Chapter 1

"I'm leaving," T'Beth said abruptly.

Jim Kirk took a leisurely swallow of brandy and pivoted his wheelchair toward the sofa where Spock's dark-haired daughter was seated. Leaving his apartment? So what? Now that her father was out of prison, she spent more and more of her time over there, but of course Spock seldom managed to come here. Kirk had hardly set eyes on the damned Vulcan—his so-called friend—since the day Spock arrived back on Earth. And when he did visit, they argued.

T'Beth sat staring at him, not moving a muscle.

"What's the problem?" he snapped. "You need my permission? Daddy's waiting. Go on, get out!"

Pain clouded her hazel eyes. "No, Jim. You don't understand. I'm leaving for Sydok."

For a moment Kirk felt as if the paralysis in his lower limbs was creeping over his entire body, and forced himself to take slow, even breaths. What's wrong with me? This is good news. Wonderful news. The whole place to myself again…and it's about time.

Flexing the numbness from his hands, he poured himself another drink from the bottle resting in his lap.

"Well, aren't you going to say anything?" T'Beth asked him.

He shrugged and held the glass up in a sarcastic toast. "Warp speed." As he swallowed the liquor, it was all he could do to get it past the knot in his throat.

T'Beth got up and walked over to him, tears shimmering. "My leave's running out. My flight is booked day after tomorrow. Jim…" Her voice caught. "Jim, I'd really like to see you up and walking before I go."

Angry, Kirk pivoted his chair and wheeled down the hallway, into his bedroom. He shut the door—slammed it hard—then backed his wheelchair against it and listened to the sound of his heart pounding.

There were footsteps in the hall. T'Beth's voice came to him through the door, gently pleading. "I don't want to leave you like this. Aaron helped my father and he can help you, too. Be reasonable, Jim. Go to him…"

To the one and only Commander Aaron Pascal? He was all T'Beth seemed to talk about anymore. Kirk had grown to hate the very sound of his name. Consumed by jealousy, he shouted, "Just go to hell!"

oooo

It was precisely a month since Spock's release from prison. The day had slipped by quietly, all but unnoticed in a weekend of activities—and conflict—under the warm New Zealand sun. Simon's unrelenting moodiness had made life difficult for everyone.

Now as Spock piloted his family home from the travel port, he was acutely aware of the boy's shoe digging into the back of his seat. It was dark and the windshield was spattered with drizzle when the skimmer touched down. Simon bolted straight to the front door and rushed into the house without helping unload. Although Lauren sighed loudly, Spock made no effort to stop the boy; just now a little distance would do them both good. He took his time unfastening the sleepy twins from their seats, then helped his wife carry them in. Teresa and James had worn themselves out in New Zealand's nature parks. At this young age they were so easy to please, their needs and emotions so uncomplicated.

Spock enjoyed the feeling of Teresa's arms around his neck as he took her upstairs to the bedroom she shared with her brother. There was no longer any need to watch each step closely. His strides were strong and steady, his legs totally free of the painful disorder that had made him limp for so long. Aaron Pasco's Transmigrator had eliminated every trace of neurological damage. There was already some talk that Aaron would be nominated for the Nobel Prize in medicine, and Spock could think of no one more deserving than his young friend.

Leaving Lauren with the children, he went downstairs to check the phone and discovered a message from Vulcan. He brought up the transmission and found Sarek's brother speaking to him from the screen. Startled, Spock studied Sparn's image as his uncle delivered a brief invitation. The screen had gone blank when he heard Lauren on the stairs and called out to her. She walked over and he watched her anger flare as he replayed the surprising com.

"'A valuable position in a prospering business specializing in the relocation of undesirable life forms'!" Fuming, she said, "I can't believe it! Is he actually offering you a job as an exterminator?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Vulcans are not in the habit of exterminating any creature they find inconvenient…but that is hardly the salient point of this communication. Think, Lauren. While my uncle's intentions are no doubt questionable, he has just spoken to me directly—and by name. Sparn has acknowledged my existence and extended an invitation to participate in Vulcan's business affairs. It can only mean that the interdict against me has been lifted."

Lauren's mouth dropped open. "You're not exiled anymore? But wouldn't there have been some word? Some kind of official notification from Vulcan's High Council?"

"I am unsure," Spock admitted. He was turning back to the screen when a tone signaled an incoming message—this time from his mother. The case had been re-evaluated at her demand, since Sarek was "apparently too busy to concern himself with the matter". The council had removed its edict of banishment.

Spock sat back in the chair and took a moment to absorb the news. He had not expected this—or surely, not so soon. Sarek was not the only Vulcan who found it difficult to admit an error. The High Council seldom reversed a ruling, but in this case they may have found a quiet retraction preferable to dealing with his mother when her temper was up.

It felt as if a great weight had been lifted from him…yet this turn of events also brought a twinge of regret.

He remained so quiet that Lauren leaned over and asked, "Are you thinking of Sarek?"

"No," Spock said reflectively. Perhaps it was a foolish complaint, but he voiced it. "I am thinking of the property you sold for me on Vulcan. Of course, we thought then that I would be imprisoned for twenty years or longer…and credits were in short supply."

Lauren's lips parted. An odd look came over her face and Spock was reminded of their daughter Teresa when she was caught in some naughty deed.

Quickly he said, "Do not think that I blame you. After all, you were only following my instructions. The decision was mine to make."

Despite the reassurance, Lauren seemed to grow even more distressed. All at once she began to stammer, "I…I'm afraid I have a confession to make."

"Oh?" Spock said, preparing himself for an unpleasant disclosure.

In a small voice she said, "I never sold your Vulcan property."

Perplexed, he rose slowly to his feet. "But how can that be? I distinctly told you…"

"You told me to sell the property if I needed more income. Well, I got by without it…and we're still getting by, aren't we?"

Yes, of course they were "getting by", now. Upon Spock's release from Romar's prison colony, Starfleet had pensioned him off with such a sizeable deposit of back pay that he would not have to rush into employment. But life had been a struggle for Lauren while he was in prison, and for a time they had both been incarcerated.

Spock searched his wife's face. "I have always honored your desire to handle our routine household finances. You have a marked aptitude for such management…" He almost dreaded to add, "But please do not tell me that you went against my wishes and accepted money from your mother…or from mine."

Lauren's mouth set in a stubborn line. "Don't look at me that way. When I ran off with you to find T'Naisa, I had to turn everything over to Mother. Someone had to keep up with the bills while we were gone. And…" Her eyes dropped, her bravado faltered. "And she paid them, alright. She up and paid off our entire mortgage!" In a very subdued voice she added, "I'm surprised you haven't seen it in my thoughts when we…"

Yes. In their most intimate moments there was always some mental mingling. Spock thought over the troubling situation and broke his silence to say, "At such times your mind is not occupied with finances. But of course we will repay her. Why didn't you tell me this at once? She must think I am most ungrateful never to have thanked her."

"I was afraid to tell you," she admitted, eyes downcast.

Spock gently tipped her chin upward until she met his gaze. "Afraid?"

Just then there was a sound out on the porch. The front door squeaked as it swung open. Spock and Lauren moved apart with the tacit understanding that they would continue their conversation later.

T'Beth came around the corner and found them. "Good," she said with obvious relief. "I was hoping you were home."

Spock read the unhappiness on his daughter's face. No doubt she had suffered more abuse at Kirk's hands, and the thought grieved him. He was glad T'Beth was returning to her life on Sydok, where she would be worlds away from the trouble that was about to descend on the former captain.

At her request, she brought out her Chinese chess board and they spent a quiet hour immersed in the strategies they had honed with paper game pieces on Donari. More than once he found her eyes fixed on him, her lips parted as if she was about to speak. But the moment she had his attention, her eyes would drop and she would shift in her seat like a nervous child.

Once, with her eyes on the board, she softly said, "I have to go. I have commitments and responsibilities…"

Spock assured her that he both understood and approved her decision, all the while wondering about the true nature of her commitments. There had been rumors—strange, outlandish tales of a royal romance and the birth of a female child.

After some consideration he moved a cannon and glanced up at his daughter. It could be that there was some kernel of truth in the rumors, but he could not believe that T'Beth would hide a child from him. He no longer had access to Starfleet records, but Lauren had run a check that proved negative. Spock had considered scanning Sydok's bank of vital statistics, but decided to drop the matter out of respect for T'Beth's privacy. Or so he told himself.

Spock won the match. As they were returning the game pieces to their case, T'Beth paused tearfully and asked, "You will go and see Jim, won't you? After I'm gone?"

"Of course," Spock assured her. "In fact, I have plans for our Mr. Kirk on the very day that you leave."

oooo

Spock bid his daughter farewell at the spaceport and went directly to Kirk's apartment. This particular visit had been weeks in the planning. There had been preparations to be made, many important phone calls and appointments, as well as a brief trip to Iowa where Jim's cousin still operated the family farm. But at long last everything was in place.

At the apartment door he announced himself through a speaker and waited. There was a lengthy delay before Kirk finally released the lock that his paranoia demanded. Spock entered the unlit rooms and found Kirk hunched in his wheelchair by the windows, gazing out at the raw December day.

Spock stopped where he was and waited for Kirk to greet him, but his former captain did nothing to acknowledge his presence.

Finally Spock broke the silence and said, "T'Beth has departed for Sydok."

Kirk did not bother to look his way as he spoke in a derisive tone, "You came over just to tell me that?"

Spock experienced an all-too-human stirring of anger and swiftly brought himself under control. "No. I have come to tell you that I am glad she is gone, because now you will no longer be able to hurt her. The ingratitude you have shown T'Beth is despicable."

Kirk swung around like a cornered animal and glared at him. "I never the hell asked her to come here! And I never asked you, either!" His voice took on a sharp edge of mockery. "My, how Vulcan-young you look…and how strong with those legs of yours all fixed."

Though Spock had fully expected hostility, he had not quite anticipated this. "Jim…what has become of you?"

Kirk's jaw tightened. "You think you're so damned superior. Just leave me alone."

Spock almost wished that were possible, that he could simply turn and walk away from this bitter, abrasive man as if they were nothing more than strangers. But he could not. He had come here with one purpose in mind—one last painful duty to his captain and friend—and he would not leave until he had performed it.

Steeling himself, he said, "When I was at the Luna penitentiary a new prisoner arrived, little more than a boy. He was assigned to a cell directly across from mine. Many a night I would hear him whimpering in pain as his three cellmates did as they pleased with him. There was no doubt of what was happening. I am Vulcan. Even though the cellblock was dark, I could see clearly enough…" At this point Spock hesitated. It was not easy for him to speak of those times, and Kirk's unreceptive attitude made the telling even more difficult. "Finally, I went to the warden. Cho said that the boy would have filed his own complaint if he were in any difficulty. The warden suggested that I had an ulterior motive—that perhaps I would like the boy transferred to my own cell."

Kirk broke his silence with sarcasm. "Does this sordid little tale of yours have a point?"

That was all it was to him, Spock realized—just a "sordid little tale". He could not bring himself to explain why he had felt such a responsibility toward the helpless boy, nor how the boy had later run out through an airlock and permanently ended his misery.

"I can see that I am boring you, so I will move on to the question that my story is meant to pose. Namely, what would you have done in my place? Could you have watched someone come to harm and done nothing? Or would you have tried everything in your power to save him?"

Light dawned in Kirk's bloodshot eyes and he broke into a bitter smile. "You're telling me that I'm like that boy in the cell—is that it? And who is screwing me over?"

"In your case," Spock replied, "the harm is entirely self-inflicted."

Kirk laughed—a hollow, humorless sound. "Not much of an allegory, Spock. In case you haven't figured it out, I can't screw anyone. Better just stick to your logic."

Spock considered. "Logic. Yes, logic certainly has its place. But something beyond logic has brought me here today and is leading me to offer you a choice."

Kirk's smile faded. "A choice? What choice?"

Spock saw no reason to delay the matter any further. Reaching into his coat pocket, he drew out a thick envelope and handed it to Kirk.

Eyeing it, Kirk said, "What the hell is this? Your prison memoirs?"

Ignoring the distasteful remark, Spock gathered his resolve and said, "You are hereby served to appear for a medical examination ordered by the court to determine your competency and admit you to rehabilitative care. In that envelope you will also find depositions upon which this action is based." And he added, "Of course, there will be no need for the examination if you choose to undergo treatment voluntarily."

With trembling hands Kirk tore open the envelope. His face flushed as he scanned the thick sheaf of papers, reading names of doctors, relatives, and friends—Spock among them. Then his face contorted with rage and he hurled them to the floor. "Why, you back-stabbing son-of-a bitch!"

Spock found it increasingly difficult to speak, but he was not yet finished. "Judging by your earlier remark…you are aware that I have been healed by Commander Pascal's Cell Transmigrator…yet you refuse the same treatment for yourself. That is not rational. Your disability has become a convenient shield that you hide behind…and blame for your personal failure. You use it as an excuse to indulge in drunkenness…and self-pity…" He broke off, fully expecting his former captain to explode in rage. But Kirk's trembling had almost subsided. His anger seemed to have sunk to a deeper, colder plane. His eyes never left Spock's face as he slowly backed his wheelchair to the table where he kept his liquor.

"There was a time," Spock said, "when I held you in highest regard. But now when I look at you…I see a dissipated body and an unbalanced mind. You are sick, Jim."

"Don't call me Jim!" Kirk said through his teeth. "Don't…ever…call me that again!" Grasping a decanter of brandy, he held it up for Spock to see. "This is all the treatment I need…but you're right about one thing. One of us is sick-minded, and it's not me. When I think about how I stood up for you in court…!"

"I, too, remember that day," Spock said.

"Do you? Not half as well, I wager, as the day you found out that I'd stepped over the line with your daughter. That's what this is all about, isn't it? T'Beth. So now it's payback time. And all along I've been cursing Starfleet for what they did to you. Well, maybe they weren't far wrong, after all!"

Yet again Spock reminded himself that Kirk did not realize what he was saying, could not possibly understand the power his insults held over this particular halfling. Levelly he said, "Your attitude toward me is irrelevant. All that matters is the decision I have placed before you. How will you respond?"

Something murderous stirred in the human's eyes, and his fingers clenched into fists. "Come here," he said curtly. "Come over here—or are you afraid?"

Spock remained as he was. "No, I am not afraid. But if you really feel that you must strike me, you will have to stand up to do it."

Kirk's eyes flamed. "Then get out, you calculating, satanic bastard! Get the hell out of my sight, do you hear me?"

Somehow Spock met his fury with an outward show of calm. "As you wish. But like it or not, your competency will be evaluated."

oooo

Kirk sat behind the locked door of his bedroom and tried to make sense out of what was happening to him. His hands shook. His head throbbed viciously. His brain felt fuzzy from too much alcohol.

This was not the first time he had been angry at Spock, but all those petty flashes of temper paled in comparison to the bitter rage he was experiencing now. Incompetent! The word twisted like a knife. How many people had the traitorous Vulcan paid off to get those depositions? What kind of lies had he been telling everyone?

Frustrated, he reached out to grab a lone water glass that had somehow escaped his rampage—then stopped himself. Come on, Jim. You know how to think your way out of tight situations. You've done it before, you can do it again. Only this time, Spock was not at his side helping. This time, Spock was the enemy.

Kirk drew in a deep breath. His eyes darted around the bedroom, as if the solution might be lying around somewhere in the mess he had created. Think. Think!

The legal system was being rigged against him. They were going to strip him of his rights. In a matter of days he would find himself in detox or end up as some squirming test subject for Aaron Pascal's medical experiments. All because of Spock.

Kirk's desperate gaze lit on the medicine caddy beside his bed. There, tucked away in a drawer was something that would even the score. It took a moment to maneuver his wheelchair over to it. Reaching deep into the drawer, he pulled out the little phaser and cradled it in his hand. Yes, he could certainly take care of Spock with this—one swift, fatal beam of energy and the Vulcan would be nothing more than a bad memory.

An image of Spock's younger children rose up in his mind. Simon, Teresa, and little James. They would never even know what happened to their father. They would wonder. They would worry. They would cry.

Abruptly he shoved the phaser back into the drawer and rubbed his hands over his face. Kill Spock? What was he thinking? And even if he dared do it, the phaser blast would set off every security alarm in the building.

No. He would have to come up with something else.

oooo

James Kirk was missing, and to Spock the night seemed interminable. It had been hours since he first consulted with the police, but there was still no word of Kirk's whereabouts. And so, he waited…

Shortly after 3:00 a.m. he left Lauren curled up on Jim's sofa, dozing. His restlessness carried him through the quiet halls of the high-rise apartment complex, all the way to ground level. There, in the shelter of the main entryway, he stood breathing the cold damp air while rain pounded the nearby pavement. Overhead, the thick layer of clouds blocked every star, but in his mind's eye he saw each and every one of them—countless reminders of his voyages with Captain Kirk aboard the Enterprise. An unlikely pairing, that brash young captain and the wary, insecure halfling who had scarcely know how to relate to him, or to any other human. Yet there among the stars, Spock had ultimately given his life for him, acknowledging their bond of friendship with his last breath.

Spock drew his coat tight against the storm's chill and gazed out at the rain. An hour had passed when the entry door opened behind him and Lauren appeared at his side. Her hand found his, and comforted by her touch, he began to voice the deeply personal concerns that had been plaguing him all night. "It would seem that I have driven him to take some desperate measure. He must feel as if everyone has abandoned him, and in his state of mind there is no telling what he might have done. It troubles me that he left his wheelchair behind…as if he had no further use for it. Is he dead? Would I sense it?"

Lauren glanced up at him and he saw his own deepest worry reflected in her eyes. Extending her free hand, she drew back her fingers. There on her palm lay a man's ring—the very signet ring Spock gave Kirk as a gift one memorable Christmas aboard the Enterprise.

"I…found it in his trash," she said.

All at once he felt his control slipping. He should have been able to suppress the sorrow using Vulcan techniques, as he had so many times this past year. Perhaps, if Lauren had not been there. But in the stillness of the night she drew him close, and as she rested her head on his shoulder, he broke down and wept.

oooo

Kirk felt himself starting to awaken and instinctively shrank back toward the sweet, painless oblivion of sleep. The effort only served to rouse him all the more. He groaned as hard, sober reality broke into his consciousness, assaulting him with memories. A single image caught and froze in his mind—the face of betrayal—a stony, unfeeling Vulcan face.

Anger hit him like a dash of scalding water, and his eyes snapped open. Morning light slanted through dusty window blinds. The room was small and cluttered, with the rustic flavor of a bachelor's mountain cabin. Gradually he sorted through the tangle of confusion and began to relax.

So he had outwitted Spock, after all.

Kirk caught a whiff of fresh-brewed coffee. Shoving back the covers, he raised his arms and enjoyed a slow stretch in the chilly air. No central heating system here. Old Lem Howard warmed the house from a single wood-burning stove located in the living room. As a boy, Kirk had hated that black metal monster because of the blisters it represented. Chop and split, chop and split—it was the same routine every time he came to visit. Eventually he began to suspect that it was his uncle's way of proving to a farm boy that ranch chores were as tough as anything back in Iowa. And in spite of a few blisters, Kirk had enjoyed visiting his taciturn, reclusive uncle here in the rugged mountains of Idaho.

It was good to be back. Levering himself upright, he drank from the flask of liquor tucked under the mattress before slipping into his custom exo-shell. The thick sensor mesh fit snugly around his legs and lower torso, and he pulled his pants over it before turning the unit on. He hated the contraption. Sure, it enabled him to walk upright—slowly and carefully. No amount of training had improved his speed, but eventually he made it into the bathroom, then the kitchen where breakfast awaited him.

"Thought you looked a little peaked last night," Lemuel said, slapping down a plate of ham, eggs, and country-fried potatoes.

Kirk's stomach rebelled at the sight of so much food. He picked at an orange yolk and a little potato, washing it down with plenty of strong, black coffee.

"Not much of an appetite," the old man observed.

Kirk felt a twinge of shame, and it annoyed him. He told himself that there was no reason to offer his uncle an explanation, that even though he had come here uninvited, he was still entitled to some privacy. He gave an apologetic shrug and left it at that.

Lemuel's dark eyes narrowed as they studied him. "There won't be any drinkin' around here. I won't put up with it."

The sense of shame deepened. So his uncle had heard, and somehow his opinion mattered. "Lem," he said, "I told you yesterday that people would be looking for me. A lot of people are going to be calling here—even Cousin Lucas."

Lemuel stretched out his long, lean frame and nodded. "Yup. He already did."

Kirk twitched, heart pounding. "He did? What did you tell him?"

"Told him you were a troublemaker from the start," Lem replied with typically sharp-edged humor. "Told him I hoped they'd find you in a hurry, before the news services announce there's a drunk on the loose and disgrace the whole damn family."

Kirk went limp, and in that moment of fierce relief he made a resolution. "I'm through with it, Lem. I'm here to dry out. Not another drop, I swear."