The lowering Vulcan sun cast a reddish pall over the living room, not quite reaching the piano in the far corner, or the dark haired girl slumped before it. Shadows marked her willful face as she silently fingered the keyboard of the old Steinway. "I've made up my mind," she declared. "Maybe you can force me to keep seeing her, but I'll just sit there and not say anything."

Amanda stirred in her chair and turned tiredly from the window overlooking her front garden. The lush growth of native and off-world plants usually brought her an illusion of coolness, but today even they were wilted. It had been a hot summer in a notoriously hot land, yet she had not complained at having to stay in ShiKahr instead of escaping to the milder weather in Pashir. This was where T'Beth needed to be. They were lucky to have found a human expert in psychology working at a hospital in nearby ShanaiKahr. They were even luckier that she was a woman and willing to commute twice a week in this inferno to treat an increasingly uncooperative teenager.

"T'Beth," she said with studied patience, "Miriam Yost is an excellent psychologist. You should be grateful that she's giving up her valuable free time to come here and—"

"Father's paying her," T'Beth cut in sourly.

"Yes." Amanda's voice was brittle. "He is. All the more reason for you to make an effort, to give Mrs. Yost—and yourself—a decent chance."

Scowling, T'Beth said, "All she ever wants me to do is talk about what happened, over and over and over. It's embarrassing, I hate it."

"I know," sighed Amanda. It embarrassed her, too, and angered her to think of what the Klingons had done to her granddaughter, and her son. T'Beth, especially, would never be the same. She did not have Spock's maturity or his Vulcan reserve of strength. The brutal loss of innocence had left her moody and difficult even for a human to live with. Poor Sarek was finding the situation almost intolerable. "I know," she repeated gently, "but don't you see, dear, the fact that you have such strong feelings shows how much you really do need to talk about it."

Apparently T'Beth did not see. Slamming the lid on the piano, she jumped up and stalked down the hallway. The discordant thrum of the piano strings faded into an uneasy silence.

oooo

It was almost dark now, as dark as it was likely to be tonight, with T'Khut on the rise. Already the angry glow of Vulcan's sister planet flooded T'Beth's room. Soon Gram would be knocking at her door with orders to get presentable. Soon Miriam would be flying in like a witch in her skimmer.

On her bed, T'Beth hugged Mister and gently smoothed the golden fur under his raincoat. "So what are we going to do?" she whispered. "Father's still up on Seleya, and Gram doesn't listen anymore. They don't understand. They don't know how I feel when that woman digs at me—or else they just don't care."

Propping the bear on her knees, she gazed into his sad glassy eyes and was comforted. That's what she liked about Mister. He always listened, he always cared. Family could be disappointing and friends drifted away, but not Mister, never him. Hard to believe he was hand-chosen by Spock. Father must have been out of his Vulcan mind to give her a teddy bear for Christmas, and a cute one at that. She had once asked him why, pointblank. After some hesitation he had fallen back on the standard Vulcan line, It somehow seemed logical at the time. An answer that was really no answer at all. An evasion. Her own father would not open up to her, yet he expected her to open up to a stranger? T'Beth seethed with the unfairness of it. Aloud she said, "Mister, your daddy can be such a pain in the—" She fell silent at the tapping on her door. Right on schedule.

"T'Beth," Gram called, "are you in there?"

"Yes," she answered woodenly.

"It's almost time." There was a pause. "Try to understand, dear, how important this is for your recovery."

T'Beth bristled at her grandmother's choice of words. It made it sound as if the Klingons had given her some shameful kind of disease. Well, they hadn't—she'd been checked for that. Tears threatened her shaky composure, but she had no intention of going red-eyed and submissive to Miriam. Tonight she had no intention of going to Miriam Yost at all.

Setting her jaw, she tucked the teddy bear safely into bed. She climbed atop her desk and opened one of the high Vulcan windows. Hot air rushed in as she squeezed her slender body through the aperture. She knew she would fit. Her feet landed softly, expertly, in the moist sand of the tomato garden and there was the now-familiar thrill of danger and excitement. This time, of course, they would discover that she was missing and how it came about. But with Father away, she was not likely to be punished. These days a show of tears or anger would back down even Sarek. Everyone here was so afraid of further damaging her delicate psyche. Out on the street it was different.

Anxious to be on her way, T'Beth moved stealthily through the garden and slipped out the front gate. Though it was not yet late, the carefully manicured streets of ShiKahr were all but deserted. It was a small town and the typical Vulcan's nightlife revolved around home and family, or solitary pursuits. If there were any here who contemplated a different sort of existence, they kept their opinions to themselves or risked receiving the ruinous brand of "renegade". The Golheni were a prime example. Until recently T'Beth had thought those throwbacks were the only Vulcans who toyed with such a heretical notion as violence.

The orange face of T'Khut rose ponderously, a silent watcher as T'Beth made her way through the maze of deceptively peaceful streets. It was not far to the gathering place now. She turned one last corner and nearly bumped into an attractive Vulcan girl. T'Jhur's velvet eyes flickered with recognition.

T'Beth had met T'Jhur one day while serving a school detention for truancy. Ever since, T'Jhur and her unconventional companions had actively cultivated her friendship. It was the first overture T'Beth had received from any Vulcan.

"Good, you are early," T'Jhur said, not quite keeping the excitement from her voice. "There is word of a convergence in the hills tonight. It is what we have awaited. The temple will be deserted."

T'Beth's heart sped as she followed T'Jhur into a deeply shadowed area between two buildings. Her eyesight was not as keen as that of her Vulcan companion. Twice she stumbled and she was almost touching the skimmer before she saw it, and the two youths standing guard.

"The saws are loaded." Soldac's adolescent voice broke the hot evening silence. "We must hurry. No one must suspect."

T'Beth hung back, afraid to ask how the merchant's son had gotten his hands on a skimmer and cutting tools. The idea of theft bothered her. She had to remind herself that the end sometimes justified the means, especially when the end promised to be one hell of a lot of fun.

Apparently Samar had no qualms, even though his own father was a secret follower of Golheni. "T'Beth, are you coming?" he asked, his black eyes sparked with determination. At sixteen he was the oldest of the group and nearly as tall as a man. These past weeks he, more than any of the others, had given her a feeling of acceptance that she sorely needed. She didn't want to disappoint him, but…

"Samar," she said in Vulcan, "if your father finds out…"

"Or yours," he countered. He didn't say Spock's name, or Sarek's, or remind her that unlike his family, hers was of the house of Surak and generally well respected. It would not have mattered if he did. They all knew this expedition could land them in serious trouble. But now that they had come this far, there was no way to back down gracefully, even if T'Beth had truly wanted to. Screwing up her courage, she climbed with her co-conspirators into the skimmer.

"To Golheni," said Soldac, taking the controls.

It was a long quiet ride out into the desert. Golheni Temple lay beyond the safebelt, a distant exile from the sane, logical world that modern Vulcans had created for themselves. Though it was not often discussed in polite society, there were temple devotees who still frequented the ruins and certain caverns in the black hills. At times known only to themselves, they came together and roasted meat and reveled, dreaming of a day when Yatara would once again be a planet of warriors. And all the while peace-loving Vulcan tolerated this cancer in its midst.

We have become so civilized, T'Jhur was fond of saying, that we are in danger of washing into the sand at the first heavy rainfall. She considered herself a counterrevolutionary, but sometimes T'Beth suspected that T'Jhur's motives were really quite personal and not at all idealistic. She was a strange girl, hard to know even for a Vulcan. Her intensity could be downright frightening.

As they skimmed over the desolate landscape, it occurred to T'Beth that there was really nothing beautiful or noble about any of them. Just four malcontents out looking for a thrill—but it sure beat another session with Miriam. And besides, no one would ever find out. They would make darn sure of that.

They landed on a low hill overlooking the temple ruins. As T'Beth jumped out, Samar thrust a laser saw into her hands and arranged the carrying strap over her shoulder. The saw's weight rested against her hip as he explained its operation. She felt herself starting to sweat.

It was a short hike down, with plenty of cover, but every footfall seemed loud in the desert night. The orange glow of T'Khut glinted off the saws and cast monstrous body shadows. Her heart pounding, T'Beth fell in behind a rock pile with T'Jhur.

"They'll see us," T'Beth whispered, more fearful of encountering a fierce Golheni than any flesh-eating plant or animal here beyond the safebelt.

T'Jhur's eyes gleamed eerily as she scanned the leaning walls of the ruins. "No one is there. They are all in the hills tonight."

All was silent on the desert. All was still.

Wiping the sweat from her brow, T'Beth stood on shaky legs and moved forward with the others. At the gateway she hesitated, and holding her breath, dodged through. She squeezed herself flat against the courtyard wall…and stared. Some part of her mind registered Samar's encouraging touch, but she gave no response. She only knew that she had no business being here, that it was a mistake, a big one. She did not belong in this hideous world of gargoyles and bone-strewn fire pits and stone carvings straight out of hell.

But this, too, was part of Vulcan. Bloody battles, torture, rape—nightmarish scenes of a past that most modern Vulcans viewed with shame, scenes that were still far too commonplace in other parts of the galaxy. Vulcan brutality, Klingon depravity—desert bred or damp as a forest, the ugliness was the same. Cold, wicked, cunning. You are mine, do you hear, pretty girl? If you want him alive you will do what I say, just do what I say or—

T'Beth's mind cleared. Leaning against the wall, she fought down a wave of nausea. Soldac gave the all-clear signal. The three Vulcans smoothly detached themselves from the shadows, like saturnine images come to life. Light pulsed from T'Jhur's saw. There was a hot popping sound, and a long-eared gargoyle fell into the sand. Soldac and Samar began to rip at the wall carvings. A satisfying scent of hot stone drifted through the courtyard.

With trembling hands T'Beth gripped her saw and approached a particularly menacing gargoyle at the rim of the main fire pit. In the hellish glow of T'Khut its distorted features appeared almost Klingon. A burst of light from her saw sliced across the ancient face, showering her in warm stone chips. The evil was gone. It was easy. Relaxing a little, she smiled and decided she might actually enjoy this. Setting her jaw, she lopped off the head of the faceless imp and went on to another, and another. But that was as far as she got.

"Kroyka!" shouted a powerful voice. "Stop!"

T'Beth pivoted and saw a hooded man enter the courtyard from the inner temple. The man broke into a run. Her adrenaline pumping, she darted out the gateway, T'Jhur and the two boys on her heels. She had always been a good runner, but the high Vulcan gravity and thin atmosphere put her at a disadvantage. The three young Vulcans overtook her even before she reached the hill. Intent on saving their own skins, they leapt up the hillside leaving a treacherous wake of rolling pebbles.

Gasping for breath, T'Beth ran on and floundered and clawed her way after them. She could hear the Golheni gaining on her, hear his big feet moving on the rocks. She seemed to sense his primitive anger and knew that it would be nothing compared to the anger of her family if she were caught here red-handed. She glanced over her shoulder and his eyes flamed at her. Panicking, she scrabbled at the hillside with bleeding hands and kept on going. The others were already over the top, safe. They were leaving her behind. Traitors!

Tears sprang into her eyes. The Golheni was breathing down her neck, his long arm stretched out, his fingers clutching at the rocks beneath her heels. She kicked dirt into his face. He loosed a string of Vulcan curses, but kept coming. Another inch or two and he would have her. She was not going to make it, not unless—

T'Beth heard the whining sound of a skimmer in flight. Glancing up, she saw the craft cresting the hill, coming her way fast and low. It hovered to an abrupt stop just overhead. Four hands reached out to her, caught hold. She felt an inhuman strength lift her from the grasping hand of the Golheni, drag her into the cockpit. Then they were soaring off toward T'Khut.

oooo

It was a silent, shaken group that arrived back at ShiKahr and went their separate ways. T'Beth did not feel like talking, nor was she in any particular hurry to get home and face what awaited her there. She had disobeyed her grandmother. She had inconvenienced Miriam. There would be questions, many difficult questions. How could she answer them? How could she not lie?

At a community fountain she knelt and bathed her dirty face and sore hands, but there was only so much she could do. She looked as if she had been wallowing in a sandpit. Worse yet, she looked guilty. But what for? It was high time someone stood up to the Golheni and gave them a taste of their own violent fantasies. People like Father shook their heads over the "unfortunate Golheni problem", but what did they ever do about it? At least she had done more than just talk.

The satisfying memory of shattered stone brought her to her feet and set her on the grim path toward home. It would be her secret. It would be easy. When news of the vandalism went public, she would put on her Vulcan face and show nothing more than polite interest. No one would ever suspect her part in it. Not even Sarek.

Now, to get back into the house. Usually she could creep in the back door and sneak to her bedroom without waking anyone. But tonight there were lights in the front windows. Gram and Sarek knew she was missing. They were still up, waiting for her.

Inwardly quaking, T'Beth cracked open the back door and slipped into the dark kitchen. It surprised her that it still smelled like dinner—she felt like she had been gone for days. The anxious rhythm of her breathing was the only sound as she tiptoed toward the hall door. Before she could reach it, the door swung open, revealing a male figure in silhouette.

She had not really expected to get past Sarek, but it would have been nice. Swallowing hard, she said, "Grandfather."

He turned on the kitchen lights. Gram moved in behind him, a silent accusing shadow. "My wife," Sarek said, his eyes hard on T'Beth. "Notify the authorities that she is back."

T'Beth felt the blood rush to her face. "You…you reported me missing?" Somehow she had not expected that.

Amanda left to make the call. Apparently Sarek did not think that his unruly granddaughter merited a reply. "You grow in age and stature," he said in a frosty voice, "yet you continue to behave like a child."

Biting down on her lip, T'Beth stayed quiet. It'll all be over soon, she reminded herself. A scolding, a few hours of awkwardness, and then they would fall back into their old familiar patterns. Sarek, the lawmaker. Amanda, the peacemaker. T'Beth, the troublemaker.

"Even the patience of a Vulcan has its limits," he continued. "It is one thing to disturb your family, but your disappearance tonight affected Mrs. Yost."

And was mighty embarrassing for you, T'Beth mentally added, but of course he would never admit to that.

"You will see to it," he commanded, "that this does not happen again. If Mrs. Yost is so kind as to return, you will apologize to her and cooperate in every way."

T'Beth inclined her head in the Vulcan gesture of respect and compliance. "It shall be as you wish, Grandfather."

Her words had the desired effect of bringing the confrontation to a most welcome end. Released to her bedroom, T'Beth undressed and burrowed under the bedcovers, marveling at her incredible good fortune. She had not needed to lie. She had not even needed to sidestep the truth. No questions, no mention of punishment. Sarek had been that sure of her motivations. If only he hadn't reported her missing…

But perhaps her luck would hold. Maybe no one would connect her disappearance with the rubble at Golheni Temple. In the dark she held Mister and promised herself that if she just got out of this one mess, she'd never do anything so reckless again. Or at least the next time she would be more careful.

oooo

Morning dawned with a hint of unseasonable coolness. Eridani seemed slow in rising. Its crimson rays struggled against a thin band of clouds in the south. At long last, summer was relinquishing its harsh grip on the sun-baked land. Maybe, T'Beth mused, the clouds would stay around and build into an afternoon thunderstorm. Lightning, wind, rain—just the thing to break up some of the tension around here.

It was a relief when Sarek left for the capital. T'Beth helped Amanda around the house, hoping to coax her out of a tight-lipped mood, but it was no use. Weighed down with guilt, she sidled off to the front door.

"T'Beth!"

Startled by her grandmother's vehemence, she turned. "I'm just going out to—"

"You are not going anywhere." Amanda eyed her sternly. "My first pupil will be arriving in a few minutes. I want you to go into your room. I want you to stay there and think about the trouble you caused last night."

"But I have thought about it," T'Beth answered back. "Gram, I'm sorry…"

"I'm not at all sure that you are." The stinging words were spoken more out of sadness than anger. Gram's manner gentled as she drew near. "I was young once, believe it or not, and very human."

T'Beth blushed and looked at the floor. "I had to get away," she said miserably. "I told you how I felt, but you wouldn't listen."

"So instead of discussing those feelings with Miriam, you ran away."

T'Beth was saved from any further explanation by the door chime. Thankfully Gram's pupil was early. Amanda nodded toward the hall and T'Beth gladly escaped to the privacy of her bedroom. If things went well, Gram would be busy tutoring for hours.

But things were not fated to go well. Through the wall T'Beth heard a strange woman speaking in Vulcan. Although she could not quite make out the words, she sensed at once that something was very wrong. Her first gut-wrenching thought was for her father at Seleya, that he had suffered a setback, or worse. Then the front door closed and Gram came into the bedroom, and there was no mistaking the nature of the problem.

Amanda's sharp eyes appraised her for a long moment. "Last night," she announced levelly, "four young people vandalized the Golheni Temple."

Somehow T'Beth held her terrible gaze. Somehow she kept from squirming, or crying, or blurting out her part in the whole miserable business. It was, after all, just a piece of news. No one was accusing her of anything. Or were they?

"Oh," she said, tucking her scraped hands behind her. "How awful."

"Yes." Amanda stared at her for so long that T'Beth's control nearly cracked. Then, at last, came the question. "Where did you go after you left the house last night?"

T'Beth's mouth went dry as desert dust. Blood pounded in her ears as she fought a losing battle to keep her breathing measured, her voice calm. "You think it was me," she cried out, teary-eyed, "don't you? Every time something happens around here, I get blamed! You all hate me!"

"T'Beth," Gram admonished, her face suddenly pale. "You know that isn't true."

"Yes, it is!" Sobbing, T'Beth flung herself face down on the bed. "Just leave me alone, will you?"

There was a moment of pained silence, then Amanda's voice came to her, thick and strange-sounding. "T'Beth, I had to ask. A girl meeting your description was nearly captured outside the temple. You've been summoned for questioning by the local Council of Elders."

oooo

After her pupil left, Amanda retreated to the shade of her back garden and sat watching the clouds thicken overhead. How symbolic on this of all days, with the storm brewing in the midst of her family.

She could not get T'Beth's face out of her mind—so pathetically young and secretive. As always an eerie shadow of her father's face, a bittersweet reminder of other times, other heartaches. Dear God, she wondered, what if the child is as guilty as I suspect? What if she panics and throws another tantrum right in front of the council?

Amanda's many years on Vulcan had taught her the uselessness of worry, but she could not help but fret over what effect all this would have on her husband, and her son. For months now she had watched T'Beth and her escapades driving a new wedge between Sarek and Spock. It was a hard Vulcan fact, but if T'Beth were not krenath, she would have been expelled from the house long ago. Surely Spock realized that. Surely he knew how T'Beth's consistent lack of discipline disrupted the family. Could he be using T'Beth to embarrass his father?

In the distance a silent streak of lightning flashed from cloud to cloud. Amanda sighed. She had been known to say that the Vulcan way was a better way, and perhaps it was true. Perhaps she was only tired…

"Gram?"

At the timid sound of T'Beth's voice, she turned and motioned the girl nearer. T'Beth slumped down beside her on the bench and rested her dark head against her shoulder. Moved, Amanda snugged a protective arm around her dispirited granddaughter. She didn't really want to give her up, but the child did not belong here on Vulcan.

"Please don't tell Father," T'Beth said just above a whisper. "I don't want him to be there. Promise me."

"I had no intention of disturbing his retreat," Amanda reassured her. "You're quite old enough to face the council alone—if that's what you want."

"Oh yes," T'Beth said with relief. "Yes, it is."

Thunder rumbled over the dusty city. The first fat, cooling raindrops spattered down as they sat watching the storm darken.

oooo

It rained steadily for three days. Under a leaden sky, ShiKahr lay drenched and silent, streets flowing with floodwater. T'Beth paused in the downpour and somberly looked about. Never, in all her time on Vulcan, had she seen such weather. It was like an eerie unfolding of T'Jhur's prophecy, with all of Vulcan washing into the sand.

With a shiver she slogged ahead to the council pavilion, a pair of her father's black Starfleet boots clumsy on her feet. There would be plenty of time to dry and polish them before Spock came home—if this next hour went well. And if it didn't, one pair of ruined boots could hardly increase her father's displeasure by much.

Dodging into a breezeway, she shook the water from her coat and threw back the hood, revealing her long dark hair. It was then that she saw Samar. The young Vulcan stood watching from a distance, his black eyes intent and his face without expression. Had he come to stand by her? Had he come to accept his share of the guilt?

"Samar," she mouthed hopefully.

He turned his back on her and walked away. The storm swallowed him.

Hurt and angry, T'Beth strode into the pavilion, to the hearing antechamber, and announced herself.

The receptionist looked up disapprovingly from his desk. "You are late."

"Yes," T'Beth snapped, "I am."

Ever so slightly the Vulcan's eyebrow crept upward. With a cool nod he indicated the hearing room door. T'Beth shoved open the heavy latch and passed through. Once inside, she stopped and tried to get a grip on her emotions. Nervously her eyes swept over the chamber with its crimson lamps and gleaming wood panels. The place reeked of polish and authority. Sitting at a high bench, three elders awaited her with grim faces. T'Beth's glance briefly touched each of them before moving to a lone man seated on her own level. Father!

The blood froze in her veins—but only for first horrid instant of recognition. Then anger set her heart pumping. Damn Sarek! He just had to go and tell, didn't he?

"T'Beth," intoned an elder, "daughter of Adrianna, daughter of Justrelle."

Red-faced, T'Beth took one shuffling step and faltered. Oh, no! Father's boots!

"Come forward," prompted the only male elder.

Numbly she moved closer and gazed up at the council triune. Minute by nightmarish minute the hearing progressed, each well-rehearsed answer rolling from her tongue with such convincing ease that she almost believed it herself. "Yes, I was at the temple. I admit that, but I was there only out of curiosity…with some friends. Well, yes, we heard the disturbance. At first we hid. I couldn't believe what those people were doing, and then when the man came running out. The tool? No, I never had any tool. There was so much confusion. Everyone was trying to get away. My friends and I ran up the hill to our skimmer. I think the vandals were somewhere behind us…"

There was an unnerving pause at the bench. Sick to her stomach, T'Beth watched the three elders confer in low tones, consult data links, shake their heads. She did not look at her father. She didn't dare.

At last one of the women leaned forward and fixed her with a soul-searing gaze. "We have but one final question, and I will remind you of the gravity of these proceedings before you venture to respond. T'Beth, daughter of Adrianna, daughter of Justrelle. Think now and think well. Is there any part of your testimony you wish to amend?"

"No," T'Beth choked out.

For the first time, her father spoke. "Kindly repeat that statement."

Eyes forward, T'Beth drew in a deep breath. "I have nothing to amend."

After the hearing Spock took her into his skimmer for the ride home. As they passed over the flood, T'Beth stared out the rain-spattered windshield, clenching and unclenching her icy hands. Why didn't her father say something? Why did he just sit there, silent and condemning? Why didn't he give her a chance?

At last she said, "You don't believe me. You're actually taking the word of a Golheni against your own daughter,"

She watched his fingers tighten over the steering control and her stomach twisted. No, came the fierce thought, he won't do this to me. I'm fifteen now. He won't make me squirm like a naughty little girl. But what if he had looked into the Golheni's mind? What if all the elders had looked, too? What if they had seen the truth?

Spock brought his skimmer down on the estate drive and pulled into the bay. He sat for a moment with the engine off and the rain loud on the bay roof. Then looking at her, he said, "Lies. All lies. You defaced Golheni Temple. In fact, you quite enjoyed it."

T'Beth experienced another ripple of fear. There was no doubt at all in those dark penetrating eyes, or in that voice. Somehow Father knew. As if he had stood watching with T'Khut, he knew. There was no sense in lying now.

"Why?" he demanded.

With an insolent lift of her chin, she replied, "It somehow seemed logical at the time."

The planes of Spock's face became hard as Golheni stone. "That is not an acceptable answer."

"It's good enough for you," she spouted recklessly. "I've heard you say it." Though Father did not offer any comment, T'Beth realized that she had better change her approach, and change it fast. "The followers of Golheni are dangerous fools. You've said that, too."

"My beliefs have not led me into acts of criminal violence—or deceit."

"Criminal!" Her protest rang with sarcasm.

Spock stared her into silence. "You intentionally damaged an historical monument and lied to escape punishment. Those behaviors are no different what you decry in the Golheni."

T'Beth nearly stamped her foot in frustration. "Go ahead, call me a criminal! But if you were so sure I was guilty, why didn't you speak up before the council? Why didn't you accuse me then?"

Without answering, Spock stepped out of the skimmer. "Wait for me in my room," he ordered.

Scowling, T'Beth watched him leave the bay by the yard door and disappear into the storm. "Why didn't you tell the council?" she demanded once again, knowing he could no longer hear. "To keep me from bringing more shame on the family?" Her voice caught, but somehow she forced out the aching words. "Did you ever think that maybe I feel the same way? Did you?"

oooo

All this waiting was probably meant to rattle her, but pacing the tiled floor of her father's room only made her more determined. The delay was just what she needed to bring her emotions back under control. Any advantage he had momentarily gained was gone now. She was more than ready for—

The door opened. Spock came in and flipped his rain-sodden cloak over a chair. Pulling off a shoulder bag, he wordlessly pressed it, strap and all, into T'Beth's hands. Its unexpected weight drove her arms down.

"What in the world…?" she wondered aloud.

Spock moved to his meditation alcove. There he silently waited beside the unlit attunement flame until T'Beth joined him.

"Father," she said, impatience creeping into her voice, "I don't think you're being fair."

"Open the pouch," he said.

Curious, she reached under the heavy flap. At the touch of cold metal, she looked down and felt the color draining from her face. The laser tool was almost identical to the one she used at Golheni Temple.

"You have some experience in its operation," Spock said. "I have adjusted for depth. You need only switch it on and take aim."

T'Beth glanced up in confusion and saw his hand calmly indicating his meditation stone. The thick slab of Seleyan granite had only recently been passed from Sarek to his son—an honor long overdue, and one that T'Beth suspected Sarek sometimes regretted. Sarek might be glad to have his son back alive, but the fleeting pang of sentiment was over now, and it was back to the same old family games. And more often than not, these days, she found herself right in the middle of the playing field.

T'Beth gaped at the smoothly polished stone, then at her father. "You can't mean it…"

"Go ahead," he urged. "Deface the stone, just as you slashed and gouged at Golheni Temple."

Her heart pounding, T'Beth looked down at the broad surface of the slab reverently used by Spock's family—her family—for generations."

"You have such little regard for what others revere."

She shook her head. "No. I can't. I won't. This is crazy." Thrusting the saw away from her, she said, "You've made your point, Father."

Spock reached out and took the saw. To her horror, he switched it on. Its muted hum filled every corner of the room. "I will have made my point," he said, "only when this stone is marred."

"No!" she gasped. "Sarek would kill you! He'd kill us both!"

Spock seemed to seriously consider the possibility. "Most unlikely. Murder is virtually unknown on Vulcan. However, I am certain that Sarek will be quite distressed by the senseless damage—as distressed, I would say, as the Golheni over the vandalism of their temple."

With cool deliberation he aimed the firing tip at the stone's center. Would he really do it? Panicking, T'Beth snatched at the saw and felt it discharge. There was a loud, sickening pop. Thin shards of granite flamed away and slammed into the wall. A curl of smoke rose from the hot stone.

Swallowing hard, T'Beth forced her eyes up. She found blood on her father's face, and a look of pain that had nothing to do with the small stone cut. Numbly she turned off the saw, took it from his hands, and lowered it to the floor by its strap. After a moment she rubbed her eyes and was surprised to find wetness there—not blood, but tears. "I shouldn't have grabbed it…" her voice wavered. "It didn't mean to—"

"And at Golheni?"

More questions. Always the wrong questions when she was so jammed full of answers that she wanted to scream. Why couldn't he see it? Why? Bitterly she cried, "You're never around when I need you! You never were!" The look of pain on his face deepened. What was she saying? What was she thinking? The words just kept tumbling out. "You'd rather hire that Yost woman to analyze me, you'd rather take a saw to your father's stone than talk to me, really talk to me! Why—am I that horrible? Am I that dirty?"

"T'Beth!" The name rasped from his throat. "You are confusing the issues. Calm yourself and—"

But she was already out the door.

oooo

Shutting herself in her room, T'Beth flopped onto the bed and clutched Mister as evening crept over the storm-lashed city. She could not bear the thought of Miriam tonight, not with Father here, not after when she had said to him. It didn't matter that her words had held some grain of truth—having voice them, she felt worse than ever. Lately it seemed she was always flying out of control and hurting the very people she loved most.

"Maybe they're right about me," she said to Mister. "Maybe I really am sick, I really do need Miriam's help."

It was more than the nightmares—deep down she knew it. And it was more than the outbursts, too. Long before adolescence, long before any Klingon laid a hand on her, she had felt a nameless pressure, a periodic seething of emotion that was difficult to control. It had only worsened after the things Torlath did to her in captivity…Torlath with his knobby misshapen head, black rippling muscles on smooth bed furs. Come here little girl, don't cry now. Steely fingers holding her, moist dark lips curled back. Ah, such a good daughter, just do what I say and you will keep your father safe…

T'Beth awoke with a start. Fierce gusts of wind hurled raindrops against the high windows. Sitting up in the dark, she read the glowing numbers of her bedside chronometer. It was past the scheduled time for Miriam's visit. Had it been canceled? Even stranger, it was past the dinner hour. T'Beth felt hungry. Why hadn't Gram called her?

With a pang, she remembered that Gram would not be back until late tonight. She was spending the evening at the home of an acquaintance, tutoring their sick son. T'Beth realized she was alone in the house with Spock and Sarek, and it was not a happy thought. After the day's events she did not feel like showing her face to either of them.

Did Sarek know yet? Had Father told him how she bluffed the council, that she was nothing but a vandal and a liar, after all? If Sarek questioned him, he would tell the truth. It was almost a weakness, that Vulcan obsession with total honesty. Even if her behavior reflected poorly on him, Father would acknowledge it and stoically accept whatever came. Heaven help both her and Father if Sarek found out about the meditation stone.

T'Beth turned on her bedside lamp and got up. The house was so still that it made her nervous. Maybe Father hadn't said anything to Sarek. Maybe they weren't even on speaking terms. She tiptoed to the door and cracked it open. A light was on in the main room. Above the sound of the storm she heard Sarek's deep voice, and ventured a few steps into the hallway. Scarcely breathing, she listened. Spock's response was all but lost to her, the words low and thick with suppressed emotion. "Sydok"—she seemed to catch that much, but then it became clear that they were not discussing her Sy blood at all, but that Father had only spoken a similar-sounding name, the name of a disgraced family member who had run afoul of Vulcan ways. Father's mention of the relative had an incendiary effect on Sarek, and the conversation heated into a full-scale argument.

It might have been different if Gram were home. Surely Amanda would have intervened. Somehow she would have stopped this bitter outpouring between Father and son. Shivering in the hall, T'Beth listened to the sounds of their dispute filtering through the old house. Until tonight she had never heard Sarek raise his voice. Not that he could be accused of shouting, not quite that, but his words reached her nonetheless with dreadful clarity. The things he said to her father made her want to charge into the main room, but her cowardly legs refused to budge. Alone in the dark, she listened and let the tears flow.

Twice Spock answered back in words she could not quite understand. And then silence. Terrible silence. T'Beth held her breath, straining to hear more. But the voices were at an end for tonight, perhaps for all time between those two. And it was all her fault.

Numbly she retreated to her room. Sarek's footsteps went by and continued into his study. Long minutes passed as she huddled, frightened, near her door. What was happening? Where was Father? With all her heart, she wanted to tell him she was sorry, she had never meant for this to happen. But sinkingly she knew that no mere words could ever make up for all the trouble she had caused.

She heard the clock chime in the hall. It was getting late. Soon Gram would be home, and still no sound of Father anywhere in the house. Gathering her courage, T'Beth sneaked out to his bedroom door and quietly knocked. No one answered. Her hand was reaching to open it when a small noise startled her. Whirling, she found Sarek's imposing figure in the shadows of the hall.

"Your father is gone," he announced, his craggy features cold and impervious as stone.

The strap of fear tightened around her chest. "W…where is he?" she managed to force out.

"That is no longer any concern of mine," Sarek answered in a leaden voice.

A trembling began deep inside T'Beth and quickly worked its way through her entire body. Her eyes began to sting and vision blurred with unstoppable tears. This was the only home she knew, the only family she had left, and it was falling apart. "Grandfather," she choked out, "please…"

Sarek looked at her coldly, then turned and walked away.