The Alternate Christopher Jones

Part 1 of 3

 Captain's log, Stardate 6518.5: Enroute to Starbase 6, the Enterprise has been ordered to stop briefly at Vulcan to pick up Ambassador Sarek and his aides. Sarek will relieve Vice-Ambassador Sillen as the Vulcan delegate to the Continuing Trade Conference, and the Enterprise will then return Sillen to Vulcan. The round trip from Vulcan to the conference and back will take approximately one standard day, during which First Officer Spock will take leave on his home planet. Since Starfleet regulations require that the captain be on board when Federation passengers are being transported between worlds, I will be unable to take leave at this time.

Since the routine stop at Starbase seven a few days before, McCoy had been unusually solemn and life aboard the Enterprise unusually dull. And so, as he and Spock and McCoy had dinner together hours before their ETA on Vulcan, Kirk decided to try to kill two birds with one stoneÑÑgive McCoy a chance to talk about whatever was troubling him, and maybe break the monotony at the same time.

"What's up, Bones?" he asked as the meal showed signs of proceeding in complete silence. "You haven't been very talkative since Seven. Anything wrong?"

"No." McCoy sighed. "Not really. But I spent the evening with a friendÑÑTed Littleton, the ship's medic on the Orion's Belt. He told me a story thatÑÑwell, it depressed me." McCoy glanced from Kirk to Spock and back again. "Anybody for a space-age ghost story?"

Spock's eyebrows rose, and Kirk looked up quickly. "What do you mean, ghost story?"

"You know the archetypal story of the lonely ghost who wanders the world searching for his loved ones? Except here you substitute 'the universe' for 'the world,' and this isn't a ghost. He's--you really want to hear it?"

"We're all ears," Kirk said patiently, and then grinned at Spock, who had cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Speak for yourself, Captain." Spock's suggestion came in much the same tone and with the same deft timing as he had once told John Christopher that he didn't believe in little green men either.

"Of course, Mr. Spock."

Even McCoy smiled a little as he asked irritably, "You two want to hear this story, or do you want to--"

"I want to hear the story," Kirk assured him, and Spock added with exaggerated politeness,

"Proceed, Doctor. The ghost story is a fascinating aspect of human culture."

McCoy stared at him balefully for a moment, as though deciding if his leg were being pulled. But once he began to tell his story, both of his listeners became most attentive.

The Belt, a freighter, had come upon a small fusion-driven space yacht in a remote area of the galaxy after the freighter had strayed off course. A private craft, the yacht was having engine trouble, and the Belt had offered the lone pilot help, only to discover a very peculiar thing.

"He thought he was in the vicinity of Earth," McCoy said slowly, and although there was nothing ominous about that statement, Kirk felt his neck prickle.

"And they were--?"

"They'd strayed into Tholian space and were in a hurry to get out. So they took the Peggy Jones in tow without stopping to try to figure out why it popped up out of nowhere with no warning." McCoy was looking at Spock now. "Are you ahead of me, Mr. Spock?"

"Proceed, Doctor," Spock repeated. But it was obvious that he was not just being polite.

The pilot of the Peggy Jones was a physician whose hobby was yacht racing. His profession had drawn him into Ted Littleton's company while the crew of the Belt repaired his engines. "At first he seemed severely depressed. Ted's sure that he was suicidal, and that he'd never intended to return to Earth when he left it. But he snapped out of it pretty quick. Ted describes him as a basically stable individual who'd recently lost his wife and only child in a skiing accident while they were on a family vacation in Aspen. The lift fell, of all gruesome things. Nothing like that has happened on Earth for a century or more, but they were in the wrong place at the right time. He told Ted all about it, but he seemed to have gotten his second wind emotionally, pulled himself together, did a lot of reading."

"On a freighter?" Kirk asked incredulously. "Not much to read--" Then he paused. "The Belt is Fred Conover's ship." Conover had been a Starfleet officer before he was permanently disabled by an exotic virus--disabled enough to be discharged from Starfleet, but still able to function as the captain of a freighter. It was well known that Conover had the most complete set of Federation tapes outside of Starfleet.

"Mmm. Ted said their passenger suddenly developed an almost obsessive interest in interphase phenomena, the whole theory of parallel universes. He questioned Conover about the subject extensively, almost made a nuisance of himself. But Fred was so glad to see him taking an interest in anything that he spent quite a bit of time with him, right up until they hit Spacedock."

"What did the passenger do then?"

"He disappeared," McCoy answered quietly. "Just got in his ship one day and took off, without even saying goodbye. Somebody finally remembered that he had thought he was near Earth when they picked him up, and they decided to check him out." McCoy hesitated, frowning slightly. "Does the name 'Christopher Jones' mean anything to either of you?"

Both of his listeners shook their heads, and Kirk asked, "Was that his name?"

"Mm-hmm. Damndest thing." McCoy scratched his head. "I know I've heard the name before, and I'd swear it was here on the Enterprise. But I just can't-- Well, anyway, it turns out that Christopher Jones and his wife and their two sons are very much alive. He's on the OB/GYN staff at All Worlds Hospital in San Francisco."

Kirk was beginning to feel chilly in spite of the fact that the mess hall was comfortably warm. Spock stared intently at the doctor, but did not speak.

Ted Littleton, McCoy went on, had remembered that the passenger's deceased child had been adopted. "Daughter of a cousin, he said. Ted says he's a decent man, probably wouldn't attempt to take his alter's wife away by force, especially if she's happy. And he wouldn't have any interest in the two boys, of course. But the little girl, Peggy--the Christopher Jones in this universe didn't adopt her, but it's a safe guess that her counterpart does exist here." McCoy grinned a little. "Your cue, Spock."

"The probability is 96.4 percent." Spock was almost frowning. "How recently did these events take place?"

"Several months ago. And the man hasn't surfaced anywhere, seems to have gone to ground, or to space. The Christopher Jones with the two sons has been under constant surveillance by Federation security, but the other one hasn't approached him or his family as far as anyone knows. He's just disappeared." McCoy sighed. "Well, that's it. What's your best guess as to where he is?"

"Trying to find his daughter," Kirk said softly. "To see if she's happy."

He was immediately aware that, a few years ago, he would not have understood so quickly. He also knew, without looking, that Spock was not looking at him at the moment. But McCoy was.

"And if she isn't?" Bones asked gently.

"The alternate would need assistance," Spock said into the silence, "to return to his own universe. He could not do it alone."

"Ted says he built his ship himself, from scratch," McCoy answered. "He knows how these things work."

"A fusion drive--"

"He's had several months to modify that drive. It wouldn't take much antimatter to power a small ship like that, and he had all of Christopher Jones's connections. Who would doubt who he was if he tried to buy materials here? And he spent several weeks studying interphase phenomena on the Belt. If he finds his Peggy, he just might make a run for it with her."

"He won't talk to me about Jill," Kirk said grimly. "Not lately, anyway. I have no idea why."

"Have you asked him?" McCoy leaned back in his chair, thinking that the captain's quarters felt smaller all the time. Four years exploring the galactic rim tended to make you feel just a bit claustrophobic. Starfleet was going to have to clean up its act....

"Not yet." Kirk sipped his drink, frowning. "At first, right after we dropped them off on Vulcan, he was fine. He told me a lot about her, and I was grateful to him. But lately...."

"Jim, it's none of my business, but--" Kirk shook his head, smiling a little. "Okay, then. How often do you hear from Jill? Not from Sarah. From Jill."

There was a short silence, and then Kirk said quietly, "I don't. And I don't understand why. I've sent her things--presents. A book, once."

"You tape to her and she doesn't answer you?"

"Well--no. Not exactly. I tape to Sarah. I sent the things for Jill to her too. I thought--" He sighed. "I don't know what I thought. I guess I wanted to make sure that Sarah didn't feel threatened in any way." He looked at McCoy with genuine appeal, for the moment uncharacteristically vulnerable and unsure: "Do you tape to kids that small?"

Yes, sir, Captain, sir, McCoy thought ironically. Indeed you do. But he had decided to go easy on this one, even though the whole thing was proving more complicated that he'd thought. "You've never communicated directly with Jill?"

"Sarah's tapes are extensive, detailed, and--well, friendly." Now he sounded almost defensive. "I have no reason to believe...." His voice died away.

"Believe what?"

Kirk shifted uneasily and took another swallow of his drink. "I have no reason to believe that she isn't...facilitating matters. Bones--" He sighed. "I'm no good at this. I'm used to psyching people out, trying to figure out why they do the things they do. Or don't do. But this--" He took another swallow.

"But you're not happy with the way things are going."

"No, I'm not. But--" As though to prove something: "I showed you the last picture Sarah sent, didn't I?"

"You showed me." McCoy sighed. In his mind he saw the fax of the tall, tow-headed eight-year-old in the tomato-colored jumpsuit that was the uniform of the School for Offworld Children on every Federation planet. It was a typical school picture. Jill stared at the camera, full-faced, stone-faced, grim. McCoy had no idea what she really looked like. "Some picture."

"Vulcans don't have portrait studios," Kirk reminded him wryly. "Sarah's doing the best she can."

There was a short silence, and then McCoy said softly, "I don't think you really believe that. And I don't think I do either." He raised his hand quickly. "Just let me finish, Jim. I think--I think Sarah thinks of Jill as her child, not hers and yours. And I think I know why."

Kirk turned to look directly at him, no longer appealing or vulnerable. "You mean hers and Spock's," he said tightly, and McCoy thought, Uh-oh. Better kill that one before it does any damage.

"No, that's not what I mean. Spock wasn't in the picture when she told me how she was planning to handle her life. She had all her answers, had it all thought out, and she'd only known she was pregnant for three or four days. She...it was as though she was in it all alone, had to make all the decisions herself. Now just wait, will you? Let me finish. She said she wanted you to care, and she knew you would. She never doubted that. But--I didn't get the impression that she ever actually saw a place for you in Jill's life. She knew you wouldn't want to stay around--"

"What she really wants is for me to stay away ?"

"No, dammit! For God's sake, don't second-guess her on the basis of...past history. I don't think any of this is intentional. But she's doing it, Jim, and you're letting her. If you want a place in your daughter's life, you're going to have to make your move, and soon. If you don't, you're going to end up with another David Marcus on your conscience." Now, duck, he thought grimly. But Kirk's response surprised him.

"You're late, Doctor. I've been expecting that for about five minutes." And he didn't even sound particularly snappish. Staring into space, swirling the liquor in his cup. Almost as though he had something else on his mind?

"There's something else that's bothering you about this." McCoy narrowed his eyes, going back over the entire conversation in his mind. "Something about Spock?"

Kirk nodded, still gazing inward at something only he could see.

"Think maybe you should talk it out?"

"No. Thanks, Bones. But--no."

"I didn't mean with me."

A sigh. "That's easier said than done."

"Who said 'easy'?" McCoy asked gently. "Try 'human,'"

"Don't I wish."

McCoy stared. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Bones, Sarah is Jill's mother." A long pause. "I've tried to talk to him about this. Twice. The first time, he opted out--just drifted away like he does. The second time, a couple evenings ago, he did the same thing, but much more abruptly." Another long pause. "Did it ever occur to you that he just might not want me coming around?"

"You can't be serious."

Kirk swung around to face him, his eyes intense. "Try 'Vulcan.'"

After a moment, McCoy asked incredulously, "Are you afraid of him?"

"No. But you and I found out the hard way that Vulcans and humans don't talk the same language in more ways than one. I don't have a clue about what the Vulcan in him might misinterpret." Intense and urgent, and McCoy realized that this was the crux of it: "I will not risk doing anything--anything--that might make that happen. Daughter or no daughter, the price could be more than I'm willing to pay."

"You mean your friendship." Kirk simply continued to stare at him. "Jim, you have got to talk to him about this."

"I know."

"Why have you waited this long? My God, it's been four years!"

"Because it took me this long to figure out why I'm hanging back." Kirk grinned faintly, painfully. "That human enough for you, Doctor?"

You have got to talk to him....

He had considered going to Spock's quarters. But some instinct deep within him said No. Say out of his space until you know what's bothering him. Because there was something bothering Spock. The closer they got to Vulcan, the more evident that became.

And so he brought it up while they were playing chess, and at first he thought that might have been one of the worst mistakes of his life.

"You're the only one who can help me understand how Sarah wants me to handle this," he said quietly, too quietly for any of the others in the rec room to hear. But at the mention of Sarah's name, there had been a subtle withdrawal. No one but he or McCoy would have perceived it, but it was there.

"I suggest that you ask Sarah," Spock said expressionlessly, "since it is she from whom you wish to obtain information." End of conversation. At least as far as Spock was concerned.

"Well, I suppose that's the logical way to go." Jim smiled, but Spock was not looking at him, and did not see the smile. "Spock--"

"Captain--" There it was. Stay out of my space. "Perhaps this is not the time to be playing chess. If you will excuse--"

"Talk to me!" It was barely more than a whisper, but Spock looked up, and there was fear in his eyes. Throwing caution to the winds, Jim plunged on. "Is this really about Jill, or is it about Sarah?"

I don't want to talk about Sarah. The message was as clear as though Spock had said it aloud.

"What do you think I'm going to do?" Mistake, Jim thought. This is one hell of a mistake. But the same instinct that had made him choose not to go to Spock's quarters now seemed to be shouting at him: Now. Don't let this go on for one more second. Now is the time. "Try to get her to Challenge?"

He had seen sheer fury in Spock's eyes on other occasions, but never so quickly controlled. It goes away, Sarah had said once. They don't repress it. It just goes away.

"Did you find that amusing?" Quietly, almost expressionlessly.

"No," Jim answered just as quietly. "But one of us had to say it, didn't I?"

Only a moment before, he had watched Spock control, almost seen it happen. Now he watched him forget to control, and it was as though clouds sped away from the sun, blown by a fresh wind.

"Jim, that's absurd!" Incredibly, he was almost smiling.

"Why?"

"You are my friend." Innocence, yes, and yet so much more. Somehow, they could bring out the best in one another as well as the worst. "I do not believe that you will ever need me to function as your conscience. What I...foresee is that you or Sarah may someday attempt to persuade me to function as your arbiter." Gently: "Do you understand?"

Of course. What else? "You don't want to get stuck in the middle."

"I will not play that role, Jim. I--" Now he seemed to be forcing himself to say the word that he had avoided before in using "foresee." "I fear that your friendship with Sarah or with me might not survive it." Again, but with more urgency this time: "Do you understand?"

"Better than you know." Jim knew that his grin was spreading, but he let it. There was no danger here now. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

A frown. More familiar now. Extremely familiar. "It was most interesting. Until recently, I knew that I was reluctant to become involved, but I did not know why." Genuinely puzzled. In short, what Bones would have called pure Spock. "Most illogical."

Jim leaned back in his chair, feeling as though he were at peace with the universe for the first time in days. "Not interesting, my friend. Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating."

"I don't want to 'speak to her privately,' T'Loreth." Sarah stood with her back to her superior and friend, gazing out over the grounds of the Vulcan Science Academy medical complex from the window of T'Loreth's office in Hybrid Obstetrics. It was a heavy, depressing day, and the sky glowed dull red even through the clouds. No breeze stirred, even though the temperature had fallen below 30 degrees centigrade. Sarah felt cold right through to her bones. If the Na-Shoma didn't come soon...."Please don't insist."

"I shall not insist," T'Loreth answered expressionlessly. "But I am not human, Sarah, and you are. Kathleen Greenwood is in a highly disturbed state. If her condition worsens, it could affect her pregnancy adversely."

"Yes, I know. And one of the reasons I'm on staff here is that I supposedly understand the psychological afflictions of pregnant human women." Sarah turned from the window and walked slowly back to her chief's desk, which was piled with unlooked-at tapes and paperwork. T'Loreth had a great deal of responsibility, and Sarah felt acutely her own obligation to take over some of the load. "Kathleen is what we call a spoiled brat. Do you comprehend the referent?"

"Indeed."

"She speaks of Earth as home. She's intelligent, a former Starfleet officer. Yet she seems to have made no attempt to adjust to her life here on Vulcan. I can't understand why Simon would have married her."

"Simon was always unstable," T'Loreth commented impassively. Sarah smothered a smile, knowing that T'Loreth meant the comment as a simple statement of truth, with no offense intended toward Kathleen. "It would have been well if his father had permitted him to remain here on Vulcan with his mother's family."

"Humans tend to be possessive about their children." T'Loreth did not reply, and there was a moment's silence between them. "All right," Sarah said finally. "I guess I owe it to Simon to try to get Kathleen to shape up. After all, I've known him since he was a little boy. It still seems odd to think of him as an officer on the Lexington instead of just one of the hybrid children from your pilot study."

Kathleen had been hospitalized because of dehydration due to her inability to eat well. When Sarah came to the door of her room, the young woman was sitting on the window seat, half leaning out, as though she were gasping for air. The delivery rooms in H.O. were air-conditioned in deference to the human women who were patients there. But Kathleen was not yet near term, and so she was a patient in the hospital's medical wing.

"Hello." She greeted Sarah listlessly, her light brown hair clinging in moist wisps around her small, pale face. "I don't know how you do it, Doctor. You always look so fresh."

"I've been on staff here for four years," Sarah answered quietly. "It's surprising what you can adapt to if you try." My God, Sarah, she thought. How do you stand yourself? So righteous....

She took the girl's pulse while Kathleen turned again to stare out at the lowering red sky. "Four years in this godforsaken desert?" There seemed to be a note of hysteria in her voice.

Sarah released her wrist and joined her on the window seat. "How about telling me what the trouble is." Besides the heat, and Simon being gone, and being pregnant on a strange world. Sarah found herself not quite as critical as she had been a few moments before. "There is something bothering you, isn't there?"

"Yes." It was scarcely more than a whisper. "Simon was home on leave a tenday ago. Did you know that?"

"No." Simon had stopped coming to see T'Loreth when he was home on leave. He had always seemed to Sarah to be a tragic caricature of what Spock might have become had he been brought up on Earth instead of on Vulcan. He had never been taught Vulcan disciplines until he was twelve, and by that time it was largely too late. He had stayed on Vulcan with his grandparents for only a year, and had never been bonded. Yet his emotions were not human emotions, and he had no knowledge to help him deal with them. Someone, probably his father, had tried to make a human out of him, and failed. As result, Simon, unlike Spock, had no idea who he was or even who he wanted to be. "Was he home for long?"

"Much too long," Kathleen answered dully, "and not nearly long enough." She looked over at Sarah and then away again, embarrassed. "Do Vulcans have some kind of taboo against having sex with a pregnant woman?"

"Taboo?"

"Simon has this obsession about being Vulcan all of a sudden. I mean, the last few months. I thought maybe that was why...." Her voice trailed off.

"Obsession?" Sarah echoed. Simon? Vulcan?

"Before we were married," Kathleen explained patiently, "he was almost relaxed with me. I was Navigation and he was Helm on B shift. Not a whole lot happens on B shift, and we really got to know each other. I thought we were going to take it slow and easy, just be friends for a while. Then all of a sudden he wanted to get married. I mean, not just have sex. He wanted to get married, and right away. And he hasn't been the same since. It's--well, it's almost as though he found out he wasn't human after all." Her voice broke on the last words.

Horrified, Sarah contemplated the emerging truth of Kathleen's situation. "Did you ever ask Simon why he changed so suddenly?"

"I'm not sure he knows what happened. And he won't talk about it." Kathleen bowed her head over her hands, miserable and defeated. "I think he's ashamed." She looked up, defensive now. "I didn't mind...that much. We could have worked it out. It just seemed like at first he wanted it all the time, and then...nothing."

"What about the bonding link?" Sarah asked softly, knowing the answer, dreading the answer.

"The what?" Confused. Faintly curious. "Oh--you mean that betrothal thing that they do?"

"Yes," Sarah said faintly.

"Oh, we didn't do that. It all sort of came up all of a sudden. The ship was on patrol along the Neutral Zone, and Simon--"

"Have you ever had any telepathic contact with Simon?"

"No. I'm not a telepath."

Sarah clenched her fists briefly, and then forced herself to relax them. It wasn't fair to blame his Vulcan grandparents for what they couldn't bear to discuss with him, or his human father for what he quite possibly didn't know. It wasn't fair. But was this suffering fair? The only good thing about it was that Simon was barely twenty-one; the pon farr he had experienced along the Neutral Zone had probably been non-lethal and relatively non-violent. And yet....

I'm not a telepath.

Sarah shivered, got up and closed the door.

"You mean Simon can't do it unless he's--chemically unbalanced?"

"I don't know. A full Vulcan can't. But Simon and...and others are the first couple of generations of Vulcan/human hybrids. We can't possibly generalize. The evidence just isn't in yet."

Hopefully: "You mean that some of them can?"

Sarah tried to meet Kathleen's clear, questioning gaze directly. "So I understand," she answered quietly.

Kathleen nodded and turned away. She was silent for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was muffled. "I didn't mind. I love him." She met Sarah's gaze again. There were tears in her eyes now, but she was smiling a little. "They're all kind of...special. Do you know what I mean?"

Sarah thought fleetingly of professional detachment, but it was only a thought. She put her arms around Kathleen and hugged her. Oh, Sarah, what a smartass you are. So sure you know a spoiled brat when you see one.... "Do you want to hear my theory about what's happened to Simon?"

"Oh, do I ever. Any theory at all."

Sarah pulled away gently. "Vulcans are ashamed of being out of control during pon farr, but I don't think that applies to Simon. I don't think he even knew what was happening to him. He just knew he couldn't control it, and I think he's afraid it will happen again if he makes love to you now. If you can explain it to him, it might help." Kathleen nodded enthusiastically. "But--it might not, Kathleen. At least, not right away. You've got to keep reminding yourself that he's not all human, and not expect him to--to be that. Try to be patient if--if things don't work out right away. Give him time." How wise I sound.

"I just gave Kathleen Greenwood a snow job."

T'Loreth sat at her desk, the picture of calm in the midst of chaos. "Snow," she repeated abstractedly. "Job?"

Sarah collapsed into a chair. "It means that I sounded off like I know all the answers when I'm not even sure I'm asking the right questions." She recapped her initial conversation with Kathleen, appalled anew. "'The what?' she says. 'Oh, that betrothal thing that they do. I'm not a telepath.' My God."

T'Loreth was silent for a few moments. Then: "Is it permitted to inquire what counsel you gave her?"

"It's permitted to inquire. But the counsel I gave her was based on personal experience."

T'Loreth lowered her eyes. "I regret that I violated your privacy."

"You are my good friend," Sarah said gently. "Friends are permitted to ask questions, but friends are also permitted not to answer. There's nothing to regret, and you didn't violate anything." T'Loreth was now studying her thoughtfully, and she discovered that she did not want to be studied thoughtfully just then. "Now I regret that I have to go and collect my daughters. The Lord of the Manor is going offworld tomorrow, and I want to reassure him that his only grandchild hasn't been corrupted by her first contact with human children other than her sister." T'Loreth stared, impassive. "I'm sorry. Sarek's a good man. I mean a good....Well, they don't even mean the same thing, do they."

"It is difficult, Sarah, for the father of your husband to accept your ways--as difficult as it is for you to accept his."

"I know. And the funny thing is, I'm fond of him. With Spock gone, not even knowing his own child, Sarek and I could be locked in a power struggle to end all power struggles. But he just won't let that happen. I slip once in a while, but he never does." Sarah gazed speculatively at T'Loreth, but she was not really seeing her. "Ironic that it was Spock's Vulcan parent that I thought I'd have trouble convincing."

"Convincing?"

Sarah stared. "I did say that, didn't I? I don't know--Amanda doesn't trust me somehow. If I could stand to be telepathically receptive to anyone but Spock and Jill, I might find out why. But I don't know why. I just know."

"That is not logical."

Sarah smiled. "The mother of my husband is many things, T'Loreth, but logical is not one of them." The smile lingered. "They've both been so good to Jill, he in his way and she in hers."

"It would be illogical--"

"Oh, you don't know how most human in-laws would behave in circumstances like this. I really had misgivings about going to live there instead of with Chris and Mary." T'Loreth raised an eyebrow. "My cousin and his wife. They were still doing residencies at Salk when Jill and I came home." No response. "Funny how parts of our lives just don't touch other parts. Chris Jones is my cousin. We grew up in the same house. He and his wife are my dearest friends on Earth, but I don't think even Spock has ever heard their names."

The offworld settlement was on the outskirts of ShiKahr, separated from the city proper by a gigantic aqueduct. Sarah's aircar traveled high at her bidding, and she was able to look down at the broad expanse of desert surrounding the entire metropolis. To her immediate left, Seleya and its nearer sisters rose red in the red desert air. And still there was no breeze, and still the air seemed chilly to her even though she knew it was not, at least by human standards. The climatic inversion preceding the Na-Shoma had prevailed longer than usual this year, and the water in the air was almost unbearable even to an offworlder such as Sarah Halsted. The Na-Shoma or "spring wind" would come eventually as it always did. But in the meantime, the air seemed almost solid with moisture.

Looking at gaunt Seleya, the highest mountain in the near range, she thought of the Black Tower on Tara, and of the deep green lake around it, clear and still, the same color as her younger daughter's eyes.... 

...Watching her mother as Sarah come toward her across the playground of the preschool for offworld children. T'Ara was the only Vulcan child in her group, and Sarah had arranged for her to come to the Federation school for two or three days each tenday. Today was the first of what Sarah hoped would be many. For it seemed to her only logical--and Sarek had agreed, if reluctantly--that a child three-quarters human might profitably spend at least one quarter of her time with her mother's people. She had the impression that Sarek did not believe that the arrangement would last, and had agreed to it with that in mind. But now that T'Ara had gained control, her mother saw no reason why she would not be able to more than hold her own with human children her own age.

The child watched her mother, totally expressionless. Her eyes were indeed the color of Tower's Ring and the sky above it--appearing slanted at a distance but wide and almost round at close range. Her skin pigmentation was almost human, her hair as black and shining as the Tower itself, but stubbornly flipping up at the ends. Her tiny pointed ears were her only really Vulcan feature other than her eyebrows. Those rose slightly at Sarah's approach, and the mother could not help but think that a human child would have run to her, bubbling--if she were not reduced to tears at the first sight of her mother after a day of new experiences.

She sat cross-legged on the ground, near where a group of children about her age and size were playing on a variety of playground equipment. She was alone.

"I'm early." Sarah dropped to the ground next to the child. "I wanted to see what the children are doing here at your new school."

"But you observed the children before I began to attend," T'Ara reminded her, still expressionless.

"Yes, of course I did. I came early to see if you're happy here, little one."

"It is interesting."

"You don't seem very interested." Sarah looked away abruptly, biting her lip. Is there nothing of me in this child? We converse like strangers.

"Doctor Halsted?" A well-formed, athletic-looking young human female in shorts and a sleeveless top was coming across the playground. She and Sarah greeted one another, and then she said brightly, "Tara is doing just fine. For the first day, of course." She smiled at T'Ara, and Sarah had to admit that the smile was genuine. "She's a little bit shy, but most of the children are at first."

"Shy?" Sarah echoed faintly. T'Ara? Shy?

"Well--" The girl looked uncomfortable. "She hasn't participated at all. She's just watched all day." Pleading: "Tara, wouldn't you like to just try some of the activities before you go home?"

T'Ara stared at her for a moment, taking stock, and then answered politely, "No."

The girl was obviously taken aback, but when Sarah gave the child a direct look, she seemed more hopeful until T'Ara amended obediently, "No-thank-you."

The teacher gave Sarah a helpless look that was also slightly reproving, and Sarah thought, Why did you imply she had a choice when you weren't really giving her one?

"T'Ara," she explained quietly, "'Wouldn't you like to' is a human way of saying 'I'd like you to.'"

The child's eyebrows rose. "But that is not logical."

"No. No, it isn't. But that's what Ms Allen meant."

"Very well." T'Ara rose without uncrossing her feet, simply stood up without the slightest struggle for balance, uncrossed her feet and walked gracefully away toward the playground equipment. She was tall for her age as Jill had been and still was. But she weighed ten pounds less than Jill had at the same age, and the newly purchased tomato-colored jumpsuit, cycled for her height, hung uneasily on her spare little body.

"We never force the children to participate," Ms Allen was explaining to Sarah. "But the sooner they begin, the sooner we can judge their abilities. The level of coordination varies a great deal among...the races...." She stared.

T'Ara was walking along a board about ten centimeters wide, raised about fifteen centimeters off the ground. She walked it quickly and proficiently, as though it were a path a meter wide, without using her arms for balance. From the end of the board, she walked to where two plastic rings were suspended from a bar by lengths of cord so that they were slightly above her shoulders. She grasped the rings and turned several somersaults between them, her feet following her head in a controlled arc. Dropping to the ground so lightly that she hardly made a sound, she approached an area where several children of different races were testing their skills with a mechanically turned jumprope. Although the rope was turning slightly faster than their hands would have turned it, T'Ara did not hesitate, did not stand weaving back and forth to catch the rhythm of the turning rope as a human child would have. She stepped in, jumped effortlessly ten times, stepped out, and returned to where her mother and her teacher were standing. Looking up at Ms Allen with impassive politeness, she asked in her clear little voice: "Is there anything else you would like me to do before I go, Ms Allen?"

""No," Sarah answered before the speechless teacher could open her mouth. "That was just fine. Ms Allen, I--ah--think it would be best if T'Ara went to school with Vulcan children full time after all. Her tuition has been paid here for ten days, so I think that part of it should be all taken care of. Thank you so much for your time. I do appreciate it." And she held out her hand.

Ms Allen took it in hers and shook it limply. "Dr. Halsted," she said earnestly, "this child does not know how to have fun. I think it would be to her benefit--"

"Yes, I know. But I've made my decision. Thank you again."

She should have known better, she thought as she and T'Ara walked toward the area where Jill and her classmates were playing softball. Just as Sarek had known better. For Vulcan children as well as adults, physical exercise and recreation were separate entities that never met. At four, T'Ara's idea of recreation was to sit for an hour trying to figure out the permutations of a Soma--not by trial and error, but by studying the object intently before ever making a move toward it. She loved it, had already put her Soma together more than two dozen different ways, and always on the first try--

"Mother, what is fun?"

They walked on in silence while Sarah pondered. As they neared Jill and her companions and slowed their pace, she said quietly, "Watch."

In silence, they watched.

It was immediately clear to Sarah that it was the last of the ninth, that Jill's team was up to bat, and that the score was tied. She no longer wondered how it was that she could ascertain this kind of information simply by studying her elder daughter; the rapport was not at a high level, but there was no question that it existed, just as it always had. In addition, the bases were loaded, a fact that was obvious once she was able to determine which screaming, sweaty, grimy set of children represented which team. Just to the right of home plate, Jill and a manchild about her own age were almost nose to nose.

"Bunt?" the boy was yelling. "Are you crazy? You have to be the craziest girl on the team! Norma'll hit right into the pitcher's--"

"Shut up, Charlie," Jill said ominously. "He'll bobble it. He always does."

"You shut up! You're just a girl!" My God, Sarah thought, where did he...?

"Who's the manager?" Jill demanded, steely eyed.

"You are, but--"

"You wanna be manager?"

"Sure! You just--"

"Glad to. We'll take a vote. After the game, Charlie."

Charlie opened his mouth and closed it again. Jill turned away, obviously enjoying herself tremendously. "Bunt," she said to the girl at the plate.

The girl bunted, and the winning run scored a scant five seconds later while the opposing pitcher was still bobbling the ball out on the mound. A few seconds after that, Jill and Charlie were pounding each other on the back, grinning, shouting things that could not be heard at any distance because of their semi-hysterical team swirling around them.

"That," Sarah said softly, "is fun."

"Indeed?" T'Ara looked up at her, eyebrows rising. "Interesting."

And Sarah looked down, her eyes misting, wondering what T'Ara would do if her mother hugged her on the spot. Will she ever let me love her? she had once asked Amanda. And she would never forget the reply: My dear, that's a question better left unasked.

"Why are you sad?"

Sarah felt a small hand take hold of hers, and the mist cleared. T'Ara still looked up at her, and the green eyes were still clear and shining. But in their depths was something quite un-Vulcan that Sarah had never seen there before.

After a moment, she said, "I'm not. Now." She squeezed the little hand once and then let go, careful not to hold it long enough for T'Ara to want to draw it away herself. "Come on. Let's go get Jill."

They traveled home in the aircar, the two girls sitting opposite Sarah, Jill next to the window because T'Ara had commandeered one of her sister's books. Her grandmother had books, but they were mostly for grownups. This one was for children, and she was too curious about its contents to want to look out as they rode.

Watching the two of them, Sarah was certain that they were not as unaware of one another as they seemed to be. T'Ara was totally absorbed in her reading, and Jill stared silently out--her face, in repose, taking on a look of deep seriousness that could almost be called sadness. But once something amusing caught her eye, and she smiled spontaneously. Sarah could not help but wonder if it were only coincidence that T'Ara smiled faintly at the same moment. Again Jill became lost in her own thoughts, this time beginning to look downright unhappy. Sarah was about to ask her if there was anything wrong when she apparently noticed something else that interested her, at least for the moment. Making no sound, she pointed. T'Ara glanced up from her book, looked in the direction her sister had pointed, and then went back to her reading.

Sarah found it not at all strange that both of her daughters should be telepathic, since she was to a high degree. And T'Ara was part Vulcan. But the fact that they seemed to take this rapport for granted and think nothing of it began to worry her. There were times when she wondered if they spent too much time alone together. But Jill's friends all lived in the offworld settlement, and she seldom saw them outside of school hours. T'Ara, now that she had gained control, was good company in spite of the differences in their ages....Again Jill was gazing sadly out of the aircar window.

"Jill," Sarah asked softly, "is there something wrong?"

The child's eyes turned toward her, and for a moment Sarah thought that she was going to answer in the affirmative. The words were almost on her lips, and then the programmed aircar began to descend.

"I was just thinking" she said, and seemed to close up.

Thinking about what? But Sarah had been on Vulcan too long to ever ask that question of anyone.

"Maybe you'll feel like telling me about it later," she said gently, and to her relief, Jill smiled wistfully.

"I might."

The one-story house had been built in two wings, joined at the center to form an open V. The pale red stone had a burnished surface, reflecting the blazing sun back at itself and keeping the interior relatively cool. A Vulcan garden filled the interior of the V with exotic blooms that spilled rainbow-like down a low hill toward the greenhouse where Amanda's flower beds clustered moistly together under the protecting roof. Just beyond the greenhouse, a low wall edged a steeper precipice that angled sharply downward toward the city for a little over a kilometer. Looking down, Sarah could see the path she and Sarek and Amanda took when they walked to their daily work; she had taken the aircar today only because she intended to visit the school on her way home.

As they approached the small central courtyard, Sarah noticed that the gate stood open and unlatched. Strange. It was unlikely that either Sarek or Amanda was at home yet. Wondering, she entered the courtyard. At first it seemed that no one was there. I-Chaya lay asleep at the far end, and the heavy, still air brooded over all. Even the hardy Vulcan desert flora that had been planted there seemed to hang their heads in quiet despair.

"There is a man here," T'Ara's clear little voice informed her, and Sarah turned to see a figure sitting on a bench near the wing where Sarek and Amanda lived. He rose to his feet as she moved toward him, almost unable to believe her eyes.

"Chris!" Delighted, her worry over Jill forgotten, she ran to the man who came toward her with an unfamiliar hesitancy and embraced him as she would a brother. "This is wonderful! When did you get to Vulcan? Is Mary with you? Did you bring the boys? Why didn't you tell me...." Her voice died away. It was the same Chris--still skinny, still with his dark hair thick and unkempt and curly. But his eyes....

"Mary's dead, Sarah," he said quietly, and again with the barest hesitation, he hid his face in her shoulder. 

Click on the right arrow below to go to Part 2 of "The Alternate Christopher Jones"