Chapter 2

From the very beginning, Gary had thought Simon was strange, but there was never a moment when he hadn't secretly admired him. After all, Simon was smart—really smart. He gave public performances with his violin, at school he was doing mostly advanced work, and he had even been accepted into Little League with the older kids. Simon's whole family was different. It wasn't something that Gary's parents talked much about, but when they did, they used a funny kind of tone that made Gary sit up and take notice. It had all started when his Great-Aunt Amanda married a Vulcan named Sarek. And now here he was, flying through the dark in a shuttlebus, not at all sure this was a smart idea, even if Simon had thought of it and even knew how to pay their fare using his mom's credit account.

As the bus soared down the coast, he leaned over and whispered into his cousin's round, human ear. "We'll never get back in time. Your father will catch us."

"He's supposed to find out," Simon said, much to Gary's dismay. "That's the whole point. That's why I'm bringing you along. You can tell him that you saw me do it."

"Me?" Gary went cold with fear. "No, Simon! He'll be mad!"

"He's a Vulcan, remember? He won't shout or anything."

"But he's only half-Vulcan…"

Even Simon looked worried as he said, "Well…he'll only be mad at me…and not for long, once I explain."

The last star had faded when the shuttle glided to their stop. Simon coaxed Gary off and they trotted along a side road that wound sharply downward. Gary's nose crinkled at the smell of saltwater and seaweed. The road curved sharply again, and a gray expanse of ocean came into view.

Gary stopped to catch his breath. "Wait up!" he panted, and Simon slowed to a stop.

The ocean was so close that Gary could hear waves hitting the beach. Miles and miles and miles of it, and off in the misty distance, Simon's jutting black rock. A damp gust of wind sliced through Gary's jacket. He shook with a sudden chill.

"It's too cold," he complained. "Let's go back."

Simon looked him hard in the eyes. "It's not like I'm asking you to go out there. Or are you too scared even to watch?"

When Simon turned and ran down the road, Gary reluctantly followed.

oooo

Lauren awoke suddenly, rose up in bed, and stared at the faint wash of light at the windows. Her movement roused Spock.

"What is it?" he asked.

If only she knew—but these terrible forebodings that came over her never had a name. Always, she was left guessing…and worrying.

Rising, she threw on her robe and said, "I'll check on the babies, you check on the boys."

She tried to tell herself that she was making a big fuss over nothing, but she moved with such urgency that she had already come and gone from the upstairs nursery before Spock reached the stairs. They descended together and went through the screened porch, into the backyard. In slipper-clad feet they walked over the damp grass to the boys' makeshift tent.

The tent was empty.

A panicky surge of adrenaline ripped its way through Lauren's veins. "They're gone!"

Spock's hand touched her arm. Turning, she looked into his dark Vulcan eyes, so impossibly steady and calm.

"Lauren," he said gently, "I suspect we will find them upstairs, fast asleep."

Of course! She went limp with relief. Feeling decidedly foolish, she followed her sensible husband back inside.

oooo

Simon had no trouble getting into the beach house. His family kept one of the antique keys hidden outside. After fetching the binoculars for Gary, he went and stood barefoot at the surf's edge.

"I don't think this is a very good idea," Gary complained.

"Be quiet," Simon said. He needed to concentrate. He needed to think hard on his goal or the fear would take over completely.

Stripping down to his underwear, he fixed his eyes on the black finger of rock beckoning to him from the ocean mist. Chill bumps stood out on his bare flesh as he squished his toes into the wet sand. There were things living down there—crabs, mollusks, worms. Out in the water there were things even worse than that. Not even T'Beth knew how much the thought of those things scared him; why he had never worked very hard at swimming; why no one could coax him very far from shore.

Whales. They were huge. Simon knew all about how his father helped return the humpbacks to Earth in a Klingon Bird-of-Prey. At least they didn't eat people, but sharks did—and there were plenty of those around. Sharks and eels and manta rays. He once found a dead manta ray washed up on this very beach. He had gotten a close look at its weird, winged body and stinging tail.

"Don't do it," Gary pleaded. "You'll drown."

Simon focused on the cold, choppy waves and wondered what it would be like to suck water into his lungs and sink under the surface, knowing he was going to die.

"Please," Gary begged.

Simon's heart hammered. He was shivering hard, but he told himself, I can't turn back now. Gary would tell Father why I came. Spock would know that I failed my kahs-wan, that I'm nothing but a coward.

Steeling himself, he ran forward and plunged into the surf. At the first shock of cold water, he cried out. The swells tossed him back toward shore, but he began to swim, remembering everything his family had taught him. Cupping his hands, he reached and pulled and kicked his way through the churning ocean.

Suddenly a powerful current gripped his body. He bobbed, sputtering, as the undertow swept him away from the beach. Glancing back, he saw Gary's small, frightened face. Simon choked on a salty mouthful of water and almost screamed for help. Then a wave turned him and the distant crag came back into view. He swam on.

oooo

The phone scarcely let out a ring before Lauren answered it. She had been pacing nearby, waiting for an update from Spock, who was out searching the neighborhood in his skimmer.

The screen lit with the image of a young, very frightened-looking boy. Relief mingled with dread as she cried out, "Gary! Where are you? Where's Simon?"

Big tears rolled from the boy's eyes. "You have to help him! He's out in the water! Maybe he drowned—I don't know—it got all foggy!"

The breath froze in Lauren's lungs.

"Hurry," sobbed Gary, "you gotta hurry!"

oooo

Simon had not expected the fog. One minute the rock was there, the next minute it vanished in a creepy white blanket. He tried to remember where it had been, and keep on swimming. There was nothing else he could do. He felt the cold eating away at his strength and knew there was not much time left. His arms and legs ached from battling the waves. Something brushed against his thigh and he felt a sharp, stinging sensation.

A large swell broke over his face. As he floundered, choking, words flashed into his mind…Simon Spock S'chn T'gai, seven-year-old son of Starfleet's Captain Spock, and grandson of Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan, drowned early today in the Pacific Ocean…

Simon caught his breath and fought the encroaching exhaustion. Kick, stroke, kick, stroke, kick, stroke. After a while he heard a slapping sound, like waves hitting something solid, and aimed his feeble efforts toward it. A dark shape took form in the mist. Eddying currents caught his body, thrust him forward. A powerful wave drove him into sharp, barnacle-encrusted rock, then sucked him back and threw him forward again. Scraped and bleeding, he scrabbled for a handhold, but his fingers were numb.

On the third attempt he found a grip. The fierce backwash tried to rip him away, but somehow he held on. A wave slammed him hard against a little ledge, and he dragged himself out of the water. With the last of his strength he crawled a little higher. Then curling into a shivering ball, he emptied his stomach of salt water.

oooo

Using an insubstantial form of inductive reasoning, Spock had flown out of San Francisco. His earlier application of a purer logic had failed to uncover the missing boys. Hardly surprising, considering that seven-year-old humans were not very logical creatures.

Once more, he referred to memories of his own boyhood. Even among Vulcan youngsters, the lure of adventure could be quite strong. And for a desert boy like Spock, nothing this side of Space had held more of a lure than Vulcan's Greater Sea, which he occasionally visited with his parents. Approximately the size of Earth's Lake Superior, the sea was large enough to generate tides and even a respectable surf when the wind was up. But it was a mere puddle beside the massive ocean here on the Pacific Coast. Was it possible that Simon and Gary had set off on their own seaside adventure?

Unlike Lauren, Spock was not unduly alarmed. Even if Simon had taken his cousin to the beach house, the boy had a healthy respect for ocean water. They were probably preparing to toast marshmallows from the bag Lauren kept in the pantry.

A flash of a dash light and a concurrent tone signaled an incoming transmission. Ordering the channel open, he said, "Spock here."

The voice that broke from the speaker was so breathless with emotion that he barely recognized it as his wife's.

"Gary called from the beach house! Simon's out in the water—swimming for the crag! Spock, you have to find him!"

Spock stared at the com's speaker as a horrible feeling crawled through his insides. Fear, dread, panic—all that and more, defying any mere human or Vulcan attempt at control. There were times, it seemed, when logic was doomed to fail completely.

"Spock!" Lauren shouted into the silence. "Spock, do you hear me?"

He became aware of his hand pushing the skimmer's throttle wide open. Running his tongue over lips gone dry, he forced his voice steady. "Yes, Lauren, I heard. And as it happens, I am quite near the area. Have you called for help?"

Lauren's voice burst back at him. "Yes, of course, I called! How can you sound so calm? Don't you understand? Simon could be drowning!"

"I do understand," Spock said simply, then signed off.

There was no time to concern himself with his wife's anger, or the upheaval of emotion still churning in his own gut. A coastal fogbank loomed up ahead. A moment later visibility dropped to near zero. Moisture sheeted over the windshield as he streaked through the fog, relying solely on the skimmer's guidance system. He reached the beach house coordinates and caught a ghostly glimpse of the rooftop rushing by.

Spock's hands clenched over the controls as he slowed the skimmer. Its small sensor array showed no other vehicles in the air. Search and Rescue had not yet arrived.

Fixing his instruments on the crag, he skimmed toward it, scanning the ocean for any sign of his son's readings. The first sweep revealed nothing, so he circled back and tried again. This time he curved out past the formation and as he did so, a sensor flared.

Relieved, Spock flew the little airship in a slow arc and confirmed that the readings belonged to a small chilled humanoid, and that the humanoid was out of the water.

He briefly considered waiting for the rescue workers, but at any moment a rogue wave could dash Simon back into the ocean. The decision made, Spock quickly relayed Simon's position to Lauren before removing his shoes and coat. Reaching into a compartment under his seat, he brought out a pair of life belts and strapped them both on. Then he moved the skimmer as near as possible to Simon's position and carefully lowered it over the seething waves. After damaging the skimmer landing carriage a few years earlier, he had replaced it with flotation skids—a sensible precaution, in view of the fact that he often commuted across San Francisco Bay. Now the skids would enable him to land right on the water.

The skimmer settled into the ocean and began to toss. Spock activated the station-keeping buffers. Then opening the door, he plunged into the frigid sea.

oooo

Simon had finally stopped shivering. He no longer felt the painful cold. Even the sting on his leg had stopped hurting. Half-naked and drowsy, he lay curled in a pocket of stone that offered some protection from the wind. A while ago he thought he had heard the distant hum of an engine. He thought he had seen lights moving in the fog. Too weak to call out, he had closed his eyes and let his mind drift. Now all he heard was the lonesome moaning of a foghorn out on the Point. It made him feel like going to sleep.

Suddenly, something touched him on the shoulder—something so very warm and startling that he gasped and opened his eyes.

"Simon!" a voice beckoned—rough and urgent, but somehow familiar.

…Father?

"Simon," it came again.

Simon managed to turn his head and found his father crouched close by, soaking wet. Scarcely believing his eyes, he watched as Spock undid one of the flotation belts at his waist and strapped it around him. Then the warmth and security of his father's arms enveloped him, and he knew this was really happening.

oooo

His son would live. Spock no longer had any doubt of that. Having been treated for hypothermia, abrasions, and a jellyfish sting, Simon was transferred from a Carmel emergency department to the pediatric ward where he would remain under observation for the next 24 hours.

Spock stood at his son's bedside. Dressed in borrowed scrubs and draped in a hospital blanket, he had almost shaken off the chill of the water and his own fear. Gary was back in San Francisco, safe with the family babysitter who was also caring for the twins. Lauren had arrived only moments ago.

A stray shiver caught him as he watched his wife hold Simon's hand and speak to the boy tenderly. No doubt Simon did need some reassuring, but now that the emergency was over, Spock was not inclined to be so gentle.

Simon must have sensed the stern direction of his thoughts. Sudden tears welled in the boy's eyes and his lower lip began to quiver. Plaintively he said, "Father, I'm sorry…"

"And rightfully so," Spock declared. "We will discuss the matter at home, tomorrow."

Simon let out such a sob that Lauren gave Spock a reproachful look and bent to comfort the boy. "It's alright, honey. Gary told us what you were trying to do. I'm sure your father will understand."

At that, Spock escorted her from the room and found a vacant waiting area in which to speak privately. "Lauren," he reasoned with her, "our son's incautious act not only put his own life at risk, but Gary's as well. There is a saying among Vulcans. 'A garden left untended will go to sand'. In our relief to have Simon back, it would be tempting to make excuses for his behavior…but he must be held accountable."

Lauren's eyes flashed. "What are you saying? That I didn't 'tend' him properly while you were gone? That I've been pampering him too much? Or maybe even neglecting him?" She paused to draw an angry breath. "Spock, you're the one who wasn't around for six months. You're the one who let them sleep out in the backyard, unsupervised."

Spock suppressed a sigh. It was, he reminded himself, only human of Lauren to misconstrue his words, but even so he found her behavior trying. "You misunderstand," he told her. "I am not blaming you for what happened today—nor will I accept any blame. Simon knows what is expected of him, yet he deliberately chose another path; therefore he is the one who must answer for it. That is all I meant by the axiom."

Lauren closed her eyes tiredly and rubbed the back of her neck as if it pained her. "I know, I know," she said, her face pallid from the morning's strain. "When I think of what might have happened…" Her voice trailed off and she put her arms around him. Resting her head on his shoulder, she said, "Thank God you were here. I've missed you so much—we both have. Maybe that's what Simon's been trying to tell you."

oooo

Simon was very quiet on the trip home. He knew what was coming, and thinking of it made his stomach churn as if it was still full of seawater. They were flying into San Francisco when he finally worked up the nerve to ask, "Is Gary still there?"

"Yes," Mom answered. "He's helping Auntie Sakata take care of the twins."

Oh great, Simon thought, scrunching himself low in the skimmer's rear seat. He studied the back of his father's head and watched those strong Vulcan hands working the dash controls. This time he would get walloped for sure, and he did not want his cousin around when it happened.

All too soon the skimmer landed at their home. Spock powered down the engine, then turned to look at him.

"Simon," he said in a stern voice.

Simon gripped the armrests, his heart pounding. "Yes, Father?"

"I mentioned the kahs-wan when you asked to camp out. Is that what started you thinking about it?"

Simon swallowed hard and nodded. "I remembered what Grandmother Amanda said to me—about how you wanted to prove yourself and went into the desert early. You didn't tell anyone, either. You just did it."

A glance passed between his parents. Then Father looked straight at him. "Simon, I was not unprepared. My father had trained me for the ordeal, but even so, what I did was wrong and I was rightfully punished."

Simon was close to tears. "I didn't mean to worry anybody. I…I just wanted to show you that I'm not a coward, that I don't always run away from things that scare me. And…and I'm not spoiled, either."

Father's eyes narrowed. "You nearly showed me a dead son. You endangered your cousin, as well."

Ashamed, Simon hung his head.

Father was silent for a moment. Then, very predictably, he said, "Go inside and wait in my study."

Hot tears spilled down Simon's face as he left the skimmer and slowly made his way into the house. Auntie Sakata heard him and came out of the downstairs nursery with Gary at her side.

"Simon!" Gary said with a catch in his voice.

"Leave him be," Auntie told Gary.

Simon ran upstairs…and straight into the haven of his own room. Shutting the door, he leaned his hands against it, pushing hard with his whole weight. After a couple of minutes he heard Father walk along the hallway and enter the study.

Simon tried to keep pushing, but his arms were tired and sore from yesterday's swim. Giving up, he put his ear to the door and listened. The house was very quiet. Why hadn't Father come after him?

The answer seemed painfully simple. Proper Vulcan children never ran away from punishment; they faced up to it. Simon recalled what he had just said to his father—that he wasn't a coward and he didn't always run away from things that scared him. That was what he had set out to prove with his own private kahs-wan. And he had jumped into the ocean, hadn't he? And faced his fears and swam all the way to the crag.

He remembered, too, how Spock had found him in the fog and swam with him to the skimmer and wrapped him in the warmth of his big coat. He remembered how gently Father talked to him all the way to the hospital, letting him know that everything would be alright.

"I love you," Simon had told him through frozen lips, but Spock had not said "I love you, too", like Mom. Always, Simon was left wondering.

Remembering all this, Simon stood away from the door. Quietly he cracked it open and found the hallway empty. Was Spock still in his study, waiting? Tendrils of fear sidled through his stomach. He hated the sensation, the way it made his legs feel like running, the way it made his hands get so sweaty that he had to wipe them on his pants. The feeling was almost worse than any punishment.

Was that why Vulcan children faced up to it? To get rid of this awful sensation? To get the punishment over quickly? Do it fast—maybe that was the trick.

Taking a deep breath, Simon strode to the door of his father's study and touched his hand to the knob. He counted to three, then flung the door open and stepped inside.

Father's chair had been turned away from the desk, toward the windows behind it. Now he swiveled to face Simon, and his dark eyes struck deep into the boy's heart.

"There you are," Father said. "Come, Simon. Over here, by me."

Fresh tears pricked Simon's eyes and made his throat ache. "I'm sorry. I'll never do it again, I mean it."

Father waited for him in silence.

His heart drumming wildly, Simon inched forward until he stood within his father's reach. Spock's hands closed on his arms and drew him closer. To Simon's confusion, he gently sat him atop the desk.

"You wanted to prove to me that you have courage," Father said, looking up at him, "and just now, you did."

Simon wiped at his tears. His father no longer seemed quite so forbidding.

"I only asked that you come into the study. I did not say why, did I?"

Simon let out his breath in relief. "You mean…you're not…"

"I have never struck you and I never will." Spock's eyes were grave. "Simon, listen to me. The real test of a man's spirit does not take place in a desert wilderness, or in ocean water, but here." He touched Simon's forehead and the place over his heart. "Do you understand?"

Simon nodded.

"Qualities like honesty, integrity, and generosity are as much a measure of Vulcan manhood as the kahs-wan."

"But no one cares about me, anymore!" Simon blurted. The instant the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Complaining only make him sound weak. Something had gone wrong between him and his father, and even if he didn't fully understand why, he knew exactly where the trouble had come from. Even now Simon heard them downstairs, starting to wail. The twins. Teresa, the perfect little girl-child. And James, the baby with Uncle Jim's name, the son with the cute Vulcan ears, the sick one that everyone was always fussing over.

Simon heard his father sigh and cringed inside. It took a lot to make a Vulcan sigh. Father's eyes were still on him, but now they seemed more kind than accusing.

Spock said, "I can understand how you might sometimes feel a bit neglected. There have been a great many changes in our family."

Simon felt some of his tension ease. "I like the way things used to be…"

"Before Teresa and James were born? Before T'Beth moved away from Earth?"

Simon nodded, a big lump in his throat. "You went away, too."

"Simon." Father's voice was very tender. "You know I did not plan to be away so long."

This time Simon had no trouble believing him. As their eyes held, his father reached out with an index finger and traced the path of a tear. Thick nails or not, it felt good when Spock touched his face and they shared this special sort of communication. Simon's heart swelled with love as their minds brushed.

"Simon-ka." Father spoke softly, adding the Vulcan suffix that meant "little". "Go now, and think well before you act."

oooo

The June sun beat down on Simon as he silently helped his cousin dismantle the saggy backyard tent. He was winding up the rope when Gary spoke in a hesitant voice.

"So…did you get it?"

Simon pretended not to understand. "Get what?"

Gary glanced downward and dug the toe of his shoe into the grass. "My father says that Vulcans beat their children with whips. That's why they're so well-behaved." His gaze settled on Simon. "I didn't hear you hollering any."

Simon stood very straight and tried to imitate his father. "Vulcan children do not 'holler'."

"Oh," Gary said, wide-eyed.

"What did he do to you?" Simon wondered. "After all, you left the yard, too. You went to the beach."

Gary shrugged and picked up a blanket. "He thanked me for calling your mother. He said it proved that I'm basically sensible, but that…that I should never have taken off in the first place."

"So," Simon said in his most condescending Vulcan manner, "all he did was talk." He made it sound as if a beating were a badge of honor. "Well, you're not his son…are you?"

Clutching the blanket in his arms, Gary looked at Simon with a most satisfying hint of envy.