Chapter 3

It was a dangerous, selfish game he was playing, yet Kirk could not seem to force Jim Tiber back into the lonely box where he had found him. Oh, it had started innocently enough. A bit of an adventure, a flirtation—something to help fill the empty moments of his life, and there were far too many of those. He told himself it was only a happy coincidence that most every time he went riding, he seemed to run into Antonia. It was not until their conversations turned serious that he began to think she might actually care for him as much as he found himself caring about her.

The realization shook him. Now he could plainly see her confusion mounting each time he refused her simple requests.

"Jim, come over to my house, it's not far." "No? Well, at least get down off that horse and we can walk along Plum Creek." "Jim, are you glued to that animal?"

Today she dismounted, stood beside his horse, and laid her hand on the deadened nerves of his leg. "Somebody's hurt you," she sadly concluded, "haven't they? And now you don't want to let anyone close."

The words tore at him. With all his heart he longed to climb down off his horse and take Antonia into his arms, but not even Jim Tiber could do that.

"I've had my share of pain," he conceded.

Tears welled in her eyes. Silently she turned from him and mounted her horse. She was about to ride away when Kirk made a wrenching decision and called out, "Wait!"

Antonia sat gazing up at the ridge.

Kirk's throat tightened. "Antonia, I know it's hard for you to understand me. Maybe…maybe someday I can explain. But first I have to go away."

She swung around and looked at him, tears sliding down her cheeks. "You're coming back," she said. It was more of a heartfelt demand than a question.

Kirk wished he could give her that one promise, but even if Aaron Pascal's treatment was fully successful—even if he came back with a strong, healthy body—the man she wanted was named Tiber, not Kirk. In the end all he could honestly say was, "I love you."

oooo

Spock knew there was no logical reason for him to linger at Starfleet Medical Center. He had already spent the early morning hours in the emergency room with James; the boy had weathered another health crisis and was now back at home with his mother. But then, just as Lauren had predicted, word of Kirk came; he had been admitted as a patient and was about to undergo the Transmigrator treatment. Though Spock's presence could not possibly affect the treatment's outcome or bring his estranged friend any comfort, he had immediately returned to the hospital—perhaps because it was the human thing to do. And hoping that the experience might bring Simon closer, he allowed the boy to accompany him. It had seemed like a fine idea, but the reality fell far short of Spock's expectations.

In mid-afternoon they sat at opposite corners of the room where others had gathered to await news of Kirk's condition. Montgomery Scott and Doctor McCoy were discussing a rumor they had heard regarding some unusual scientific inquiries originating from the Klingon Empire. The conversation quickly spread throughout the room as others added their own observations.

Suddenly McCoy turned and said, "Spock, have you heard anything about it?"

Spock slowly set the down the datapadd he had been using. He could feel Simon's eyes on him. Everyone was looking his way, waiting to see how he would respond. Finally he said, "As I am no longer a member of Starfleet, I could hardly be privy to such confidential matters."

There was a concerted sigh of disappointment. Simon slouched down in his chair as if the answer had acutely embarrassed him.

Then Scott said, "Aye, but surely ye've got wind of somethin'."

Commander Uhura nodded. "Subspace has been buzzing with the strangest chatter, and no one has been able to tell us why the Enterprise has been recalled." She paused. "Mr. Spock, do you suppose it could mean…war?"

A hush fell over the waiting room. Once more Simon's eyes darted toward his father and it almost seemed as if Spock could read his disdainful thoughts. Why are they bothering to ask you? You're not in Starfleet anymore. You're nothing but an unemployed ex-con."

Spock drew a slow breath. "I would not venture any opinion at this point," he said, and then excused himself.

The others continued speculating about the Klingons as he headed out into the corridor. He stopped to drink from a water fountain, then stood alone, thinking. With their home world dying, the Klingons would likely act in one of two ways in order to guarantee their survival. Make peace with the Federation, or invade.

T'Beth had been little older than Simon when she had the misfortune of falling with Spock into Klingon hands. It had been an ugly, brutal episode, and now it chilled Spock to think of a Klingon attack threatening his very home.

He rose from his thoughts to find a robed figure walking toward him…

Sarek approached his son with a slow step. It was disappointing to find Spock wasting time while the fate of the entire Federation hung in the balance. Once more he questioned the motivations that led him to offer his son such a sensitive diplomatic mission.

For the sake of privacy, they withdrew to one of the small meditation rooms that were located on each floor of the hospital. Once inside, Sarek went straight to the point. "You have had ample time to consider the proposal I made to you at the embassy. Obviously you have been preoccupied with various issues of a personal nature." As Spock's eyebrow rose, Sarek continued with a well-chosen quote. "Surak said, 'It is a wise man who sets his own house in order before taking on the affairs of state'. Spock, your family and friendships are placing heavy demands upon your time. I will understand if you must decline my offer."

Spock stiffened as if his human sensibilities had somehow been offended. And Sarek wondered, Now what? The Vulcan equivalent of "Take your offer and go to hell"? Well, he had tried his best and in the process achieved an amicable reunion with Amanda, if nothing else. Releasing his hopes for Spock's participation, he waited…but as it turned out, his hopes had not been in vain.

"It would then seem," Spock said, "that I am unwise, for I have decided to accept the assignment. If you have not changed your mind regarding my suitability, I will do my best to open a dialogue with Chancellor Gorkon."

Along with relief, Sarek felt the weariness of age creeping up on him. He had devoted his entire life to the highest standards of interplanetary diplomacy. Now he could only hope that Spock's "best" would not land them both on history's galactic blacklist.

oooo

Kirk had no patience for the stir his sudden reappearance created. There was only one reason he had come to the medical center, and he wanted to be done with it. But clearly the word was out. So much for confidentiality. As a nurse settled him into bed, he found flowers already waiting on a side table.

"My my, aren't you popular," the nurse said with a smile. She glanced at a signature card displayed in a little pot of gardenias. "This one's from Lauren…and family. Is that your wife, Captain?"

If Lauren knew, then so did Spock. He grit his teeth against the bitter taste of defeat. "No, she's not my wife and I'm not a captain. Take those smelly things somewhere else, will you?"

She had scarcely left when a circle of smock-clad doctors closed in on him, along with a uniformed man who Kirk had met not long ago.

"So good to see you again, Mr. Kirk," Aaron Pascal said with a French accent as he held out his hand.

Pascal wore his usual neatly trimmed beard and a smile that Kirk did not quite trust. After all, this was Spock's friend—his young protégé hand-picked from the European Alps. Who could tell what was really going on beneath those meticulous manners?

Kirk declined the handshake.

Pascal maintained his pasted-on smile as he lowered his arm. "I'm so pleased that you've had a change of heart. You should benefit greatly from the Transmigrator therapy."

"I…'should'." Kirk did not like the indefinite sound of that. The Transmigrator was still in an experimental phase. What if he came out in even worse shape? What if he had been right all along, and this was just an elaborate Starfleet plot to get rid of him—permanently?"

He could hear his heartbeat racing on the monitor above the bed, and tried to set his mind on Antonia.

Pascal leaned over him, and Kirk felt a warm touch on his hand. "It's only natural to be anxious, Mr. Kirk. Before we start, I'd like to take a moment and explain everything, so you know exactly what to expect."

All through the little pep talk, Pascal kept stressing that there was no reason to worry. It was all very simple. First, a thorough examination. Then the doctors would painlessly extract healthy nerve cells for accelerated cloning. During the final stage, the Transmigrator would reduce Kirk's entire body to sub-atomic particles and selectively reassemble it, holding back damaged cells and replacing them with the ones that were cloned. If everything "went well", he would soon have feeling and movement in his lower body.

"And if it doesn't 'go well'?" Kirk questioned. "What then? You just call it a bad run and scrape me into a pail?"

Everyone laughed as if he were joking.

"In this phase we've never had a bad run," Pascal said, and handed over a paper document releasing Starfleet from liability.

Holding back anger, Kirk scribbled his name.

Later that day he awakened to find a man standing near his bed.

Commander Pascal approached him with a very satisfied look and announced, "It's over. See for yourself. Get up and walk."

Kirk stared at him, not quite believing. Maybe the Transmigrator had worked on Spock, but Spock was half Vulcan. His body was stronger, his infirmities puny compared to Kirk's paralysis. After all, how much work would it take to cure a little limp?

Pascal pulled back the covers and touched the foot jutting from Kirk's pajama leg. Kirk knew without a doubt that Pascal had touched him. He felt it—warm skin, the pressure of fingers rubbing over flesh and bone!

Kirk watched, utterly thrilled, as Pascal's hand went to the sole of his other foot. He felt a tickle and jerked his foot away!

Pascal chuckled. "Go ahead—try them out. Walk."

Suddenly, deep down, Kirk knew he could walk. Overcome with excitement, he flexed his legs, swung them over the side of the bed and stood, bracing himself. He could feel the blood pumping through his muscles so sure and strong that he had to stare down at them. He could not remember ever feeling so alive. It made him want to run and jump like a boy.

"That's it, "Pascal said. "You're doing fine."

Kirk let go of the bed and took a cautious step. His balance was perfect! He tried another step, and another, and then he was freely striding back and forth across the room.

Whirling to face Pascal, he said, "I'm cured! I'm really cured!"

"Of course," Pascal said with a cool, understated arrogance that make Kirk's temper rise. "And I hope you won't forget that it was Spock who convinced you to take the treatment."

Spock? Convinced me? Kirk's hands clenched at his sides. Is that what the Vulcan was telling everyone?

"Oh, I won't forget his part in this," Kirk snapped. "Rest assured, I have every intention of thanking our good Mr. Spock. In fact, I'd like to give him my thanks right now."

Pascal smiled. "He's out in the waiting room. Shall I get him?"

"No need for that." Still in pajamas but not caring, Kirk burst out the door and strode down the hospital corridor, searching for the Vulcan. Of course he was here, making sure the job was done just as he wanted it. He and his friend Pascal always putting their superior heads together, speaking a scientific blather only they could comprehend. Well, Kirk thought, flexing his fingers, I have a private language all my own, and Spock is about to learn it—the hard way.

Stopping suddenly, he ducked his head into a waiting room and saw the back of a seated figure. There was no mistaking that smooth, dark cap of hair. In a few healthy strides, Kirk stood before him. As Spock glanced up, Kirk seized the unsuspecting Vulcan and jerked him to his feet. Kirk threw all his newfound strength into the first punch and caught Spock hard on the jaw. The Vulcan lost his footing and fell on top of the seats, one arm raised in an attempt to ward off the flurry of punishing blows. Somehow, amidst it all, the Vulcan managed to pick himself up. For a moment they just circled one another, Kirk untouched, relishing the fresh green blood flowing from a gash below Spock's rapidly swelling eye.

"Come on," Kirk goaded, "here I am on my feet, you conniving son-of-a-bitch!"

Someone touched his arm. He shrugged it off.

Now someone was touching him again. Annoyed, Kirk glanced over…and rose from a nightmarish mist of sedation to find himself flat on his back in bed.

A fuzzy pair of faces seemed to be floating above him.

"Jim," a woman said very softly.

A sickening taste of violence lingered as he fought to clear his mind, his eyesight. Who was there? What was happening?

"Jim," the voice came again.

"Antonia…?" He barely choked out the name.

He felt a soft, warm hand gripping his, and she responded, "Yes, Jim, it's me. I followed you back to Lem Howard's place. He told me you were coming here. He told me why…"

Kirk breathed a deep sigh and closed his eyes. He felt his body relax into the bed. There was something strange about the feeling, but he did not have the strength to analyze it. For now it was good just to lie there basking in Antonia's presence.

What had she said? He told me why. That meant she knew who he was, and all about his paralysis. He had been dishonest with her, yet here she was, sitting at his side, holding his hand.

He felt someone pull the blanket off his legs. Opening his eyes, he made them focus on the man bending over him.

"Do you feel this?" the doctor said, and touched his left leg.

Numbly, Kirk nodded. That was it—that was the strangeness! His whole body felt alive!

Was it just another dream?

Aaron Pascal moved in beside the doctor and smiled with the satisfaction of a man who has accomplished a difficult task and done it well. There was a gentle modesty about him that was so very refreshing that Kirk wondered why he had never noticed it before.

"Excellent," said the doctor. "Now try moving your feet for me."

Kirk's heart began to race. This was no dream—this was reality. Move his feet? He had forgotten what it was like to plan some casual movement and have his body respond instantly, unthinkingly. Move his feet? The idea of wiggling even a single toe seemed impossible.

He thought of how easy it had been in his dream, how he had leapt off the bed and strode around on his two legs as if there had never been anything wrong with them. Is that how it would really happen? He would just get up and walk away, leaving behind all the misery of this past year? According to Pascal, his legs would be very weak until he completed a course of physical therapy.

"Go ahead, try," Antonia urged—this lady who had made him want to live again.

Kirk looked deeply into her eyes, then raised off his pillow and stared down at his feet. Though in one sense he could feel them, it was as if they belonged to someone else, someone he had once been a long time ago, some stranger who had cared more for a starship than any flesh and blood woman. Now, for this woman's sake, he channeled all his strength and determination into one single goal.

Suddenly, a foot moved.

As Antonia cheered and threw her arms around him, he dropped back on the pillow and acknowledged his victory with a sweet, overdue kiss.

oooo

It was after five when Spock left the hospital and flew his skimmer alone in the darkness. Simon had departed hours earlier, skulking away like a willful pup while Spock was occupied with Sarek. The boy's disappearance had caused his mother a great deal of anxiety until he arrived safely home.

Now, Spock paused at his front door, listening to the extraordinary strains of violin music emanating from Simon's upstairs bedroom. The sound gave him no pleasure. Of what use was genius without character?

Reaching a decision, Spock left the wintry chill of the porch and went inside. Here, the violin was much louder. Its clear, pure notes conflicted with the Rachmaninoff someone had left playing in the living room. Lauren, most likely. The recording was one of her favorites, and she had a tendency to walk off and forget things when her mind was troubled. Like Spock, she also tended to escape into her work—and judging from the light beneath the door of her laboratory, she was still very troubled.

For a moment Spock listened to the confusion of sound, then turned on his heel and went upstairs. Stopping at Simon's door, he swung it open and stepped inside. Young James and Teresa sat next to their brother on his bed. At the sight of Spock, Simon's eyes widened. The music broke off and his bow fell away. As he slowly lowered his violin, the twins hopped down and raced over to Spock. James stumbled over the blanket he was carrying and landed, unhurt, at his father's feet. Teresa paused to right her fallen brother, then threw her arms around Spock's left leg.

"Daddy, Daddy," she said, snuggling against him. "Is Uncle Jim awight? Did you see him? Can he walk now?"

"No, I was not able to see him," Spock replied. He did not tell her that Kirk had refused his visit, while gladly admitting everyone else. "However," he added, "I have been informed that though his legs are weak from disuse, he will soon be walking in a normal manner."

Teresa broke into a dimpled smile. "See, Daddy? I was wight, wasn't I?" She must have discerned his confusion, for she explained, "'Bout the wish. It's nearly Christmas, an' evwybody's getting along. Aren't they?"

Spock felt an ache and steeled himself against it. "So it would seem. Now you and James go downstairs to your mother, so Simon and I can talk privately."

The door closed behind them and as Spock focused his attention on Simon, the boy shifted uncomfortably.

"I guess I'm in pretty deep trouble," Simon spoke in an unsteady voice.

"You guess correctly," Spock declared. "You did not have my permission to leave the hospital."

Simon's face reddened. With a prideful lift of his chin, he said, "I didn't want to be there anymore."

There was no need to ask him why. For a moment time seemed to slip and Spock felt almost as if he were in the boy's mind, glaring up at his own father—a cold, disapproving tower of a man. The vision was not an agreeable one. Drawing himself back into the present he said, "Put your violin away."

Simon's eyebrows quirked at the odd command. His hands trembled slightly as he returned the instrument to its case and put it in the closet. Then he turned back around very slowly. Did he sense what was coming?

"I regret," Spock told him, "that I must now break a promise I made to you."

Simon's chest began to rise and fall in a rapid rhythm. Tearfully he cried, "I liked it better when you were in prison!"

Spock refused the hurt and anger that welled inside him. Only yesterday he had picked up an old book belonging to Lauren and as he opened it at random, his eyes settled on these words. "In order that a correction bear fruit, it must cost in the giving, and the heart must be free from the least shadow of passion". Astonishing wisdom from one of her saints—it might almost have been written by a Vulcan.

Yes, this would cost. But he had exhausted every other method of parental discipline—even briefly taking away Simon's violin, which had only incited a fiercer rebellion.

Without further delay, Spock turned the boy over his knee and spanked him.

oooo

Winter had come to the mountains of Idaho, coating the rugged countryside in a light, glistening layer of January snow. Using an English saddle, Kirk rode out with Antonia, laughing, galloping, and recklessly jumping the icy creek while his heart pounded with excitement. How far could he trust his regenerated legs? What if their newfound strength gave out just as the horse was landing? What if he fell into the hard, unforgiving stones that lined the creek bed?

"Jim, don't!" Antonia pleaded, but the sensation was so exhilarating that he turned his horse and jumped the creek twice again. He had been inactive for so long, that he felt driven to exert himself and test the limits of his vitality.

When the light waned, they rode slowly side by side to Antonia's house, where he had been staying since he finished physical therapy. It felt good, the way his feet hit the ground when he dismounted at the barn, the way each step made his ankles and knees flex.

Catching hold of Antonia, he crushed her against him. As he bent to kiss her full mouth, he felt the entire length of his body responding.

Antonia came up breathless, her eyes dark and apologetic beneath thick lashes.

"Jim…" The word puffed into a small, frosty cloud.

He reached for her again, but her palms flattened against his chest and firmly pushed him away.

Kirk struggled with a growing frustration. His newly recovered nerves were ready to function, but since that first week of lovemaking, Antonia had been warding off his advances.

Now she took hold of his hands. In a husky, halting voice she said, "Jim, try to understand. You're the most important person in my life…but my spiritual values are also important to me. I should never have gone to bed with you. It was wrong. That's something that only belongs in marriage."

Kirk's heart pounded. "Alright then, I'll—"

Her finger silenced the proposal that was on his lips.

"No, listen to me," she said. "In my faith, marriage is a sacrament—a sacred union that includes more than just the husband and wife. It also includes God."

He gave a wry smile. "God. Yes, I made his acquaintance on a little planet beyond the Great Barrier. He was very fond of hurling thunderbolts."

Tears filled her eyes. "It's not a joking matter."

"Sorry," he said.

She sighed. "I'm sorry, too. You've come a long way, but sometimes…under that quick humor of yours…I glimpse a deep bitterness, a terrible anger. It's something we need to talk about."

The words touched a sore spot and Kirk stiffened.

"Jim," she said tenderly.

Snow began to swirl down, driven by a sudden icy wind. Kirk repressed a shiver. It was disconcerting the way Antonia could sometimes see right through him. Half-heartedly he tossed her another humorous remark, then escaped into the house. He was acutely aware of having left her to care for the horses, but he needed a moment to himself. Hanging his coat on a hook beside the door, he stirred up the fire and sank onto the living room sofa.

After a while Antonia came into the house and stood near him, her eyes questioning.

"I'm alright," he lied.

She went over and checked the phone messages. "Starfleet Command has been calling for you again. It sounds important."

Kirk felt the muscles in his jaw tighten. Rising, he went over to a frosted window. It had grown dark outside. In the glass, a weary-looking man stared back at him through haunted eyes. Spock's somber face seemed to loom nearby, and Kirk heard a deep voice in his head. "Abilities such as yours should not be wasted."

"Looks who's talking," Kirk said under his breath. He had a right to live his own life any way he saw fit. And it wasn't a bad life, either. He had his legs back. He had stopped drinking. He had found a woman worth loving and she loved him in return. He even wanted to marry her. Imagine that, Jim Kirk married. Imagine that, you arrogant, interfering Vulcan bastard, always thinking you know all the answers, always so damn full of yourself…

Behind him, Antonia spoke. "Jim…darling…"

Kirk felt a sudden, uncontrollable rush of fury. Reaching out, he snatched a lamp from the table beside him and hurled it at Spock's spectral image.

oooo

Spock gazed at his reflection in the bedroom mirror as he adjusted his uniform. It seemed strange, after more than a year out of the service. He remembered the last time he had worn this very uniform—the courtroom reading of the verdict, then the humiliating order to strip naked before the starbase security guards. He remembered how cold and flimsy the prisoner's jumpsuit had felt when he put it on. Convicted by Starfleet of a crime he had not committed. Twenty years of imprisonment ahead of him.

He had not planned to return to active duty. He no longer felt as if he belonged in uniform, and wore it now only because the Federation had put it forth as a condition of his involvement in the Klingon peace effort. He had accepted that condition because it was logical. A diplomatic task of this magnitude was best managed under a secure chain of command. And a secure cover.

Satisfied with his appearance, he left the room and went downstairs. Lauren was seated in a chair, preparing to play her flute when she glanced his way. At the sight of his uniform she dropped the instrument and bolted to her feet.

"You are surprised," Spock said.

"Shocked out of my mind!" She came over and took a closer look at him. "I thought you were only interested in civilian work."

He shrugged an eyebrow. "Suffice it to say that—for now—I agree on its advisability."

"Agree? Agree with who?" Lauren frowned. Her eyes shifted to the stairs, where their eldest son had stopped to stare joyously at Spock.

"Father, you're back in Starfleet?!"

Since the "firm application of logic", Simon's attitude had markedly improved. A barbaric form of punishment? Undoubtedly, but in this instance the technique had proven effective. When Spock told Lauren that he spanked the boy, she had actually smiled and said, "Well, good for you."

Now Spock wondered how she—and Simon—would react to his cover mission. "Yes…back in Starfleet. I have agreed to oversee the refitting of the Luna prison colony into a zero-atmosphere training base."

Lauren gasped.

"Wow," Simon said in an appreciative burst of slang, "that'll show them!"

Lauren was not so enthusiastic. "Spock, are you serious? After everything that happened to you there?"

Gently he grasped her hands and felt the borders of her anxious mind lapping against his carefully screened thoughts. He did not like withholding any part of himself from her, but in all truth he could say, "It promises to be a most satisfying project."

oooo

Cold stung Admiral Cartwright's face as the transporter beam released him. He stood still for a moment, his eyes surveying the rustic two-story dwelling nestled among the pines up ahead. Fresh snow smothered the steep roof and lay untracked on the ground. Pungent wood smoke curled from a single large chimney constructed from stone. The perfection of the scene was spoiled by a boarded-up window, but the layout was nice. Real nice.

He headed for the porch, each step plunging his custom-made boots deep into the snow. At the front door he paused to stamp away the slush. The sound alerted whoever was inside. The door swung open to reveal a dark-haired woman even lovelier than her briefing photo back at Headquarters.

"Antonia Cordova?" Cartwright questioned.

She nodded. He introduced himself and asked to see James T. Kirk.

For a moment it seemed as if she might send him packing, then reluctantly she ushered him inside. A quick glance around the living room revealed no sign of the former starship captain. Cartwright smelled food from an adjoining kitchen and turned toward it.

Looking ill-at-ease, Miss Cordova headed that way and said, "Wait. I'll tell him you're here."

The kitchen door shut firmly behind her.

Left to himself, Cartwright wandered around the spacious living area. The house was built from thick sturdy timbers, their inner surfaces squared and polished to enhance the wood's naturally rich grain. Quaint "rag" rugs braided in bright patterns covered much of the hardwood floor.

He went over to the fireplace and studied the Native American baskets adorning the mantel. His eyes rose to the large painting that hung on the wall above. A lone man on horseback, gazing down a misty mountain valley. So fresh that he could smell the oils. He was still studying it when Cordova came back into the room.

Kirk was beside her and he looked mad as hell.

Cartwright gave the painting an appreciative nod. "Jim, I can sure tell that's you. Miss Cordova, you're a very fine artist."

She thanked him, and after politely excusing herself, went upstairs.

Kirk's face was taut. "Cartwright, this is a private home. You have no business coming here. I want you to leave, and I want you to stop bombarding Antonia and my uncle with your incessant calls."

Cartwright helped himself to a rocker by the hearth, and stretched out his feet to its warmth. "Did you even think of answering one of those messages? Did you ever think it might be something important? I didn't drop everything to come here because of the scenery, delightful as it may be."

Kirk stood in stony silence.

"Oh come on, Jim," Cartwright cajoled. "We used to work together at Headquarters, remember? Loosen up."

"And I resigned," Kirk said tartly, "remember? It made front page news. I made damn sure of that."

Cartwright forced a congenial smile. "There's no denying it, you've got grit. That's one of the qualities that makes you so valuable to Starfleet. One of the reasons that Starfleet's ready to forgive and forget."

Kirk's eyes blazed. "Starfleet forgive me? For protesting a blatant miscarriage of justice? You people knew Spock wasn't a killer."

Cartwright had not expected him to defend Spock. By all reports, Kirk's friendship with the Vulcan was over. Could it be that Kirk still harbored some lingering loyalty to his former first officer? He switched to a soothing, conciliatory tone. "Jim, the officers who presided over Captain Spock's court martial judged him according to the evidence. What else could they do?"

For a moment Kirk seemed deeply conflicted. Then he said, "Well, it's all over now and he's pensioned off, having a good old time with that family of his…"

Cartwright felt a tickling of amusement. Kirk's remark settled any question about his current relationship with Spock. Clearly Kirk hadn't a clue about what the Vulcan was doing these days, and that put Cartwright in a most advantageous position. Permitting himself a small, sympathetic smile, he said, "Oh. Then apparently you haven't heard…"

Kirk frowned. "Heard what?"

Cartwright's smile broadened, showing white even teeth against his dark skin. "Captain Spock's commission has been reactivated."

Kirk seemed too stunned to speak.

It was the perfect moment for Cartwright to lay the rest of his cards on the table. "Jim, there's been an incident in the Klingon Empire that has Starfleet taking inventory of its seasoned captains." He paused and some wicked instinct told him exactly what to say. "Your name…and Spock's…are among those being considered."

Kirk scarcely moved a muscle. "Considered? For what?"

"Command of the Enterprise."

oooo

After Cartwright left, Kirk stood before the fireplace staring blindly at the flames. It was several wrenching moments before his eyes rose to the painting over the mantel. He had long sensed something missing from it, and now he knew what it was. High up in the sky, above the pastel tinted clouds—the unseen mistress calling to him from space.

Powerful emotion welled up; an odd discomforting mix of joy and anger and unrestrained ambition. So, Spock old friend. Is that why you got back into uniform? To take my ship? To take the Enterprise?

Enterprise. The name stirred him to the depths of his soul. It drew him with a force that he felt powerless to refuse. But what of Antonia? Would she understand? He did not want to lose her.

Rehearsing what he would say, he slowly climbed the stairs. He expected to find her at an easel, wiping her hands on some paint-stained rag. But the loft was dark, the curtains drawn, the skylights smothered in freshly fallen snow. In one corner a lone candle flickered. He found Antonia kneeling in simple faith before a crucifix on the wall, and his heart warmed at the sight. What was he thinking? How could he leave a woman like this? But he must…

"Antonia," he said softly.

She slipped rosary beads into her pocket and rose gracefully. They looked at one another, candle-shadows chasing over their faces.

Kirk steeled himself. "Antonia…I have to go away again. To Starfleet…just for a while."

"I know," she said.

Her calm acceptance took him by surprise. He had expected an argument, tears, pleading. Was it really going to be this easy?

Antonia put her arms around him. "Jim, I've already told you that I love you. I want us to be together always, but…" He waited, silently aching as she drew a slow breath. "But I knew all along that you'd be going. You have to go back and mend some fences."

He drew away.

Searching his face, she said, "I don't know who it is. I don't know if it's a man or a woman. All I know is that it's eating you alive."

Kirk half-turned from her and the flickering candle that suddenly reminded him so much of a certain Vulcan.

"It's him, isn't it?" she said. "The one you kept from seeing you in the hospital. What was his name?"

"Spock." He fairly spat the word. "No, this isn't about him." He went over to a switch and triggered the lights on. He saw now that there were tears, and tried to calm himself down. "Something's up," he told her. "They need a captain…for the Enterprise."

"Your ship."

"Yes. My ship."

She sighed. "Alright then. I'll be here waiting."

Kirk crossed the room and took her into his arms. "And then you'll marry me," he said, "won't you?"

"We'll see," she replied. "We'll see…"

For now that would have to do. Frustrated, Kirk gave her one final, bittersweet kiss. Then he hurried downstairs, grabbed his belongings, and linked into Starfleet's transporter network.

oooOOooo