FULL CIRCLE: Earth

Part 1 of 3

The majority of her instructors, however, were male. And it was not until her third year at PREPDIV that she had a female instructor who was anywhere near her own age. It was the custom for especially promising third- or fourth-year cadets to teach at least one class, either at the Academy proper or down in PREPDIV; J.T. had done it at the Academy, she knew, and so had Spock. So it was not surprising to her that Mister Saavik should become an instructor. After all, she was one of the few Starfleet cadets who had passed the Murphy Test with a perfect sixty.

"Murphy Test?" her mother had asked when she told her about it on the space liner. "It's a sim. You have to pilot a ConClass in and out of Spacedock, and everything that can possibly go wrong goes wrong."

"At the worst possible moment."

"Of course. What else?"

At the time of the conversation with Mother, she had not known that Saavik would be one of her instructors. In fact, she had just barely realized who "Mister Saavik" was, since Spock's half Romulan protegee apparently used an abbreviated version of her Romulan name in Starfleet. If she had, she and Mother would have talked about it. Saavik had gone to school on Vulcan for a few years between Hellguard and Starfleet, but none of Spock's family had met her. The school she had attended was on the other side of the planet. Jill had heard Mother and Amanda talking about it once, years ago, when Saavik was still in her early teens.

"Aren't you curious about her?" Amanda had asked.

"A little. But I've seen her through his eyes. I feel as though I know her almost as well as he does."

"Do you think we ought to invite her here for a visit?"

"No. I don't think she could handle it."

"My dear, being part of a family for a while might be just what she needs."

"I don't think so." Mother had been silent for a moment. "I think she'd hate us for wanting to help her, just like she hated Spock at first. And there are too many of us to work through it with her one-on-one the way he had to."

Jill had not understood what her mother meant, but had been unable to question her without revealing that she'd been eavesdropping. Then, as the years passed, she had forgotten about Saavik until this term.

At first she had been uneasy. Although almost no one knew about J.T., everybody knew that Mister Halsted's mother was married to Commander Spock, and that had been a problem sometimes. But she need not have worried. Saavik not only seemed unaware of her family connections. She seemed unaware of her existence.

The second week of class, Jill had occasion to remember what her mother had said about Saavik's not wanting any help.

Saavik maintained a determined Vulcan veneer most of the time, but there was something burning inside. Anger? Hurt? Whatever it was, was carefully controlled in the classroom. But there was something about her eyes, especially when she looked at Mister Ross and Mister Pendleton. Something Jill could not quite define. Heather and Liz were the center of a clique that even PREPDIV discipline had not been able to dissolve. How they had managed to get into the same geology class Jill could not imagine; this was the first time since first term that they had been assigned to the same class. But somehow they had managed it. And it had soon become evident that they both took pleasure in subtly baiting the instructor.

It was Jill's private opinion, shared only with her roommate, that Liz and Heather would wash out before the class moved on to the Academy. (With un-Vulcan enthusiasm, T'Kama had calculated the probabilities at 98.57 percent.) They were both from Starfleet families, both very bright. But something had gone wrong somewhere, with both of them.

Today, they had brought candy to class.

It was too stupid, Jill decided immediately. They were both much too sharp to pull a trick like that--unless there was some reason. She tried to trace the probable course of events in her mind, wondering where the psychic knife was hidden and how they would attempt to use it. Something to do with Saavik's lingering unfamiliarity with human idiom. It always was.

Better pay attention, though. Saavik was no Cameron. If she got you, she'd get you good....

Heather had placed the small roll of hard candy in her desk, in plain sight. Seeing it clearly for the first time, Jill drew in her breath and began to shuffle Vulcan vocabulary in her mind. This wasn't dumb. It was sick. Somehow, Saavik had to be warned.

"Mister Ross," the instructor said evenly, "what is that object on your desk?"

"It's just candy." As Saavik moved toward her, Heather met her gaze coolly, her arm moving slightly to nudge Liz. She had guts. Give her that. It was not until Saavik stood between Jill's desk and hers that Heather smiled and asked brightly, innocently, "Have a cherry, Mister Saavik?"

"Do not respond," Jill said quietly, in Vulcan. "Either answer is a trap."

Saavik turned slowly until her eyes met Jill's. Smokey. That was the word. Smokey with contempt.

"I have lived among your kind for three point two five years, humanchild," Saavik answered, also in Vulcan. "I neither require your assistance nor welcome your interference." Still slowly, she turned again to Heather and Liz, looking calmly from one to the other. When she spoke again, it was without emotion, and in her usual unaccented Standard. "I suggest that you retain your cherries for those who may appreciate them. I understand that it is an acquired taste." Drawing herself up yet a little straighter (if that were possible), she turned away and moved toward the front of the room.

Smarting with silent fury at Saavik's rebuff, Jill nevertheless found it necessary to press her hand to her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. When Heather, scarlet-cheeked, hissed, "Butt out, Jill. Whose side are you on anyway?", she managed to whisper sweetly, "Better not sneeze, Heather. I think your head might be off."

"You will both be silent." This from Mister Saavik. And they were silent for the rest of the class period.

As her classmates moved out, Jill was not surprised to hear the instructor say, "Mister Halsted, please remain." Attempting to stand as straight as her instructor did, she faced Saavik squarely, eye-to-eye. So what do you do for an encore, mister?

There was no anger in those gray eyes now. Instead, Jill saw bewilderment that was almost confusion.

"Why did you do that?" Almost like T'Ara would have said it. And for the first time Jill thought consciously, She's like a little kid in some ways.

"I thought you needed help," she answered without thinking. Without remembering what she had overheard Mother say to Amanda all those years ago.

It seemed that there was almost an explosion behind Saavik's eyes. "I don't need your pity, Earther!"

"Screw pity!" Jill wondered briefly what J.T. would say if she got canned. But she was too angry to care. "If you think that was pity, you haven't learned anything fr-- since you left Hellguard."

"Mister, you are out of order!"

"Yes, sir. I stand corrected, sir. But so are you. Sir." When Saavik seemed to be holding her breath: "Request permission to speak freely, sir."

"Your request comes after the fact, Mister Halsted."

"Yes, sir. Request perm--"

"Granted."

"I felt for you. They wanted to laugh at you with you not knowing why they were laughing, and I felt for you. Can't you understand that?"

Saavik simply stared. The answer, Jill realized in despair, was all too clear. Then: "Is it your pleasant fantasy that no one has ever tried to humiliate me before?" Now, for the first time, a twisted, bitter smile, one that did not touch her eyes. "The probability is high that it is you who are inexperienced in this phenomenon."

"No, sir. I'm not."

"Explain." Faint surprise. Faint interest.

"I had a friend. I called his father stupid, and he said 'Not stupid enough to fuck animals.'" Perversely, she repeated the Rigellian verb that Charlie Harris had used. No way to go but up. "He meant my mother."

"What did you do?"

For the first time, Jill almost looked away. The aura of bloodlust was almost joyful.

"I shoved his face in the dirt until he almost quit breathing. Then I let him up and he ran away."

"He did not attack you? Why?"

"I was angry. I scared him."

"How old were you?"

"Twelve."

"How old was he?"

"Twelve."

"Then he was the stronger...." Utter disbelief. "Why didn't you kill him?"

Something J.T. had once said to her about humankind came unbidden to her mind. "I chose not to kill that day. We all have that choice."

"Did Spock teach you that?" Saavik bit her lip. Anger. At herself this time.

"No. Sir. It was...a friend of his. Admiral Kirk."

"A human?"

Jill inclined her head slightly. "Indeed." Don't smile, she told herself. Smile now and it'll be your head that's off.

"It would be...interesting to serve with such a man." Saavik turned slowly and moved toward her desk, and Jill thought, Uh-huh. That would be interesting. And permitted herself a very brief smile while Mister Saavik's back was turned.

Saavik sat behind the desk, straight up as usual. Jill stood, almost at attention, and returned her gaze. After a moment, she said, "Request permission to go to my next class, sir. I'm late."

"I am aware of that, mister." Silence. Smokey stare. Dominance games. Humans played them for pleasure, Vulcans played them for reasons, but Romulans obviously played them for keeps. Jill stared back. Finally: "Dismissed."

"Thank you, sir." Jill turned and left the room, wondering how Mister Saavik would treat her tomorrow.

Tomorrow, Mister Saavik treated her as though she had never seen her before.

Three days later, she said at the end of class, "Mister Halsted, please remain." Wondering what she had done this time, Mister Halsted remained.

"You may sit down," Saavik informed her. When Jill had seated herself at one of the desks in the front row, Saavik commenced to stare at her again, but this time it was not a game. There was speculation in it. "Are you kylh?

"How did you--?"

"Your xenobiology instructor believes that you may have this capability, on the basis of certain experiences you have relayed to her."

Jill's mind ran quickly through several possibilities, and she decided it was highly unlikely that Saavik and Gort had actually had a conversation on the subject. Gort was a Tellarite who talked a great deal in a very loud voice. Damn. If you didn't get talked about for one thing, it was something else.

"Mister Gort wouldn't have said 'kylh,'" she said aloud.

"You are correct. It is I who have used that term. The extrapolation was a logical one. Have you ever been tested?"

"No, sir."

"Would you like to be?" Feigned indifference. Jill was sure it was an act. Saavik was fascinated.

"I--why are you...sorry, sir."

"I find the phenomenon interesting," Saavik said slowly, carefully. "I am kyhl myself. I have speculated on the possibility that you and I might investigate your capabilities." She hesitated. "Together," she said finally. Reluctantly. Expectantly.

And Jill felt the same slight nausea that she had felt on the day of the incident she had described to Saavik. It's because I almost killed somebody, she thought. You feel like you have more in common with me than anybody else here because I almost killed my best friend when I was twelve years old. And yet--

I chose not to kill that day.

"Very good, sir," she said quietly. "I think it would be an interesting project. For both of us."

The testing, like most Starfleet tests, consisted of programmed simulations. The dog holo thought like a dog. The cat holo thought like a cat. The Vulcan animals were the most realistic of all. The programmer had obviously been a Vulcan. Some of the animals from other worlds tended to think a little like Vulcan animals of similar species. Some of the lesser known animals tended to think a little like Vulcans.

"There's no varnth," Jill said midway during the second testing period.

Together they made a varnth holo, with his heart beating in his tail. But neither of them was a programmer. So T'Kama was enlisted to program the varnth thinking--with Jill's assistance, since T'Kama was not kylh and Saavik had never been able to communicate with a varnth.

When Jill had demolished all the tests, she began to create holos composed of more than one animal.

"You are playing, Mister Halsted," Saavik informed her disapprovingly. But she seemed disinclined to interfere. In fact, she seemed to enjoy watching.

"Yes, sir," Jill answered absently. She touched a wrong key, and the mandilla with Who's face broke in two and dissolved in the air above them. "Damn," Jill said softly, and began to recreate the creature she had named a Whodilla in her mind.

"Why do you say that?"

"Makes me feel better." Jill glanced up. "Sorry, sir."

"Why does it make you feel better?"

"It's hard to explain. You should try it sometime. Sir." Saavik said nothing, and Jill kept her eyes on the console. When she had made another Whodilla, she sent it flying around the lab. Then she programmed a voice for it.

"Am I Who?" it said. "Who else am I?" And Jill laughed.

"Why is that humorous?"

"It's impossible. I mean--there is no such creature, but it's just enough like.... Well, you hadda be there, I guess."

"I was required to be present--?"

"No. No." Sighing, Jill wiped the Whodilla. "It's just an expression, sir. It means--I can't explain what it means."

"There is a great deal about humans," Saavik said thoughtfully, "that cannot be explained."

It was almost dark when they left the lab together, and most of the cadets were in the mess halls and recreation areas. They stood together under a tree, facing one another in the gathering shadows. Pacificside, Sol hung almost as red as 40 Eridani. The wind chilled them a little, for it was not the hot wind that they were both used to.

"Please explain once more," Saavik said softly, intently, "why you attempted to come to my assistance."

"I felt for you. I tried to help you protect yourself because I thought they could hurt you. I was wrong, but that doesn't change anything."

"This is what humans call compassion?"

"I guess so."

Saavik's eyes narrowed. Trying to get her mind around it, Jill thought. She looked like that when she was trying to communicate with the varnth holo.

"I accept your gift of self, Jill Halsted."

In spite of herself, Jill smiled. "The obligation was mine...Saavikam."

"You are bold," Saavik said softly.

"Yes, sir."

Their gaze held for a moment, and it seemed to Jill that Saavik smiled a little, and that this time it did touch her eyes.

"Good night, Mister Saavik. Sleep well." She cocked her head slightly, and when Saavik nodded her dismissal, she turned and walked away. When she had rounded a building corner and was out of Saavik's sight, she gave a little skip and ran the rest of the way to the dorm.

One thing about Earth. If you felt good and wanted to run, you could do it just about any time.

The three children sat on the floor with the great black dog, Robbie and Stevie tussling with each other and with Cal, T'Ara watching, watching as always. Sarah knew that her daughter had already established communication with Cal; the dog kept turning his head to give T'Ara speculative glances as he never did with the beloved children who owned him. But she did not seem to want to touch him now, when the other two were playing with him.

"He won't hurt you, honey," Mary said gently. She and Chris sat close together on the couch, his arm around her shoulders as it invariably had been since the three of them were sixteen together. Affectionately amused as always, Sarah nevertheless felt obscurely detached from them, as she had been since her arrival on Earth several weeks ago. These two were as familiar to her as memory itself, and yet they seemed more a part of the new and challenging configurations of her life here than of their common past. The time between has been too long, she thought. But it was more than that. The place between was too much a part of her, as it was of both her daughters. She had never sensed that Jill felt out of place at PREPDIV, but here in Chris and Mary's apartment she seemed restless, and had wondered out on to the balcony alone--probably to get warmed up, Sarah thought with a little shiver; the breeze off the Bay was crisp, but the sun shone brightly now that the fog had burned off for the day. T'Ara had apparently learned to control the slight shivering that had plagued her constantly at first. But when she turned toward Mary now, she seemed to be looking at her from a great distance.

"I know," she said. There was no arrogance in it. It was simply a statement of fact.

Chris smiled encouragingly. T'Ara seldom spoke in his presence, and unlike his alter, he was equally interested in both of Sarah's children. "How do you know, T'Ara?" he asked now, genuinely curious.

Jill had come to the doorway of the balcony, and for a moment her eyes met Sarah's. Slight shrug, slight smile on Jill's part. What will be, will be.

"Caliban told me," T'Ara answered politely.

There was a moment's silence except for the giggling little boys. Then Chris asked, "How did you know his name is Caliban? The boys never call him that."

"He told me."

Sarah glanced at Jill, who grinned faintly and rolled her eyes upwards.

Both Chris and Mary stared at T'Ara for a moment, and then, almost simultaneously, turned their eyes to Sarah. Chris seemed slightly disturbed, but Mary was smiling affectionately. Cute, she mouthed silently.

Jill turned abruptly and returned to the balcony, leaving her mother to cope alone with their silent shared laughter. Keeping a straight face with difficulty, Sarah explained that He told me was the literal truth.

"You're spoiling her, you know."

Sitting on a high stool next to Mary's kitchen counter, Sarah looked up from the potato she was peeling. Mary refused to cycle for company, but she was not adverse to letting company peel the potatoes, and Sarah was not averse to doing something useful while sitting down. Strangely enough, a shorter working day and lower gravity seemed to make her more tired rather than less so. "How do you mean?"

"You take everything she says so damn seriously," Mary answered lightly.

"So does she."

"That's the point, luv. You don't know where to draw the line. Letting her stay home from school on Friday was a big mistake."

"She wasn't feeling well."

"Um-hmm." Mary smiled wryly and shook her head. "Like when you and I and Chris weren't feeling well the day we built the tree house. What were we--ten? Eleven? Except we got caught. What did she do all day?"

"Watched the Tri-D, I think."

"Lovely. What I can't figure out is what it is that you think you owe her."

Sarah met her gaze steadily, smiling a little. "Very perceptive. As usual. But not relevant to this. She couldn't cope, Mary. She's been in school here three weeks, and this was the first time she couldn't control her feelings about it."

Chris had come to the kitchen door, and now accepted a half spoonful of leftover frosting from his wife, kissing her lightly on the lips. To Sarah, he said, "The word is 'malingering,' Doctor."

"No. At All Worlds, we call it 'needing personal time.' Remember, Doctor?"

"Five'll get you ten she'll 'need personal time' again on Monday."

Sarah smiled with more nonchalance than she felt. She had been thinking the same thing.

"Trouble with you, Doctor" Mary informed her, "is that you never could resist the chance to try to heal somebody." And they were off again. The reminiscing seemed compulsive at times, as though the three of them were reaching back through the years for something that still eluded them. But it worked. Still licking the spoon, Chris reminded them about Sarah's collection of stray cats, and her insistence, from the age of eight, on sitting with anyone in the family who was sick. "'I'll make you tea and tell you stories,'" he quoted with a wink.

Mary glanced from one to the other, and Sarah saw Chris tighten his arm around his wife's shoulders. Telepath he was not, but all three of them knew that Mary occasionally felt shut out when the brother-sister bond became too evident. If they had really been brother and sister, Sarah suspected, it would have been different. But the fact that Chris-and-Sarah went back further than Chris-and-Mary seemed to hurt Mary in some way that even Sarah had never been fully able to understand.

And so she left them alone together in the kitchen, and returned to the living room just in time to witness a silent exchange between her daughters that intrigued and puzzled her so much that she had difficulty refraining from monitoring it.

The two boys had turned on the Tri-D, forgetting about Cal and T'Ara, who remained close to one another, T'Ara sitting with her arms around her knees and Cal with his great black head resting on his outstretched front paws. Almost casually, T'Ara extended her hand toward his head. But Jill, who had once again returned to the balcony door, moved quickly to them, knelt and laid her own hand on the dog's head before T'Ara could do it. Cal raised his head and looked searchingly at Jill, but she was not looking at him. Her gaze held T'Ara's, and Sarah, still trying to shield against them both, perceived surprise and bewilderment on T'Ara's part and apologetic determination on Jill's. She was not smiling.

Lying flat on the floor in her pajamas in the small room she shared with T'Ara when she stayed overnight, Jill slowly raised both legs and pointed her toes at the ceiling, then lowered them to the floor again. All the sleeping rooms on Earth seemed so small. No wonder T'Ara felt like she was sleeping in a box with pale green walls.

"He's got me, doesn't he?" she asked, and began to repeat the exercise.

Sitting on her bed, T'Ara looked up from the chess move that Jill's cousin Peter had sent her on paper. They had never met, but they had been corresponding for almost five years. This was their third game. Jill had almost won the second one. As expected, T'Ara simply raised her eyebrows.

"Forget it." Jill rolled over, sat up, laid her arms on the foot of her bed, and rested her chin on her hands. "Do you think Mother's feeling all right?"

"No."

"Do you think she's just tired like she says?"

"No."

"Why doesn't she tell us the truth?"

"It is her truth now," T'Ara said softly, "that she is 'just tired.' When it becomes otherwise, she will tell us."

Jill sighed, rose, moved to her own bed, and lay down on top of the covers.

"Why did you stop me from setting Caliban free?" T'Ara asked.

"What's 'free'?"

"He does not belong to them," T'Ara said tightly. "He belongs to himself. He cannot even run. They leash him to themselves when they take him outside. He told me. He wants to run."

"What were you going to tell him to do?"

"They could not hold his leash if he wished to break free. He is stronger than they are." Incredulously: "He doesn't even know that."

"Dogs don't run loose in San Francisco. During the Post-Atomic Horror, there were wild dogs everywhere. In packs. They killed people. Little kids couldn't go outside alone for years. Now there are people who kill dogs that are running free. Especially big, strong ones. It's illegal, but nobody does much to stop it."

T'Ara swallowed. "That is not logical."

"It is to them."

"Then what is right?"

"It's not what's right, shadow. It's what's better. For Cal. This is a different world." Jill got up and laid her hand on her sister's shoulder. "Lie down now. I'll tuck you in. No, come on." T'Ara lay down, and Jill tucked her in and then sat on the edge of the bed. "You should tell Mother about how the fog and the cushion scare you." T'Ara turned her face away. "If you can't control it by yourself, you need somebody to help you."

"She cannot help me." It was barely a whisper.

"Not if you don't give her a chance." Silence. But T'Ara seemed to relax a little. After a moment, Jill said softly, sing-song, "Good night, little one."

The corners of T'Ara's mouth turned up slightly. Very slightly. But definitely up.

On Monday morning Sarah called the hospital, informed the central computer that she would not be in that day, drew her shawl around her shoulders, and went to T'Ara's room. If you can't lick 'em, join 'em. Besides, it felt good to play truant. She hadn't done that since the tree house, and this time there was nobody to come and catch her at it. Being a mature adult had its compensations.

T'Ara had turned on the light although it was not yet time for her to get up. With the fog completely covering the windows, it might have been the middle of the night. Except that you couldn't see the stars. Or even the sky. The windows were completely black. Like being in the belly of a whale. Damn highrises.

T'Ara met her gaze without expression. Controlling.

"How do you feel this morning, little one?"

"I am well." Controlling. Tight. Could something be frightening her?

"Good. I'm going to play hooky today." Sarah explained about playing hooky. T'Ara stared, no longer controlling.

"Why?"

"I thought it might be fun." Eyebrows approaching the hairline. "Would you like to join me?"

"What shall we do?"

"Well--to start with, I thought I might make you tea and tell you stories."

"What stories?" T'Ara whispered, fascinated. As her mother sat beside her on the bed, she sat up slowly. If anything had been frightening her, it was gone now.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe about when I was a little girl. Are you cold?"

"No." She was shivering slightly, but she had apparently not noticed until her mother did. "Yes."

"Here." Sarah laid her arm around the child's shoulders and drew the shawl around both of them. Marvelous thing, it was. Almost magic. It seemed to weigh nothing, yet it was the warmest shawl she owned.

"Where did you get this?" T'Ara asked immediately. She had already stopped shivering. As if by magic.

"Your father sent it to me about a year ago, not long after he went back to Starfleet. He told me the name of the world where he found it, but I'm afraid I've forgotten. The green is just the shade of Tara's sky, and the blue is the shade of Earth's sky." The child looked up at her, smiling faintly. "Isn't it?"

"Indeed." Still the faint smile. And Sarah thought, My eyes. Why didn't I notice it before? "And the gold?" T'Ara asked.

"There's no gold in it."

T'Ara pinched a piece of the material between her fingers and held it up to the light. There seemed to be a slight sheen to the material, but no gold. "See?"

"No. I can't see it."

"A Vulcan would see it," T'Ara said gently. No arrogance. Just a statement of fact. 

After the sun came out, they walked in it together, soaking it up. Since they were used to higher gravity, walking here was easy except for the hills. The building they lived in was near the edge of the complex, and they soon left it far behind, walking toward Mount Tam.

"That is a mountain on this world?" T'Ara asked incredulously.

"Not really. It's just called Mount Tam."

"That is not logical." Sarah shrugged. "Shall we climb it?" T'Ara asked hopefully.

"Ah--no. Not today." At the thought, Sarah felt a wave of fatigue. Silly. It was barely noon. "Let's go shopping."

"Shopping?"

"Another kind of human recreation." Blank. "You go looking through the mall for something to exchange credits for." Blanker still, if that were possible. "Take it on faith, little one. Just this once?"

"Faith?"

"Come on. It's fun. You'll see."

And it was.

They returned at sunset, laden with small purchases that would make their apartment theirs instead of a copy of fifteen thousand others just like it. Sarah could remember being this happy on a few rare occasions, but she could not remember ever being this tired.

As they entered the lobby of their building, she noticed that T'Ara paused just inside the entrance and stood still for a moment, her feet slightly apart. An expression of strain, almost of fear, passed across her face and then was gone. Controlling again.

"What is it?" Sarah asked gently.

"This structure floats," T'Ara said expressionlessly. Still controlling.

"Floats?" And then she remembered. Massive anti-gravs. The quake cushion. By law, no building near the San Andreas fault could be constructed without one. It was the perfect solution to a centuries-old problem, especially since no human could perceive the presence of the cushion even in a high rise, where the anti-gravs were much stronger and the cushion much thicker. Almost a millimeter, it was said. "Oh, T'Ara--can you feel it floating all the time?"

"Indeed."

"Why didn't you tell me? We can move to another apartment somewhere else."

T'Ara tilted her head slightly to the side. "After we have played hooky to purchase a large number of decorations for this one? That would be most illogical. Come." She took Sarah's hand in hers. "Are you too tired to 'fix the place up' now? I think that would be fun." And she smiled.

It was not until later that evening that Sarah remembered that T'Ara had known she was tired even though she had not said so aloud.

Reconstructed cable cars were the newest thing in San Francisco. Jill could not imagine why such an antiquated means of getting around the city would appeal to anyone. But there was an entire network of them, grinding up and down the hills and along the edges of all the shopping malls. People thought they were quaint. Well, Mary thought they were quaint, and Mary almost always thought what everybody else thought.

This Saturday afternoon, Jill took a cable car to the outskirts of the city because she still had some thinking to do before she got there. One thing she still had to figure out was what she would eventually tell Mother about why she didn't come to the apartment right away this morning as she had been doing for a month, since the beginning of the term. Mother wouldn't ask, but she'd wonder, and if you didn't watch it, she'd figure it out. Not that there was any way she could figure this out. But just the same.

The other thing she had to figure out was what she was going to say when she got where she was going, wherever that turned out to be. It was a little like the sims where you were flying blind.

When she arrived at the university, she still hadn't figured out either one.

It was cold, at least by Vulcan standards. About twenty Celsius, she thought. She had exchanged credits two years ago for something called a p-coat; it was getting just a little tight now, but it still fit over a sweatshirt and the collar felt really good turned up against the wind, even if you did have to put it up under your hair in the back. Or you could put the jacket on over your hair, but that felt like being tied up. Or you could braid one braid, which is what she had done this afternoon, and put the braid over your shoulder. She had seen Mister Saavik with one braid once in a while, so now it didn't feel like you were a little kid or something, with your hair in pigtails.

But even though it was cold, and even though things like the weather never did feel quite right on this world, it was still beautiful. She had never seen sunshine like this, and from what she had seen when they took Raven to Seattle-Portland and Baja, this kind of sunshine was unique even on Earth. Mellow yellow was the way she thought of it, especially in the fall. As she walked across the campus, everything looked mellow yellow.

The computer in the lobby of the administration building was anything but mellow.

"Please state surname and given name, surname first."

She took a deep breath. If J.T. ever found out.... "Marcus," she said firmly. "David."

"Initial character identification is required."

Jill stared at the vid, on which was printed the same words that the computer was saying. "Oh, come on. How do you stand yourself?"

"'On O'Cum' is not a student at this university." There was a whirring sound, as though the com were clearing its throat. Or its brain.

"What kind of a loop is that?"

"'Kinduva What' is not a student at this university. Do you wish to begin again?"

Jill opened her mouth, but the thing might go infiloop if she called it that. "Affirmative."

"Please answer yes or no."

This time she could not resist her first impulse. "Maybe."

"Last name alone is not sufficient. Please answer yes or no."

"Yes, dunsel!"

"Please state surname and given name, surname first." And she did. The thing blathered out all the information she wanted, including the fact that David was a Ph.D. candidate in the graduate school, which she already knew.

Some security. At the Academy, personal information on cadets was accessible only by Starfleet personnel.

He lived near campus, in an old house with other students. She knew that his mother no longer lived in San Francisco. So with any luck, he would be at his student address this weekend.

There was nobody home.

The doorbell took her picture and asked her to leave a message, but she didn't have the heart. So much for the little adventure. Then, turning away from the door, she saw that there were three young men shooting baskets in the park across the street.

Later, she would wonder why she slowly crossed the street and sat down under a big tree, her arms hugging her knees, to watch them. The wind blew across the grass, and she was cold. But she sat close to the tree where no one would notice her, and watched for almost half an hour. By that time, she knew that her little adventure had not been in vain. She didn't know how she knew. He certainly didn't look a whole lot like J.T. Too skinny for one thing. But he sure didn't know how to take it easy. By the time the other two left, one of them calling him "Dave," he had out-scored both of them by half. And after they had gone, he went right on practicing jump shots by himself. Didn't know when to quit, either. He was breathing hard and dripping sweat, even in this temperature.

She got up then, and began to walk slowly toward him, still trying to figure out what to say and still not succeeding. The whole thing was so dumb. You didn't just go up to somebody you didn't even know and say....

He'd seen her. One more jump shot, then another glance over his shoulder.

You look sixteen, she remembered. Maybe even seventeen.

Well, that would be okay for openers.

He came toward her, dribbling the ball, breathing hard, his hair wet but mellow yellow in the sunshine. "Hi."

"Hi. Are you David Marcus?"

He caught the ball and stood still with it in his hands, then began to bounce it slowly, still breathing too fast. Startled, but still smiling. "Uh-huh. Who're you?"

"My name's Jill." It suddenly came to her exactly what she was doing, and how complicated this could get if it didn't go right. What had she been thinking of anyway? She looked away, wondering if she could just call the whole thing off. This was starting to get a little scary.

"Do I know you?" he asked.

She looked back at him again. Nice smile. Not like J.T. But nice. It would go right, she decided. He would feel the same way she did. Curious. And, well-- "Not exactly. But--Jim Kirk is my father."

The ball shot off to the side, and hands grabbed her by the shoulders. "Is this some kind of a joke?" He shook her once, so hard that her head snapped back on her neck. Terrified, she reflexively knocked his hands upwards and brought her knee up, but he was just a little too far away. Her knee caught him on the inside of the thigh, knocking his leg out from under him. He went down half kneeling, and she backed away, thinking of Charlie. Why do I have to keep hurting people I want to care about?

He looked up at her sideways, now almost gasping from exertion and shock, sweat-stained T-shirt clinging damply to his body, and shook his head slowly. "God, I'm sorry." If she had been afraid of him just a moment before, she could not be afraid of him now. Not much, anyway. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm really sorry." He got to his feet slowly, staring, and began to walk toward her. When she stepped backward, he stopped and just stood there staring. Staring. Still breathing like he'd been in a fight. Or like he was trying not to cry. "What do you want?"

"I thought I wanted to meet you."

He started to back away, and for a moment she thought he was going to cut and run and wished he would. But he didn't. He picked up the basketball, moved over to drop it into a container with other balls, moved again to pick up his sweatshirt and tie the sleeves loosely around his shoulders, all the time staring, staring, looking away only to find the ball and the container and the sweatshirt on the ground. Fascinated? Horrified? Both? Both.

When he came toward her again, slowly this time, she kept herself from backing away.

"What did you say your name is?"

"Jill Halsted."

He smiled then, very faintly. She didn't like that smile at all. But it didn't stay long.

He took a last deep breath, like a sigh. "You want some coffee or something?"

The game room was obviously a student hangout, judging by the decor and the menu. But there were only two other customers, a couple playing a hologame at one of the other small tables. David cycled the coffee and came back to sit opposite her. He wasn't staring at her anymore, anyway. In fact, he seemed to have a hard time looking at her. "Where do you live?"

It was the first time either of them had said anything since the park.

"Here. In San Francisco."

"Does your mother live here too?"

She nodded. "She's a physician on staff at All Worlds."

Again the faint smile she didn't like at all. "He's got a champagne appetite. I'll give him that."

She couldn't answer. There were no words in her mind to answer with.

Now he leaned his arms on the table and hung his head a little, looking at her sideways like he had after she kneed him. "Who told you about me?"

"He did."

Startled again. "Is he here now? I thought he was...." Vague circling motion toward the sky.

"We were living--" Suddenly she didn't want him to know anymore about her. "Somewhere else."

"On another planet?" She nodded, and he looked down abruptly into his coffee. Like hers, it was untouched. "He came to see you there?"

Sometimes she wished she couldn't tell how people were feeling. This was one of those times. There was so much pain inside him. "He came to see you once. He told me about it."

"I didn't even know he was-- who he was then. And he didn't come to see me. He came to see my mother." Anger? No. Rage. "'Time for your nap, David.' Time to play dead, David. Except I didn't." Remembered rage.

"Did he tell you to take a nap?" No answer. "If he didn't come to see you, why did he come in the dayt--."

"He came to see my mother. Yours too, I bet."

"She's married now."

"I got news for you, sweetheart. That wouldn't stop him."

"Shut up." The two holos at the other table buzzed in the silence as they glared at each other. "You don't even know him."

"Whose fault is that?" Odd. It wasn't even very loud, but it sounded like a wail. In memory, she heard her own voice as though it were yesterday: Everybody is always somebody else's something. Never mine. Without thinking, she reached toward him. But he pulled back as though he were afraid of her.

"Did your mother ever tell you that he doesn't come around because she told him to stay away from you?" she asked.

Briefly and succinctly, he told her exactly what kind of a lie he thought that was.

Not from you, mister. Especially not from you. "You sound just like somebody I used to know. He was twelve years old."

"Why are you here?" Again he seemed to be almost crying. Pleading. But for what? Get away from me? Stay with me? Both? Both. "What do you want from me?"

"I wanted to know my brother." Trying to keep her own voice from shaking, she pushed back her chair and got up, knocking over her cup and spilling the untasted coffee all over the table. One more mess she wouldn't be able to clean up. Ever. "I didn't know you'd be hurting like this. I'm sorry." And she ran, trying to remember where she could get the cable car and not succeeding.

She was in the middle of a shopping mall before she had blinked the tears away. Damn. Other people could cry without having to blow their noses all the time. She was in the act when she realized that he had followed her, running too, and then slowed down a little way behind her. She began to walk again, but he caught up with her. They walked on through the mall and out into a tree-lined avenue before he said anything.

"You want to call a truce and start over?"

Glancing toward him, she saw that he was smiling a little, but not like the last two times. Reluctantly, she smiled a little too, and then looked away.

"All right." After all, who started this anyway? And it couldn't get much worse. Could it?

She asked him about his studies as they walked on toward where she now remembered the cable car had stopped to let her off. It was too soon for the other thing again. They'd get to it, but it was too soon right now.

He was going to get his degree soon, he said. As soon as he defended his dissertation. Then he and his mother and some other people were going somewhere he called Spacelab. The Federation grant, she remembered, and wondered briefly why both he and J.T. said absolutely nothing about what the grant was for or where this Spacelab was. Classified?

"What did you write your dissertation on?"

"Nothing you'd be interested in." He seemed...embarrassed. "It's an unstable substance." And she thought: Just like you. "My committee hasn't been very happy with me. Where do you go to school?"

"I think maybe you don't want to know."

He glanced at her sharply and then away again. "Did he get you in?"

"No. I scored high in all the aptitude sims, and I asked...a family member to sponsor me." They walked on up the hill toward the cable car stop. "Does your mother know how you feel about him?"

"She knows I'm not crazy about him." Tight. Almost like T'Ara when she was controlling. Except this wasn't controlling. Cover it up and pile a lot of stuff on it. "How often does he spend time with you?"

"Pretty often. When he's here."

Lightly, bitterly: "Lucky you." But when she looked at him, there were tears in his eyes.

"David, you could--"

"If I never see that man again," he said slowly and carefully, "I'll be the happiest person in the universe."

"Just like you are now."

Their steps slowed, almost stopped. Finally he said very low, almost whispering, "Why you and not me?"

Once more. Try just once more. "My mother never told him to stay away from me."

They stopped and stood facing each other in the mellow yellow sunshine. "He's lying, Jill." Quietly this time. Almost calm.

"No."

"You think my mother's lying?"

"Did she ever tell you straight out why he never comes to see you?" He was looking directly at her as she asked the question, and for just an instant something wavered behind his eyes. Then it was gone. "Well, maybe she will someday. If she ever finds out how much you hate him." 

Click on the right arrow below to go to Part 2 of "FULL CIRCLE 2: Earth"