) until Spock dared not let his mother know how he really felt about the foul red concoction she had lovingly forced on him through the years.

How odd, that this kind of thing could happen even in the rigid honesty of Vulcan culture. Lauren had pried the truth out of Spock when she caught him disposing of some leftover soup after his mother's first visit to their home. What made the situation even more comical was the fact that Amanda herself detested plomeek; she had privately told Lauren only two days ago.

Smiling, Lauren put her arm around Simon and gave him a hug. "It's good to try new things, but it's okay if you don't like them. Just say so politely."

Simon looked relieved. Positioning the lyrette on his lap, he coaxed a strange, alien melody from its strings.

oooo

Spock stood alone in the great Hall, awed by the sight before him. Thousands upon thousands of glowing orbs were set upon stands or into niches, each entombing a living katra. Rock passageways holding yet more vrekatras branched off in all directions.

Aside from his years as an initiate, he had come here only once, to sit in the radiance of his grandfather, Skon, before defying Sarek to join Starfleet. He had never attempted to touch the energy field, however lightly. He had always known his own limitations, just as he knew them now. He had failed in his bid to become a kolinahru. Attempting any kind of meld could prove fatal.

Taking his time, Spock walked the maze of passages, following the instructions given to him by the Watcher. At last he arrived at the niche of polished stone that held the orb bearing his great-grandfather's name

He stopped. For unmeasured moments he stared at the smooth globe, studying its bright pulsing force field. His mind sensed the powerful personality contained within, and responded to Solkar's presence with distaste.

Spock stretched out his hand. The light enclosing Solkar's essence illuminated his palm. He could feel his skin tingling from the force field and reached no farther. He wondered if Solkar's katra was aware of his presence. It did not really matter. He would do what he had come to do.

Reaching into his robe, he felt for the bone handle protruding from a deep inner pocket. He brought out the sturpa, broke it over his knee, and placed it beside Solkar's vrekatra so that the light shone upon it. If Sarek ever ventured into the Hall, he would recognize the broken sturpa and understand why it was there. Others would only wonder.

Something inside Spock relaxed, and he turned away. That unpleasant portion of his past was behind him now—truly behind him. As he retraced his steps, he saw the vast sea of globes as a luminous chain linking him to his Vulcan ancestors. Half of what he was could be traced to the black stone recesses of this Hall. And there was that smaller Vulcan part which would live on in T'Beth and Simon. Spock had always identified with his Vulcan heritage; a fleeting regret over the ongoing dilution of genes was inevitable. But he did not regret his union with Lauren or the precious, nearly human child it had produced. Life—whether Vulcan, human, or Sy—would follow its own course. It must be respected and valued in every form.

Spock emerged from the dim recesses of the Hall, into Eridani's red heat. And he was glad to be among the living.