TIMES OF TROUBLE    By: M. C. Pehrson

The news was on. Across the dimly lit room, images moved upon a screen, but the two men studying a 3-dimensional chessboard paid little attention to it. Occasionally, one or the other glanced toward two little girls playing with dolls in a corner of Jim Kirk's living room. T'Naisa and Antonia had gone into town for some early Christmas shopping, leaving seven-year-old Tru and Tess-who was almost two-in the care of their fathers.

As Spock's eyes focused on his trapped knight, a shift in the news caught his attention.

"Today on Vulcan," spoke the announcer, "Ambassador Sarek, a well-known voice for reason, was upbraided by the High Council of Elders for speaking out against the new round of anti-Yanashite laws. Political tension continues to run high. The economic sanctions levelled against Vulcan by the Federation Council have brought rumblings of war..."

Inwardly, Spock cringed. "Screen off," he said in a terse manner, and the wall screen went dark.

Startled, Jim glanced up from the game and eyed him. "War," he mused. "Who are they kidding? Vulcans would never launch an attack against the Federation."

"In the view of some," Spock pointed out, "the recent sanctions are an attack on Vulcan sovereignty."

"The way they're oppressing Yanashites, what did they expect?"

Spock conceded the imminent loss of his knight, and chose to move his queen. "According to the Traditionalists, we Yanashites are provocateurs who so fly in the face of tradition that we inflame even reasonable men and women."

Jim huffed. "Their so-called ‘reasonable men and women' are nothing but terrorists. The Traditionalists do violence to peaceful Yanashites, and it's the Yanashites who are being punished. I'd call that backward logic."

Spock watched Jim capture his knight. "Logic with no firm moral basis can be stretched to excuse even heinous acts. In the present mood on Vulcan, I would not be surprised if the High Council carries out its threat and withdraws from the Federation. As for armed conflict? If Vulcans feel cornered, they may indeed lash out in unpleasant ways."

Jim laughed. "What, they'll all raise their eyebrows in unison?"

Annoyed to an unusual extent, Spock pushed back his chair from the table. "I see no cause for humor. Are you forgetting Vulcan's savage history? That, coupled with a cold Golish outlook does not bode well. Vulcan terrorists almost ended T'Naisa's life. When they failed to kill her, they used nanobots to make her into their agent. Who is to say that such terrorism could not spread even beyond their planet?"

"Dad." Tru came up beside Jim and laid her head on his shoulder. "Daddy, I'm afraid."

Jim put an arm around his daughter. "Afraid? Of what?"

Her eyes were large with apprehension. "I don't want you to go."

"Go where?"

"Back on the starship...to fight the bad Vulcans."

Jim met Spock's gaze. "I'm through with starships, honey. And there aren't any bad Vulcans around here."

Feeling left out, little Tess began to tug at Spock's leg. "Dada," she said, "pick me up."

"Please," Spock told her.

"Please, Dada," she compliantly repeated.

As Spock settled her onto his lap, she unexpectedly thrust out an arm and knocked most of the chessmen over.

Jim sighed. "So much for the game."

Spock removed a pawn from his daughter's grip. "Not necessarily. I remember their placement, precisely."

"But I don't, and although I'm sure you'd never dream of cheating, let's just call it quits." With a twinkle in his eye, Jim added, "You know I was on the verge of beating you, anyway."

Spock's sense of annoyance deepened to such an extent that he decided to meditate as soon as he went home.

***

Soon after the first of the year, Spock received a summons to appear before the Federation Council, and T'Naisa was not pleased.

"Spock," she fumed, "you're a Yanashite envoy and educator, not a politician."

He came very close to laughing, but contained his amusement to a half smile. "You rather sound like Doctor McCoy. T'Naisa, considering current galactic events, I must expect to be drawn into the political fray."

"Well, I don't," she said adamantly.

"Sorel himself would come," he reminded her, "if it were at all possible. Unfortunately, current Vulcan law would deny him re-entry."

"The Vulcan High Council would love that. Sorel, chief Yanashite in exile with the rest of us."

"Patience," Spock counseled. "Ultimately it is the Shiav who is in control. If he wants me to speak before the Federation Council, I will do my best to represent him." And taking hold of her hands, he gazed into her expressive brown eyes and promised, "I will not be gone very long."

***

Following the disintegration of the Pacific Coast, all offices of the Federation had been relocated to Paris, where the president already resided. Security was heavy. Spock scarcely had time to settle into his assigned quarters before an aide directed him to a committee room where others had gathered to debate the Vulcan question. Among those present was Sarek, Ambassador Emeritus of Vulcan.

Spock worked to calm himself. He had not realized his father would be a participant. During the introductions, Sarek stared into empty space, his craggy face devoid of all expression. He looked frail and tautly controlled. The tension between them would complicate negotiations, but they were both mature men, capable of dealing with adverse circumstances. On Vulcan, Sarek had been censured for his moderation. He was not as radical as some Traditionalists. Perhaps the two of them would even find some common ground. Even so, Spock found the day difficult. He had expected to gather in the main council hall, not sit at a table across from his estranged father. His thoughts occasionally drifted back to their final confrontation at the Vulcan Embassy in San Francisco, where Sarek rejected Spock's attempt at reconciliation. Since that wrenching day, not a word had passed between them. According to the news, Sarek had remarried-a human, like Spock's mother-the senior cultural liaison serving the new Vulcan Embassy in Phoenix. Like a good Vulcan wife, she had followed him back to his home planet.

Spock was thinking of his mother, Amanda Grayson, when the moderator called upon him to speak. Mother's last words to him had been, "Go with God". She would have understood his spiritual journey. She would have been pleased by his commitment to the Shiav. But as he spoke for the civil rights of Yanashites, he could sense Sarek's repugnance. Sarek might hold politically tolerant views, yet he still abhorred Spock's involvement with the sect.   

At recess Sarek abruptly left the room, and so it continued throughout each session. On the fifth day, Vulcan officially accepted the compromise reached by the committee. For now, Yanashites were free to travel home, and the economic sanctions against Vulcan were set aside. As the committee disbanded, Spock approached Sarek, who was heading for the door.

"Father," he said.

Without so much as a glance, the silver-haired ambassador coldly passed him by and disappeared into the hallway. Though the rejection came as no surprise, it still stung. Spock held onto his composure and returned to his quarters to pack. He had just completed his travel preparations when the door chime sounded.

"Enter," he said.

A woman stepped into the room and the door closed behind her. The middle-aged human was fair-haired and comely, but the disapproval in her amber eyes could only mean trouble. Spock recognized his father's wife from news clips.

Surely she did not expect him to call her "mother", so he inclined his head and said, "Greetings, Perrin."

"You know my name." The words were terse, sardonic. "I wonder. Do you remember your father's name? On Vulcan, Sarek spoke out for reason and was soundly criticized. Through it all, you have never once contacted him, never offered him even a crumb of appreciation."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "He has complained of this?"

"Sarek complain? He hides his feelings for you behind a rigid wall, but I've glimpsed the pain in his eyes...and in his mind."

"It is a pain of his own making. I am a Yanashite. He must accept it."

"You are his son!" Perrin said angrily.

Spock's own temper stirred. "You would do well to remind Sarek of that fact. The breach between us is his doing, not mine."

She shook her head. "I can't believe that."

"You accuse me of a lie?"

At that, she fell silent. Stepping closer, she studied his face. "Then if what you're saying is true, he must have good reason. What have you done to him?"

"I have followed the dictates of my own conscience, instead of his. My father can be very controlling." And he could not resist adding, "Perhaps that is why he prefers compliant Earth women."

The amber of Perrin's eyes turned to flame. Spock suspected that she would have liked to slap his face, and he may well have returned the attention. To her credit, she controlled herself.

Through clenched teeth she declared, "My husband is a reasonable man."

"Is he?"

Her hands balled into fists. "You are insufferable! If this is an example of a Yanashite, maybe Vulcan is better off without them!"

Spock felt his control slipping as he asked, "Can any human decide what is best for Vulcan?"

Perrin reached out and jabbed a finger in his chest. "Well then, Spock, that leaves you out, too, doesn't it?" Turning on her heels, she stalked from the room.

In the wake of her departure, Spock worked to calm his rioting emotions. He was not pleased with his behavior. Trading insults with Sarek's wife would do nothing to heal the rift between him and his father.

Taking up his valise, he left the room. In the hallway, an impeccably dressed human male passed him by. Something deep in Spock's mind jogged. Security was extremely high at the conference. He knew the domestic workers by sight, and no one else was permitted in this wing of the building. The man walking past was not among them. Yet...somehow...he seemed vaguely familiar. Rapidly consulting his memory, he set out to follow him, keeping a distance of twenty paces.

The stranger came to a door and put his right hand in a pocket before pressing the door chime. The door swung open on its old-fashioned hinges, and Spock heard Perrin say, "Yes?"

The man spoke with a French accent. "I have a private communique for the ambassador...from his son."

Perrin was quick to reply, "Sarek has no interest in..."

"Oh, but Sarek will," he interrupted. "Please, madam..."

In the moment of confusion Spock remembered the man's identity. Dropping his valise, he ran toward Peter Clive as the wanted CUE agent pushed his way into the room. Spock arrived in time to see his father rising from an upholstered chair. Perrin stood to one side as Clive's right hand rose from his pocket, gripping a strange-looking device.

Coming from behind, Spock struck at his arm. Clive maintained his hold on the weapon and whirled. And fired.

There was but the faintest of sounds, a barely discernable flash of motion, and Spock experienced a sharp pain between his ribs. He took one step...and dropped. Strange, that his mind continued to function, recording every detail of the action around him. Perrin's cry of dismay. Sarek felling the assailant with a nerve pinch.

Less than a minute passed, during which Spock also realized that all but his heart and mind was settling into complete paralysis. He could not seem to get enough air, and began to gasp.  At the end of a minute his diaphragm seized completely, and as his lungs starved, he knew he was going to die.

The room faded from view, yet he still heard voices. Sarek and Perrin...shouting instructions.

Strong hands settled on his chest and began to pump rhythmically, expelling air from his lungs and refilling them, over and over. Rising back to the edge of consciousness, Spock looked into his father's face and saw tears welling as Sarek worked to save him from the unknown toxin. Fascinated, Spock watched a single tear slip Sarek's control and roll down his face. Then darkness claimed him again.

***

An hallucination? Lying in the emergency room of Saint-Antoine hospital, Spock had ample time to wonder about that tear. Now that the paralyzing curare was out of his system, he was off the respirator and breathing on his own. As he was awaiting discharge, Sarek and Perrin came to take their leave before returning to Vulcan.

"I thank you," Sarek said with flawless composure. "If you had not grown suspicious of that man..."

"And I thank you," Spock countered, "for sustaining my life until the emergency team arrived."

It was the extent of their conversation, but Sarek had not only saved his life, he had accompanied him to the hospital and remained nearby to monitor his condition and handle questions from the local gendarmes and Federation agents.

Perrin voiced a desire to speak privately with Spock. After Sarek left, she turned her cool amber eyes on him and said, "Well, it would seem that you gave some thought to my words, after all. I only hope that you continue to treat your father with appropriate respect."

Spock held back a sharp retort. The curare had left him in a weakened, nauseous state, and he had no desire to continue their argument. He merely said, "You care deeply for Sarek."

She nodded. "And your actions today proved that you harbor some scrap of feeling for him, too. Or was it merely a matter of logic?"

How little she knew of him. In reply he said, "Yanashites are not bound only by logic." And so ended the conversation.

***

How good it was to return home. T'Naisa stood waiting with Tess when Spock stepped from the Plum Creek transporter booth.

"Dada!" Tess cried out with childish enthusiasm. "I missed you!"

Spock lifted his little daughter into his arms and received T'Naisa's welcoming embrace. Together they walked out into the clearing, toward the mountain cabin that had been their home for more than three years. The air was cold and fresh and still. An occasional flake of snow drifted from the overcast sky.

Inside the cabin, Spock set Tess on her feet and the child headed over to a musical toy.

"So how did it go?" T'Naisa asked.

The need for confidentiality was over. Spock settled onto the sofa with T'Naisa and briefly explained how the agreement had been reached. Then, out of necessity, he told her about thwarting the attack on Sarek, for it would soon be in the news.

Her jaw dropped. "You got hit with curare? You could have died!"

He reassured her with a touch. "There was never any real danger, as long as they maintained pulmonary resuscitation. The curare soon wore off and my diaphragm was functioning again. I am perfectly well now."

"You look exhausted," she said. "Let me get you some tea."

He nodded.

After returning with a steaming mug, she resumed the conversation. "So Sarek talked to you...and his new wife, was she there, too?"

Spock preferred not to speak of his unpleasant encounters with Perrin. Sipping the tea, he said, "Yes, Father broke his silence. It was he who kept me breathing until the EMTs took over. I...just a moment..." And he had to admit, "I am finding it rather difficult to follow my train of thought. No doubt an aftereffect of the poison...but it seems as if..."

"Yes?" T'Naisa's voice drew him back into the present. Her brown eyes were full of concern.

"I..." He hesitated to say it. "I feel as if...as if I have forgotten something of importance."

"You? Forget something?" She smiled, but then the smile waned as she glanced around the room. "Wait a minute. Where's your valise?"

Spock put a hand to his forehead and concentrated. He had come straight from the hospital, never giving a thought to his luggage. "I...dropped it when I ran to help my father."

"Don't worry then," she said quickly, "they'll send it on." Perhaps sensing his disquiet over the lapse, she attempted to steer the conversation back to Perrin. "So...Sarek's new wife is human?"

Only half listening, he nodded. It annoyed him that he had forgotten something so fundamental as his own luggage. A Vulcan's memory recorded every moment in perfect detail. A Vulcan never had to make lists or keep schedules. A Vulcan never forgot.

T'Naisa leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Hello. Are you there?"

An inexplicable surge of anger brought him to his feet so quickly that his tea spilled on his clothes. Across the room, Tess dropped her toy and stared at him. Abruptly he said, "Why is it so hot in here?"

"Hot...?" T'Naisa's voice faltered. "Spock, it's barely one hundred degrees."

Bringing himself under control, he set down his mug and faced his wife. The poisoning must have affected him more than he realized. As he looked upon T'Naisa, he was thankful not only for her goodness and beauty, but also for the fact that she was a halfling like himself. In their marriage, they had achieved a degree of harmony that made their home a true haven of peace and understanding.

"It would seem," he said contritely, "that I have not quite recovered, after all."

His words did little to relieve the worry in her eyes, and deep in his own heart there was disquiet.

***

In mid-January, the snow began to fall in earnest. Storm after storm pummeled the Sawtooth Mountains, leaving Plum Creek buried in drifts that sometimes reached the top of the windows and trapped the horses in their stable. Each morning, Jamie wielded a snow blaster, opening a path to the seminary, clearing the corral, and uncovering the skimmer for another day. And still the snow drifted down, until even Tess lost her fascination with the wet icy flakes, and preferred the comfort of indoors. When severe blizzards closed the schools, Jamie pulled out the leather and wood he was using to make snowshoes like those of his Native American friend, Lame Wolf.

Though Jamie was still reed-thin, he had grown strong and tall, and at sixteen was a self-reliant young man. One quiet evening he said, "Father, if these snowshoes are ready in time, can I hike over to Uncle Jim's place on Saturday? There might be a stretch of clear weather."

Spock glanced up from the computer where he was about to place an order for Jamie's hay, along with a few items of his own. Then he saw that he had already submitted the order that morning. Staring at the screen, he pointed out, "It would take half the day."

"I could spend the night with Lame Wolf," Jamie said, "and go to Mass with Antonia in the morning. She could drop me back home afterwards."

"While we tend to your work, as well as our own?" Spock said dryly and blanked the screen. "Caring for your horses and your dog, for the snow is too deep for Dusty to travel."

Across the room, T'Naisa noticed the change in Spock's tone and looked up from her padd. Perhaps it was a touch of "cabin fever", but a strain seemed to be developing between Jamie and his father. Quietly she said, "I wouldn't mind taking care of them."

"Thanks, T'Naisa," Jamie said with a smile. He turned to Spock. "Father, is it okay, then? Can I?"

Spock sighed and glanced back at the computer. "Very well."

After school the next day, Jamie bounded into the kitchen where T'Naisa was busy at the stove. "Two bales of hay!" he lamented. "It was supposed to be twelve; they got the order wrong!"

T'Naisa wiped her hands, went to the computer, and called up the order. The feed company was not in error. Spock had entered two bales on the form. She shrugged. "Here, I'll fix it." Then a sudden thought occurred to her. "Jamie, don't mention it to him, alright?"

By evening, the rest of the hay was safely stacked in a corner of the stable. A fresh storm was blowing in. The wind wailed around the cabin, driving its icy breath through every crack in the old structure. T'Naisa raised the heat. At bedtime, she make sure Tess was warm in the little room they had recently added for her, then climbed into bed beside Spock. The sound of a gale usually excited her, but this time she felt uneasy.

Spock must have sensed it, for he touched her in the darkness and said, "Frightened?"

She went to him and he began the Vulcan hand-play that led to intimacies of a deeper nature, then they fell asleep in each other's arms.

Shortly after 2:00 AM she awoke, shivering. Spock had moved away from her and thrown back the covers, leaving their bare skin exposed. As she drew up the blankets, he mumbled something before awakening with a start.

"You must have been dreaming," she whispered. "Aren't you cold? You uncovered us."

"Cold?" In the darkness, he turned his head toward her. "No, I'm not cold. I was dreaming about my grandfather Skon...and the day I found out that he had killed himself."

"Because he was diagnosed with plakir-fee." She remembered the story.

"Yes. I was quite young...but I..." His voice broke.

As he rolled away from her, she had the distinct feeling that he was crying. The wind howled loudly and a prickling fear crept back over her.

***

Later in the week, T'Naisa was in the seminary building when one of their Vulcan students approached her. At his request, they went to the office, where Duvek sat with tears in his dark eyes. Though he was thirty-four, he appeared much younger, and T'Naisa's heart went out to him.

Gently she asked, "What is troubling you? Are you homesick for Vulcan?"

It seemed as if Duvek could not bring himself to speak, but finally he said, "Your husband..."

T'Naisa's stomach tightened. "Yes?"

Duvek struggled for control. "Is...is he planning to expel me?"

The words evoked still more sympathy from T'Naisa, for she had been expelled from Starfleet Academy for misbehavior. In all honesty she said, "Spock has mentioned nothing to me about it. Let me check your file."

The desktop computer showed a clean record and high academic achievement.

"I see no problem," T'Naisa told him with an encouraging smile. "What makes you think Spock might expel you?"

Duvek struggled to speak. "He...mocked me. In front of the other student. Later, when I asked him why he had treated me unkindly, he said..." He swallowed hard. "Excuse the unseemly language, Mrs. S'chn T'gai, but he said that I was ‘too damn sensitive to be a priest'."

T'Naisa scarcely believed her ears, but Vulcans were not given to lying or even exaggeration. "Duvek. Are you sure you heard him correctly...?"

Duvek's gaze lowered to the floor. "His words were very clear. It is true. I am emotional, but did not Yanash encourage the healthy release of emotions?"

T'Naisa sadly nodded. "He did indeed."

***

Tess was on Spock's lap when T'Naisa finally found the courage to speak to him. The fact that it demanded courage troubled her. In the past she had felt free to approach her husband on any subject, knowing that he would listen carefully and respond in a considerate way. Since the curare incident she had begun to feel nervous around him. She watched for his mood before speaking, and seldom said what was really on her mind. Spock had changed, and if he sensed how it troubled her, he did not seem to care.

T'Naisa studied him as he sat helping Tess work the screen of a learning toy. He was the picture of fatherly patience, yet only this morning she had seen him snap at Tess when her play disturbed him.

"Spock," she said, standing nearby.

He looked up at her, one brow raised slightly and the hint of a smile on his lips.

Her heart pounding, she asked, "How are the seminarians doing?"

Without hesitation he answered, "Very well. I am quite pleased with their progress."

"Both of them?"

"Yes, both," he replied before Tess drew his attention back to her game screen.

T'Naisa watched them in silence. She could not bring herself to mention Duvek.

Later that night, as the snow flew, they made love again-a bit roughly-and T'Naisa wondered if this was only a touch of pon farr.

***

Saturday morning dawned crisp and clear. Jamie came to breakfast carrying his snowshoes.

"Look, Father," he said proudly, "I finished them! The weather says no chance of snow before Monday. I want to hike over to Jim's ranch today. Alright?"

Spock glanced up from his plate and frowned. "May I," he tersely responded, "and the answer is no."

Jamie was astonished. "But...but you said I could...if the snowshoes were ready. We talked about it."

T'Naisa saw anger flash in her husband's eyes and braced for the coming storm.

"I said no such thing," Spock insisted. "To attempt a trek of that sort would be foolhardy."

"But Father, you did say it!" Jamie turned and appealed to T'Naisa. "Didn't he? You heard him!"

T'Naisa's heart raced. There was no chance to answer before Spock rose from his chair and squarely faced his son. "Enough, James! I suspect these pastimes of yours are only an excuse to shirk your studies."

Jamie gaped at him. "What do you mean? My grades are good!"

"They could be better."

"Spock," T'Naisa said in warning.

He ignored her.

Jamie's chest heaved as he confronted his father. "My grades were good enough last week! Why are you doing this to me? What's wrong with you?" Furious, he hurled the snowshoes to the floor.

In an instant, Spock stepped over to his son and slapped him soundly. Tess let out a frightened wail. Jamie's left hand went to his cheek. His right hand clenched, and for one terrible instant T'Naisa thought he would strike back at his father. Darting to her feet, she stepped between them, facing Jamie, her eyes pleading with him.

"Go," she urged, "go to your room."

"But I didn't do anything!" There were tears in his eyes and his voice quavered.

Now was not the time to discuss it. He had said it himself; something was terribly wrong with his father, but she dare not say that in front of Spock.

Abruptly Jamie stalked from the kitchen and went into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Spock remained standing as T'Naisa took Tess into her arms and tried to comfort her. A full minute passed before she could bring herself to look at her husband. He had not moved and now the anger in his eyes was directed at her. He seemed like a stranger. Would he slap her, too?

Regardless of the outcome, she said, "What is the matter with you?"

"Me!" he retorted. "If James showed me the proper respect...if you did not persist in coddling him...if you did not keep it so damn hot in here..."

He was, in fact, perspiring.

"Alright then," she retorted. Going to the nearest window, she slid it open. As the icy air rushed in, she asked, "Now what is your excuse?"

Holding Tess close, she hurried across the snowy clearing to the warmth of the seminary. Alone in the dimly lit temple, she sat weeping while Tess played among the benches. For a long time she poured out her heart to the Shiav, begging for the strength and wisdom that only he could give.

She was feeling a bit calmer when she heard the temple door open and slow footsteps came up the aisle.

"Dada all better?" Tess asked her father with childish honesty.

Spock settled onto the bench beside T'Naisa. Heart pounding, she focused on the icon portrait of Yanash above the altar and waited for him to speak.

Quietly he said, "I want you to call Doctor McCoy."

Surprised, T'Naisa turned and looked at him, but he would not meet her eyes. Call Doctor McCoy? Could he not trust himself to do even that?

Taking his hand, she asked, "Is it the pon farr?" Though she had no experience of that condition, she was aware that it made men irritable.

"No," he said low.

"Then it's from the curare. McCoy will know what to do."

Without a word he rose and left the temple. In the time it took T'Naisa to gather Tess into her arms and reach the cabin, he was nowhere to be found. She called to Jamie and they search the Plum Creek property together. When that proved unsuccessful, she finally thought of checking the Sanctuary transporter log. Only then did she realize that he had beamed off the mountain.

***

It seemed to Spock that he had been walking in the snow a very long time, circling the suburban neighborhood over and over again until he finally convinced himself that he had found the correct house. It was the color that confused him; yellow, not green as he remembered. The landscaping was different, too, but of course the address was unchanged.

Shivering with cold, he went up the walkway, cracked open the front door, and quietly entered. The sight of the antique, doily-covered furniture reassured him. It was warm inside, and so still that he could hear the breathing of a large gray cat on a sofa. The cat lifted its head and studied him with curious yellow eyes.

"Puff," he said, but some part of him knew it was not Puff.

He started down the hallway, to the room where he was staying with his mother. Photographs hung on the wall. One in particular caught his attention; a slim, dark-haired girl of mixed blood. It seemed that her name was T'Beth and she was his daughter, but of course that was impossible for he was only nine years old.

Shaking off the confusion, he opened the door of his room and relaxed somewhat. Little had changed here, except the bedspread. He was tired and cold, and the bed looked inviting. In a moment he had his wet shoes and socks off. Then climbing under the covers, he drifted into a troubled sleep.

***

T'Naisa tried to contact Doctor McCoy, but he was not receiving calls and there was no way of telling when he would find her message. In her fear she called her friend and neighbor Jim Kirk, but he did not take the situation very seriously. Jim reminded her that Vulcans were both prideful and solitary, and assured her that Spock would likely return to Plum Creek before dark, ready to resolve whatever trouble lay between them.

He laughed when she informed him that Spock had run off to Minneapolis. "Don't tell me his Aunt Doris is still around. Ask T'Beth. She probably knows."

T'Naisa had never met Spock's Aunt Doris, but T'Beth knew the lady well and said, "I lived with her in my teens. Father and I both keep in touch. I'll give her a call and see if he's there."

***

The chiming of a phone awakened Spock. He had left the bedroom door ajar and could hear Aunt Doris talking to someone. After a while the house grew silent. The cat walked into the room, jumped on the bed, and stared at him.

"Puff," he said, reaching out.

The cat sniffed his fingertips, then began to purr and rub its whiskered face against his hand. Secure in the knowledge that no one would see him, Spock smiled and said, "Nice kitty."

He realized he was hungry. He thought of the vegetarian casserole Aunt Doris had made last night, and wondered if there was any left. He also wondered where his cousins might be. Lester and Mikey only got quiet when they were into trouble, which usually involved making trouble for him, too. He wished his mother would get home from her friend's house soon. He wanted to go back to the embassy in San Francisco, where there were no young human cousins to bother him.

Suddenly he heard someone walking on the carpet in the hallway. A hand reached for the knob of the partly opened door.

Spock rose up on his elbow and said, "Mother?"

There was a sharp intake of breath. A woman peeked through the opening, her eyes wide with fear. She was very old, but even so, he recognized her.

"Aunt Doris," he said.

***

On the phone screen, T'Beth's face was tense with worry. "T'Naisa, I'm forwarding a call from Aunt Doris. Listen to this."

The elderly woman who appeared was deeply upset. "T'Beth...it's your father. I found him lying down in one of my bedrooms...he must have just wandered into the house. There's something the matter with him. He...he's asking for Amanda...for his mother. I don't know what to do."

T'Naisa had scarcely viewed the call when Doctor McCoy checked in, and she quickly explained the situation to him. In a matter of minutes, T'Naisa and McCoy met at Doris Breskin's home in Minneapolis. The poor woman was trembling.

"He must have lost his mind," Doris said, voicing T'Naisa's deepest fear.

"Well now," McCoy calmly drawled, "let's not go jumping to conclusions. Where is he?"

Doris' frail finger shook as she pointed down the hallway. T'Naisa and McCoy found Spock lying on his side in bed, but his was not a peaceful sleep. He jerked and muttered to himself as the doctor bent over him and ran a medscanner. McCoy frowned at the results.

"What is it?" T'Naisa whispered. Over the phone, she had reminded him about the poisoning. "Is it from the curare?"

McCoy led her back into the hall and quietly closed the bedroom door. Grim-faced, he said, "I'm admitting him to Starfleet Medical Center for further testing."

"But you haven't even talked to him."

"I don't need to."

T'Naisa felt sick with dread. "Doctor..."

McCoy gave her shoulder a compassionate touch. "I want you to tell me everything about him that has seemed unusual."

Once she began talking, the length of the list surprised even her; the irritability, the memory lapses, the repetitious behavior. Looking back, she realized that there had been subtle signs even before his trip to Paris.

McCoy sedated Spock for transport to Phoenix, where he was placed directly into a private room. T'Naisa and the doctor were at his side when he awakened and found himself in a hospital bed, wearing pajamas. 

Spock's eyes flamed at the sight of them. He abruptly sat up. "Doctor McCoy, what is the meaning of this? And T'Naisa Brandt! What are you doing here?"

Her heart seemed to rise in her throat and she could barely force out the words. "Spock...don't you remember me?"

"I most certainly remember you, Cadet Brandt!" He stood, swayed slightly, and then approached her in a menacing manner.

Doctor McCoy waved her toward the door. "Get out of here, T'Naisa. He's lost in the past." Tapping his com badge, he called for security.

T'Naisa backed a step, fully focused on Spock. Struggling to hold back her tears, she said, "You've forgotten your love for me..."

The declaration fueled Spock's anger. "Love! Doctor, I assure you, she is quite deluded. Where is my wife? Where is Lauren?"

To hear him call for his first wife was more than T'Naisa could bear, and she fled from the room.