1: Twist of Fate

With each step the air grew noticeably warmer. Intrigued, Captain Kirk followed on Spock's heels through the thickening vegetation, and came to a rocky ledge overlooking a pond. Curls of vapor rose from the clear blue water. Its moist scent mingled with the fragrance of blooming flowers.

Unfastening his heavy coat, he exclaimed, "Spock, you were right! I've never seen anything quite like this—paradise in the midst of a barren, icy hell."

Unmoved by the fanciful words, Spock consulted his tricorder and said, "I always attempt to provide you with accurate information. This pool is fed by a volcanic hot spring that originates deep underground. The conditions of this microclimate have given rise to an unusually large number of species for a habitat of such limited size."

Kirk drew in a deep lungful of the sweet air. It seemed like old times with Spock at his side, sharing the unknowns of a recently discovered planet.

"Are you glad you came?" he asked his friend.

Spock glanced up from his tricorder. "The Astrophysics Conference on Memory Alpha was quite interesting."

Kirk gestured at the alien beauty all around them. "And this?"

The Vulcan's slanted eyebrow rose slightly as he took in Kirk's meaning. "Yes," he conceded in a less formal tone. "I'm glad our schedules afforded me this opportunity to join you for a time."

Sounds from other members of the landing party filtered through the dense growth. Kirk lowered his voice. "I hope it didn't cause any trouble with your wife. Lauren probably looks forward to summer recess at the academy."

Spock studied his tricorder readings. "Just now she is quite deeply involved in a research project at SMC—do be careful here, Jim. These surroundings may not be as harmless as they appear."

Kirk waved off the warning. "How have I managed to survive all these years without you? No need to hover, Spock. I know you're dying to study every inch of this place."

Spock looked as if he were about to object, but then he nodded and wandered off.

Kirk was alone in paradise. Smiling to himself, he switched on his pocket bio-reader and made a slow, precautionary sweep of the area. Benign plant life and small biological life forms. He heard a twittering sound and discovered a tiny birdlike creature hiding amid the branches of a shrub. Closer examination turned up more of the yellow hoppers. Deep in the bush, he spied an interesting object. Kirk threaded his bio-reader between the branches and swiped the furry brown pod for toxins. Negative.

He carefully plucked it. The pod filled the palm of his hand. Curious, he gave it an experimental poke with his index finger. Seed? Fruit? Egg? Raising the pod to his nose, he sniffed its faint woody odor.

With a sharp crack, its hull burst open.

Startled, he dropped it and backed away. The pod hit the mossy ground and exploded into growth. Tendrils snaked out and rapidly burrowed into the soil. Stems and tender leaves unfolded.

Kirk tapped his com badge. "Spock!"

"Yes, Captain," came the immediate reply.

"Come here and see this," Kirk said. "Hurry!"

Heart pounding, he stooped down for a closer look. As he watched, waxy buds appeared, their petals opening into delicate white bells. The growth began to pulsate and hum with curiously pleasant emanations. Mesmerized, he reached toward the dancing blossoms.

He heard footsteps approaching and glanced over his shoulder. "Here, Spock! Take a look!"

He saw Spock's eyes widen as they took in the scene. Then all hell broke loose.

It was one of those occasions when even a Vulcan's reflexes were not quick enough to prevent disaster. From a distance of several meters, Spock saw Kirk's hand extended toward the waving flowers. He had only just observed a similar phenomenon in the woods and was monitoring a rapid rise in toxin levels when the captain sent for him.

"Jim—!" He shouted. But there was no time for explanations.

Spock ran forward and launched himself at the captain. He was tackling Kirk when the flower's center discharged—as he had feared—explosively. A milky substance spewed over their faces. Then a second flower burst.

As they hit the ground, Kirk grunted with pain and surprise. For an instant Spock lay holding him, his mind attuned to his own physical reactions, yet all too aware of Kirk's anger. He could detect no harmful effects from the sap-like shower. Had he misjudged the situation? Had he overreacted?

"God…damn it!" Kirk swore, and tried to push Spock's hands away. The feeble attempt failed.

A third blossom exploded.

Spock felt Kirk begin to spasm, and thought of the pond. There were now signs that his own body was adversely affected. Holding Kirk tightly, he rolled them both into the steaming water and scrubbed at the sticky plant residue on the captain's face. Kirk convulsed one last time and went still.

Spock's arms trembled from the effort to hold Kirk's head above water. Though his mind felt sluggish, he knew what had to be done. Carefully shifting Kirk to his right arm, he tried to reach for his combadge. The twitching fingers were moving toward it when the captain's body slipped from his failing grip and sank into the water.

Death was closing in on them. With one last effort, Spock tapped the combadge. Drawing a shuddering breath, he threw all his remaining strength into speaking a single command. Beam us up, he thought, but it came out a garbled stutter. Then the paralysis crept into his diaphragm and he slid below the pond's surface.

oooo

For a long time there was only night.

Gradually the dark interval of silence gave way to the sounds of dawn—random noises…voices…music.

A violin? The sweet, mellow tones drew Spock's attention and he struggled toward them. But when he brushed the surface of consciousness, the music was no longer there. He could not seem to raise his eyelids. Exhausted by his efforts, he drifted back into the darkness.

oooo

Spock found himself submerged in deep, murky waters. Somewhere high above him, a glimmer of light sparkled. Or did he only imagine it? His lungs bursting for air, he swam upward and upward until at last he broke the surface.

Gasping, he opened his eyes wide and looked around. The light was gone. In its place was complete blackness.

Someone called out his name. "Spock! Spock, I'm here…"

He looked around, but there was nothing to see.

"Spock…"

Something wet dripped onto his face and it seemed as if he was sinking back into the water. Panicking, he fought to breathe.

"Sedate him," a voice said.

oooo

"I know you can hear me," a woman spoke nearby.

Spock sensed that he should know her, and that her message was meant for him.

"You're off life-support, back on your own. You're making tremendous progress. Spock, aisha, open your eyes. Try it, you can see now. Your optic nerves are healed."

At her urging, he raised his eyelids. Dazzling light danced all around him, and he had to squint. Something moved in his line of vision. Blinking, he attempted to focus. He saw a woman standing over him. Tears glistened in her blue eyes. Bending near, she gently touched his face. For a moment he almost thought he knew her name, but the tantalizing word-image faded.

"Do you know who I am?" she asked, stroking his hair.

Yes, he thought. And then again, no. He knew her as well as he knew himself, yet he did not know her at all.

"Can you speak?" she asked softly.

He tried. He wanted to say, I can. And though he was certain that sounds came out, he was equally certain they were not the correct sounds.

He tried again.

The woman's smile faded away. Her face went white and stiff with a distress that he could somehow feel inside himself.

Frightened, he asked, What is wrong with me? Slowly, carefully, his mind formed the thought, but his tongue spoke a strange language all its own. The frustrating paradox tired him, and before long his eyes closed.

oooo

An announcement over an intercom awakened Spock and he found himself lying flat in a bed. For a moment he just studied his surroundings. It was a hospital room, and a fair-haired woman stood at a window with her back to him.

Clearing his throat, Spock said, "Excuse me…"

The woman whirled around and faced him. Breaking into a delighted grin, his wife cried out wordlessly.

"Lauren," he said, wondering why he had not recognized her at once.

Tears spilled from her eyes. "You can speak!"

The remark seemed nonsensical. "Of course I can speak. Where am I?"

Wiping at her face, she came over to the bed. "You're at Starfleet Medical Center. Can you tell me what year it is?"

"Don't you know?" But apparently she had some concern regarding his mental state, so he proceeded to tell her the year in both Earth and Vulcan calendar.

At that she bombarded him with more foolish questions, all of which he answered easily. "There is nothing the matter with my mind," he insisted, "and as for my body…"

Pushing back the covers, he attempted to rise and found to his consternation that his arms lacked strength, and he could not move his legs at all. As he stared at the uncooperative limbs, he realized for the first time that he had no sensation from the waist down.

Lauren sat beside him and put her hand on his arm. "Lie back," she urged.

He complied. Such was his weakness that he had no choice but to comply.

"You're getting better every day," she said, then hesitated.

Spock searched his mind—then her face—for the answers he could not find within himself. "Lauren…what has happened to me?"

"You beamed down from the Enterprise with Jim. There was an accident…"

He tried to recall. He was leaving Lauren and the children…travelling aboard a starliner to an astrophysics conference on Memory Alpha. "Jim rendezvoused and I went aboard the Enterprise. We visited a planet that had only recently been discovered in that quadrant. I beamed down with one of the landing parties…"

"Do you remember what happened next?"

Strange, dreamlike images rose up. Spock frowned and shook his head. "The conditions were extremely cold and arid, but I can recall nothing beyond that."

"There was an oasis." Lauren took his hand and gripped it tightly.

Closing his eyes, he worked to recover the lost memories. There was lush green vegetation. White, waxy blossoms. He smelled moisture and pollens. He heard water. He felt water. "Jim. He was in danger…"

"You were both in danger—covered in some sort of sticky biological toxin."

Spock's mind returned to the flowers. "I was studying a most peculiar plant when the captain summoned me. Perhaps he encountered something similar."

"They beamed you both out of a pond."

Pond water. "We must have tried to wash away the toxin. I am unsure…" He seemed to feel Jim slipping out of his arms and it was such a terrible sensation that he opened his eyes again. "The captain. Did he…drown?"

"No." Lauren gave his hand a squeeze. "Jim is alive—just coming along more slowly. If you hadn't gotten into that pond, you'd both be dead now. The toxin contained a lethal nerve poison. They've been treating you with everything on the market, but the damage was so extensive…we…we weren't sure you'd even make it. That Vulcan stamina of yours astonished everyone. At your rate of recovery, you'll be walking out of here in a week."

Spock regarded her with skepticism. "Walking?"

"Yes," she promised, "walking."

He looked down at his toes and concentrated on moving them, but it was as if they belonged to someone else. Tiring, he gave up the effort.

"How long?" he asked. "How long has it been since the accident?"

"Twelve days." Leaning down, Lauren embraced him as if it had been forever.

oooo

Doctor M'Benga pulled back the blankets, exposing Spock's pajama-clad legs. As Spock watched, M'Benga applied a neuro-probe to different areas of his feet, systematically monitoring the damaged nerve pathways. A foot twitched in the doctor's hand and he glanced up.

"You felt that?"

"Yes." Spock was certain that he had detected a vague tickle. "Occasionally now, there is a slight tingling sensation."

"Excellent." M'Benga replaced the covers and smiled down at Spock, his teeth very white against his dark African skin. "I wish all my patients healed so easily. Maybe that's why I've always enjoyed treating Vulcans."

Spock felt equally comfortable with M'Benga. The doctor had been on McCoy's medical staff when Spock first came aboard the Enterprise. Although the years had tinged M'Benga's hair with gray, he seemed little changed. His calm, soft-spoken manner made him well-suited to work among Vulcans.

M'Benga extended his hand to Spock. "Here, let me feel your grip."

Spock grasped and squeezed the human's hand with all his strength. At one time such an effort could have crushed M'Benga's bones. Now, the doctor merely smiled.

"Not bad," he said, pausing to make a notation on his Padd.

"Doctor…" Spock waited until he had M'Benga's full attention. "If I may ask—what is the prognosis for Captain Kirk?"

The doctor's smile faded. "It's a pity he doesn't have a few of your Vulcan genes…but he's holding on, and even gaining a little ground here and there. Have you been to see him?"

Spock nodded. Only this morning he had hoisted himself into the grav-chair beside his bed and gone looking for his comatose friend. It was the first time he had left the room under his own power and it had felt good, despite an illogical sense of embarrassment over his disability.

M'Benga sighed. "I'm afraid no one can predict the outcome of Kirk's case. He received more of the toxin than you did, and he isn't responding nearly as well to treatment. But he is responding, and that's a hopeful sign. Right now the primary goal is to wean him off life support."

After the doctor left, Spock closed his eyes, shutting out the soft yellow light of afternoon, dwelling alone with his thoughts. What a senseless accident. Day by day his memory of the beam-down grew sharper as he reviewed every fateful detail. Kirk's second-in-command, Suba Vladis, had rightfully objected to the captain exposing himself to the potential dangers of an unexplored environment. Predictably, Kirk had gone anyway. At that point, the newest away team standards dictated that no member of the party should be left alone—yet there had always been that unwritten qualifier called "captain's discretion". For that reason, and also because Spock was not a member of Kirk's crew, he had not voiced an objection when Jim encouraged him to set off on his own. And Spock had known exactly how the captain would react to such an objection. Spock, I didn't bring you along to be my nursemaid…

Had Spock been a member of the crew, he would have kept the captain in sight. But because he was a guest he had acted differently—one might even say…irresponsibly.

Spock felt himself sinking into a mire of guilt and turned instead to logic. He had always had a tendency to overanalyze, but there was nothing to be gained by dwelling on past events unless they had some useful bearing on the present. For the sake of his family he must try and leave the past behind. He must center all his energy on making a full physical recovery.

oooo

Lauren's optimistic prediction had proved wrong. Spock had not walked out of the hospital in a week, but at least he had progressed to the next level of recovery, called "assisted walking". With the aid of medical appliances, he pushed himself to his feet so often and for such lengthy periods that he had been ordered to bed for the remainder of the afternoon. To guarantee his inactivity, M'Benga had called for a neuro-stimulator treatment. Now Spock had no choice but to lie still.

This seemed to amuse Lauren, who had brought Simon along for a visit. Stifling a smile, she left the boy in Spock's keeping and headed off to the research department. Simon scooted close to Spock on the bed and stared curiously at the humming module clamped over his father's legs.

"Does it hurt?" he asked in a hushed tone.

"The neuro-stimulator is painless," Spock assured him, "although it does sometimes generate odd sensations." He much preferred it over physical therapy, which could be most unpleasant. "Pain," he cautiously disclosed, "is a matter of the mind. There are Vulcan techniques which can effectively control it." He would never have said it in Lauren's presence; she so wanted the boy to be raised fully human. But despite appearances, Simon was not fully human.

Now his young face grew wistful. "I wish I were Vulcan."

Spock studied his eldest son. Simon was a handsome boy of nine, with dark wavy hair and brilliant blue eyes. A musically gifted child, he had been playing his violin in concerts and competitions for several years, and had also received acclaim for his original compositions. So great was his talent, that his instructor was having difficulty holding him back, keeping something of Simon's potential in reserve so he did not peak too early in life. Yet Simon was not satisfied with himself—a sadly discontented state that Spock remembered all too well from his own childhood.

He said, "You must learn to accept and appreciate yourself as you are. It's a fine thing to be fully of one species like your mother, but it is also fine to have a mixed heritage like myself and your brother James and your sisters. There is so much of the human and the Vulcan that you can explore. If you wish, I can help you develop more of your Vulcan qualities."

"But Mom…"

"Yes, but we might explain that it is necessary for your happiness. That is very important to her."

Simon's expression brightened.

Encouraged, Spock continued. "There is more to being Vulcan than pointed ears. James has them, but he is not a touch telepath like you. At an early age I taught you the basics of mental shielding, and there are other beneficial disciplines that would still leave you free to expression your emotions."

Dinner time was nearing when Lauren returned with a technician who took down the neuro-stimulator and wheeled it out the door.

Simon jumped to his feet, eyes glowing. "Can we see Uncle Jim now?"

Lauren cast Spock an anxious glance, but her words were for Simon. "Honey, Jim's awfully sick. He won't even know you're there."

"That's not true," Simon countered. "Sometimes people in comas can hear things. Father remembers me playing the violin for him." He swung around, his manner urging Spock to come to his assistance. "Didn't you?"

"Yes," Spock said, "I do remember. I believe your mother is concerned that seeing Jim will upset you."

"But I saw you in a coma," the boy argued.

Lauren spoke up. "And it hit you pretty hard, didn't it?"

"That's different," Simon insisted. "He's my father." Clearly frustrated, he appealed once more to Spock. "Please?"

A few minutes later they were heading down the corridor together. Even with neuro-assist bands, Spock had to lean heavily on a walker. Each step took a determined effort. He was not used to moving so laboriously, but he could hardly be impatient with himself when his family was so uncomplaining.

They arrived at Kirk's room. The captain lay silent and pale in the gentle glow of the life support unit. His chest rose and fell with programmed regularity; he could not even breathe for himself.

Spock found it difficult to think that Kirk might remain in this helpless state for the rest of his life. He had considered using a meld to try and reach his friend's subconscious mind, but decided against it. The captain had always taken such pleasure in physical activity. If Kirk was unaware of his present state, it seemed best to leave things as they were.

Simon left Spock's side and edged closer to the bed. "Uncle Jim," he called softly, as if he thought Kirk might wake up. But the captain slept on.

The boy extended his hand toward Kirk's arm.

"Simon," warned Spock, but with a will of his own the child reached out and touched his beloved "uncle".

Spock saw the meld-concentration entering Simon's eyes and said, "No! Lauren, stop him."

But it was already too late. His telepathic son reacted with shock to the eerie absence of surface consciousness, the frightening void where there had once been such vitality and warmth. Lauren pulled the boy clear, and for an instant Spock thought he might turn on his mother with anger. Tears came instead, and he buried his face against her.

As Lauren's eyes settled accusingly on Spock, he said, "Life's lessons are sometimes painful." It was not always possible—or even desirable—to shield their children from difficult experiences.

oooo

Home was no longer the peaceful retreat it had once been, but Spock welcomed the healthy commotion created by his growing family. There had been times when it seemed he would never be released from the hospital, but now the frustration and tedium of those days were only a memory. Yet he was not completely cured. The brain had amazing regenerative powers, but many of the peripheral nerve pathways—particularly those in his legs—were too severely damaged to ever recover fully. Despite a continuing regimen of therapy and medication, he would always experience a certain degree of pain and walk with a limp that became more pronounced as he tired.

Of course, none of that mattered here. His youngest offspring accorded him the same disrespect as when he was able-bodied. Perhaps it was because there were a pair of them. At two-and-a-half years of age, Teresa and James were already "putting their heads together" in babyish efforts to outwit and outmaneuver him. It was no secret that Teresa was the leader. She possessed a scheming mind and a body both larger and stronger than her twin's, so it was only natural that James follow her into temptation.

This morning Spock was on his own with the twins. A new babysitter had called in sick, and Lauren was busy with her research at SMC. Their mother was scarcely out of the house when the youngsters discovered a way to slip past the "child-proof" barrier at the foot of the staircase. They scrambled up into the forbidden regions, knowing full well that Spock could not take the stairs as quickly as Lauren or Simon. The second time they did this, Spock was not inclined to be so forgiving. He delivered a stern lecture as he herded James downstairs, cane gripped under one arm, while keeping a tight hold on Teresa and the banister.

Blatantly unrepentant, Teresa broke free the instant he set her down, and snatched his cane. Running away with it, she shrieked delightedly, her blonde curls bobbing.

For once little James hesitated to follow her. Gazing up solemnly at Spock, he pulled a wet, wrinkled thumb from his mouth and said, "Weesa's bad."

Spock looked at his frail, Vulcan-faced son and picked him up. James' expressive brown eyes appeared somewhat sallow, as did his skin. Yet he seemed to be doing well enough with his present liver function. Not for the first time Spock wondered what James would have been like if he were blessed with normal health like his active sister—but such speculations were pointless. The painful reality of Vash-Lester meant that James would likely die before reaching adolescence. For James, these early years were all the more precious because they were probably all the boy would ever have.

Spock gently touched his son's face—so like the pictures of himself at that age—and brushed the straight, glossy brown hair off James' Vulcan ears. The boy reached out with a hand sticky from play, briefly captured Spock's pointed ear tip, and broke into a tender smile.

Spock felt his mouth curve in response.

"Daaa-dy," called a second little voice.

Turning, Spock found Teresa's impish face peeking at him from the kitchen doorway.

"Weesa's a bad girl," James scolded, waving a little finger at her.

"Your sister is not bad," Spock told him. "She is merely full of mischief. Would you care to join her?"

James wiggled to be put down.

"Then run," Spock said, "run and play."

As soon as James' feet touched the floor, he scampered after Teresa. The sound of their laughter filled the house.

oooo

Spock's medical leave ended tomorrow. Although he had enjoyed spending the past weeks with his family, he was looking forward to resuming his duties as commandant of Starfleet Academy. In mid-afternoon he passed his physical, then left the outpatient area of the hospital to visit his comatose friend. It had been three days since he last saw the captain. At that time Kirk had finally begun breathing on his own. Other autonomic functions also showed signs of reviving, and there was a new sense of optimism among the medical staff. If Kirk rose to consciousness, Spock hoped it would be a gradual process, granting the captain time to absorb the harsh reality of his condition with a minimum of shock.

Although Spock's limp was still quite evident, he no longer needed a cane as he walked the corridors. He slowed as Kirk's room came into view. An armed security officer stood at attention beside the door. The young man met Spock's eyes and immediately moved to block the entrance.

Perplexed, Spock came to a halt before him and asked, "Is this not Captain Kirk's room?"

The guard's watchful gaze held him. "I'm sorry, sir, but that information is not available."

Once, long again, Spock had heard Kirk use a curious human expression: Alarm bells went off in my head. Now Spock knew precisely what he had meant. Why had a guard been posted? By whose authority? If Jim's condition had somehow become a matter of security, why hadn't he been moved to the Security Section?

Gathering himself, he said, "I am Captain Spock, Commandant of Starfleet Academy. I have come to see Captain Kirk."

The sentry remained as he was. "I'm sorry, sir, but I must ask you to move on."

Spock stood his ground as he considered the options available to him. He decided to inquire at the nurse's station and was starting to turn away when Kirk's door opened unexpectedly. The guard moved aside, allowing someone to exit.

Spock beheld the blonde-haired woman with surprise. "Doctor Marcus."

It had been years since he had seen the mother of Kirk's son; he was not aware that the captain had maintained any contact with Carol Marcus since David's death.

Carol gave him a warm smile of recognition. "Spock. I heard you were involved in the same accident with Jim. How are you?"

"I am doing fine, thank you," Spock answered, then hesitated. "If I might ask—how did you convince the guard to let you inside?"

Carol gave him a strange look and shrugged. "Well, I just opened the door and went in."

Spock raised an eyebrow. They spoke a moment longer and when Spock learned that Kirk's condition was unchanged, he decided to leave. But the matter preyed on his mind all the way home. Weather-wise, it was an unusual day for San Francisco. Unseasonably warm and humid, with a restless sky that hinted of an impending electric storm.

"Earthquake weather," Lauren called it when he reached the house.

Spock sensed her uneasiness and decided to delay telling her about his odd experience outside Jim's hospital room.

Lauren folded her arms and gazed anxiously out the living room window. "I wish Simon were home," she said softly.

In the downstairs nursery, one of the napping twins—James, by the sound of it—called out briefly in his sleep, then went silent.

Spock studied his wife. "Are you having one of your premonitions?"

"I don't know," she whispered with her eyes still on the window. "Maybe it's just the weather." Turning, she looked over at him with a worried expression he had come to know well. At one time he had found these sudden, fearful moods baffling in a woman who was usually so level-headed, but he had since learned to take her intuitions seriously.

He asked, "What time do you expect Simon home?"

"Not until dinner. There's a concert rehearsal at the performance hall."

"Is James well?"

She nodded.

Spock drew near and let his fingers drift down her temple and cheek. Her eyelids closed. Her mind relaxed a little and yielded closer to his.

"Mm, that feels good," she said. "Hold me."

As he took her into his arms, the doorchime rang.

Lauren sighed and opened her eyes.

"Perhaps," Spock said, "they will go away."

The doorchime rang twice more, insistently. In the nursery James made a wakeful sound and began to cough.

Spock left Lauren and went to the door. Three Starfleet security officers stood on his front porch. Their presence abruptly reminded him of the guard outside Kirk's hospital room.

"Captain Spock?" asked the ranking lieutenant.

"I am Spock," he acknowledged.

The young officer drew back his shoulders. "Sir…I regret to inform you that I have a warrant for your arrest."

Spock was stunned into momentary silence. Then he said, "I beg your pardon?"

Lauren moved in beside him. "Spock, what's going on? What is this?"

Spock's eyes remained fixed on the lieutenant. "It seems that these officers have come to arrest me." He heard Lauren suck in her breath and he said, "Lieutenant, I will see the warrant."

The officer produced a printout which Spock and Lauren read together. The document had been issued by the Chief of Base Security. It accused Spock of attempting to murder Captain James T. Kirk.

"Why, this is ridiculous!" Lauren exclaimed as she confronted the arresting officers.

Ignoring her, the lieutenant detached a pair of energy cuffs from his belt. Spock felt a tug on his pant leg and glanced downward. Teresa and James stood beside him, sleepy-eyed and rumpled from their nap.

"Ma'am," said the lieutenant, "you may want to take the youngsters indoors…"

Lauren's face flushed with anger. "There's no need for cuffs, and you know it!"

Spock touched her arm. "It is alright. Obviously there has been some error, but I will return with them to the base and rectify it. Please do as he says."

Lauren wavered for a long moment, then gave a reluctant nod. She urged the children into the house and shut the door.

Spock was alone with the officers. Handing back the warrant, he extended his arms outward to receive the cuffs. The lieutenant signaled one of his companions, who produced a phaser aimed squarely at Spock's chest.

"Turn around," the lieutenant ordered. "Put your hands behind your head and spread your legs."

Spock raised an eyebrow, but complied. Lauren came back on the porch while they were sweeping him for weapons. She watched in outrage as they drew back his arms and locked his wrists into the energy cuffs.

"You have a right to remain silent," recited the lieutenant as he turned Spock around, "but your silence may be seen in court as an admission of guilt. You have a right to seek counsel…" The age-old words flowed over Spock, as familiar as a scene in an entertainment video, and just as irrelevant.

"I have nothing to hide," he declared when the recital was over. "I assure you, I have committed no crime."

As they began to lead him away, he said to Lauren, "It's a mistake. They will see that."

But the storm in his wife's eyes would not be calmed.

oooo

It was an uneasy ride across town to the Starbase Detention Center. Lightning streaked from the clouds as Spock was taken from the car and led indoors. With his arms secured behind him, he had some difficulty maintaining his balance, but as soon as the guards realized it, they slowed their pace.

They arrived at the processing room. A pair of drunken looking enlisted men were shunted off to make way for him. Still in cuffs, Spock submitted to a retina scan, DNA scan, and holographic imaging before heading down a hallway to Interrogation. In the Spartan, windowless room he was finally relieved of his cuffs and seated across the table from two high-ranking human officers. A ceiling-mounted recorder activated.

"Alright now," the elder man said brusquely, "let's get down to business. No use wasting everyone's time. You might as well just get it over and tell us what happened."

"Happened?" Spock searched the officer's stern features. "Where am I supposed to have committed the crime?"

"Alpha Quadrant. Does that stir your memory? The oasis? The poison?"

Stunned, Spock sat back in his chair. "Sir, I assure you, I am not in the habit of murdering people, and if I were, I would not choose Captain Kirk. He is my friend. I tried to save him."

"Save him?" The officer's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Oh, come on. I'll tell you right up front, Captain—it won't do you any good to bullshit us. We have witnesses. We have evidence that even a Vulcan wouldn't dispute. Believe me, we looked long and hard into this one before we decided to bring you in. Now I suggest you save us all a lot of trouble and just tell the truth. We know you did it, and we know why."

Spock's mind wrestled with the officer's words. Witnesses? Evidence? The situation was far graver than he had realized. Surrendering to the inevitable, he said, "I will answer no further questions until I consult an attorney."