FULL CIRCLE: Earth

Part 3 of 3

Sarah took his hand, meeting his gaze intently. "I don't believe you."

Disconcerted, he glanced at Chris. She was making no attempt to read his thoughts, but the content was almost audible: I thought you said she was rational.

"I think," she went on, "that what you really said was, 'Sarah, I'm Doctor Noble.'"

Their gaze held for a moment longer, and then he grinned. It was a nice grin--fully as nice as she had expected it to be.

Chris, however, was not smiling. He looked ghastly.

"How long have I been here, Chris?"

There was a moment's hesitation. Then: "Do you remember anything about what happened?"

She remembered. Tuesday morning. Getting out of bed. The floor coming up toward her as it had that day with Zoe. Reaching for the bed to break her fall. Succeeding. That was all she remembered clearly. But there were fragments. T'Ara's face, dead white. An ambulance carrying her through the air to All Worlds. The E.R. And then, nothing.

"How long have I been here? Why have I been sedated? Where is T'Ara?"

"You haven't been sedated," Felix Noble said quietly. "Your medication is predominantly chemical nutrients. You've been asleep--normal sleep--for almost sixty hours on half a milligram of Hot Milk t.i.d." Gently: "I'd say the patient needed a nap, wouldn't you, Doctor?"

"Half a--?" Faint childhood memory: her father occasionally sleeping deeply all weekend. Normal sleep. As a human might occasionally sleep the clock around. "You mean it's Thursday night? Where is T'Ara?

"She's with the Altons," Chris sat on the bed and took her hand. "She wanted to stay with them. She didn't want to come home with us." Hurting.

"It's the opera," Sarah said faintly, and patted his hand. Chris and Mary were opera fanatics, and T'Ara, like most Vulcans, was almost unable to tolerate the sound of human operatic voices. The Altons were an elderly couple who lived in the apartment next to Sarah's. She and T'Ara had shared several pleasant suppers with them. The child's solemn sweetness and impeccable manners enchanted them, and their quiet, steady affection seemed more soothing to her troubled, alienated spirit than Mary's demonstrativness and the noisy horseplay of the boys. "How did she--was she frightened?"

"She was wonderful, Sarah. Calm as could be. You would have been proud of her."

Sarah swallowed. No reason to panic. "She was controlling." The other two looked back at her, believing they understood. "Have you talked to Jill?"

"Her whole class went to Lunaport on Monday morning. Some kind of survival training. We--Mary and I decided not to try to get in touch with her. They said it was only a three-day trip."

"Yes. I remember. They get back Thurs-- today." This was Thursday? "I have to see T'Ara, Chris. Please."

"She's probably in bed by now. It's almost ten."

"Are you making rounds now?"

"Felix is a night person." For the first time, Chris smiled a little. "Now that he's retired, he doesn't even wake up until afternoon." Felix shrugged. "I had a delivery, and I asked him to meet me here afterwards. God, I'm glad you're awake." He hugged her tight for a moment, and then they got down to business, Sarah trying to keep her mind off T'Ara until she was again alone.

Felix had been in touch with T'Loreth while Sarah slept. They had discussed an organ-regenerating medication that had been successfully tested on both Vulcans and humans, but was not yet in general use.

"No," Sarah said firmly. Her child was a physiological anomaly. As long as he lived, no drugs would be tested on him if she was aware of it. She had seen tapes on the results in utero of tissue-regenerating medications administered to transracially pregnant mothers. Those results were not pleasant to look at.

"That has to be your decision, of course," Felix said firmly, before Chris could argue with her. Felix was obviously not pleased with her, but seemed willing to bide his time. "What about the artificial gestation unit?"

"Did T'Loreth suggest that?"

Felix hesitated, glancing briefly at Chris once more. "Every possible solution has to be explored, Doctor."

"What did T'Loreth say about the AGU's?" Sarah persisted quietly, knowing the answer.

"She indicated that early transfer presents serious problems unless the fetus is the offspring of a full Vulcan and a full human."

"They haven't been modified for anomalous cases. There's an R & D team working on it, but it'll be another year before the project is ready for actual testing." Sarah closed her eyes. The room was swimming again.

"Are you in pain?" Chris asked her.

"Some. But it's not severe. I'm a little tired, though." Out, she thought. Get them out. I'll have to wake the Altons up if I don't call soon.

After they had left Sarah's room, Chris and Felix walked slowly toward the lift. Finally, Felix asked quietly, "How soon does the husband get here?"

"Any time now."

"Maybe he can make her see reality."

Standing before the lift doors, Chris thrust his hands into his pockets and rotated his aching shoulders, then his neck. "Don't hold your breath," he said.

The instant Sarah saw Eileen Alton's face on the screen, she panicked again.

"Sarah? Oh, dear. I'm so sorry you called just now. We have a little problem--"

"What's happened to T'Ara?" It was like a nightmare. Going from one faceless person to another, asking over and over, Where is my child? What's happened to my child?

"She went over to your apartment about an hour ago to get a holo that she wanted to look at. I suppose one of us should have gone with her, but it was right next door--"

"Where is she?"

"She's still in there," Eileen said helplessly. "But she won't answer the door. We've been trying to get her to answer for half an hour. We can't palm the lock, of course. Do you think we ought to try to get in touch with the Homes management?"

"No," Sarah said carefully. "Under no circumstances are you to force that lock. Eileen, I'm going to have to blank you now. I'm sorry. None of this is your fault. Please don't blame yourself. Goodnight." She blanked Eileen and punched in another number, wondering why her hands were not shaking even though the buzzing in her head was beginning again.

The Starfleet seal appeared on the screen, and the computer's voice said politely, "Starfleet Academy, Preparatory Division. Please state--"

"Halsted. Jill. This is an emergency."

"Are you sure you don't want to beam down right to the hospital?"

Spock went on programming the coordinates of the building in which Sarah and T'Ara were living. He seemed calm now, Kirk thought. No doubt controlling, but not impassive. Single-minded and intense.

"I cannot."

He finished the setting and turned to Kirk, who nodded, wondering how much more he ought to say. Sarah had been in the hospital for almost three days. She must be worse. Yet Spock insisted on going to T'Ara first. Must be something he thought he could do for her. Best leave well enough alone. And yet--

"You have to do what you have to do," he said quietly. "I understand that, even though I seem pretty dense sometimes." Oddly enough, he thought he saw a hint of a smile deep in Spock's eyes. "But...give her something to hang onto. For the human part of her to hang on to."

For a moment, Spock's hand was on his arm, fingers tightening and then releasing. Then he turned away and mounted the transporter pad.

He materialized in a heavy fog, directly outside the lobby doors. It was night, and it was almost impossible to see more than a few meters ahead. Even the other side of the street was obscured.

He stood for a moment, remembering. When he had first come to the Academy, he had found the Bay Area fog more than a little disturbing. On Vulcan, there might be a fine mist on winter mornings in low-lying areas. But this visually impenetrable soup, in which even one's Vulcan hearing was dampened, was intensely disorienting to the uninitiated. He had overcome his distaste.... Distaste? Fear was the word, although even at a distance of so many years, he could not explain logically to himself why he had been afraid. But he had overcome his fear by walking alone in the fog for hours. A female of nine point six eight Standard years would have no such opportunity.

Frowning a little, he entered the lobby and stopped dead just inside the doors, positioning his feet carefully to retain equilibrium. Fascinating. The quake cushion was slightly out of alignment. There was no danger to the building, but the sensation that the entire structure was tipped at an angle of eighty-eight point four three degrees was profoundly demoralizing....

T'Ara had been living in this building for nearly three months.

He controlled, re-envisioned the building, and proceeded across the lobby to the lift.

No one answered his ring at the apartment. And of course the lock would not release to his palm. He stood in the hallway, controlling something disturbingly close to panic. There was no logical reason to believe that T'Ara was within, and many logical reasons to believe that she was elsewhere. With the Joneses, perhaps. And yet he stood there, his mind reaching backward to another time and place. A pier at the domestic spaceport in ShiKahr--a half-finished pier with a silent, apparently deserted space yacht some distance away. In memory, he heard Jim's voice, and then Sarah's.

"You don't even know if she's in there."

"She's in there."

She's in there. Alone.

He laid his hand on the door, concentrating, reaching. He had expected to find what his mind now touched. But expecting it was one thing, and finding it was another. He controlled, trying to soothe her. At least she recognized him, even though she could not endure the contact and fled from it almost instantly.

He closed his eyes, both hands on the door. T'Ara, I can help you. Let me help you.

After what seemed like a very long time, but was in fact only one point four seven minutes, he felt a very slight vibration from the wall next to the entry. T'Ara had released the privacy lock. But the doors remained closed. He sensed her physical withdrawal--into another room. Running. She had done as much as she was able to. Releasing the lock was the extent of her ability to allow anyone into her space.

It took him another point four seven minutes to get the doors to slide open. This process involved the insertion of fingers into the crack between the doors. It was difficult; at times he seemed to be clawing at the crack as though he were one of his own distant ancestors. But eventually, the process was complete and the doors slid back.

Darkness. No light at all. The automatic lighting had apparently been deactivated, and the fog obscured the windows completely. If he were all human, he would not have been able to proceed. He proceeded.

There seemed to be a great deal of furniture with no obvious purpose and of no particular ingenuity in design. Interesting. That Sarah had lived here.... He controlled. He must not think of Sarah now.

A small bedroom with two beds, a tape container and a book lying on the foot of one of them. Not here. She had been here. But she was not here now.

In her mother's room?

In the other bedroom, there was something on the floor next to the bed. Crouching? No, not quite that bad. Sitting, arms hugging her knees to her chest.

A shadow with eyes.

Something like.... Something like...."Doctor McCoy says your name is Jill. Is that your name?" Of course. Aloud, he asked very gently, "Who was it who taught you your name?"

He had expected another rush of incoherent terror such as she had sent when he had startled her by touching her mind through the door. Now he realized that as long as he did not attempt mental contact, he could monitor strong, surface-level mental responses over a short physical distance. It would not suffice. If he was to lead her back to the Image, as he knew he must, there must be both physical and mental contact. But the process had begun. She was terrified--of him, of everything, but primarily of the content of her own mind, which seemed to be swarming with phantasms that he could only dimly perceive and rather wished he could avoid, especially the image of Sarah as she had looked the last time T'Ara saw her Tuesday morning. But momentarily dominating them all was an intense emotion, the nature of which required him to control when he perceived it.

She was curious. She wanted to know what was going to happen next. She wanted to understand what it was that he was attempting to accomplish by raising a vivid picture of Sarek in her mind.

She wanted to know the end of the story.

She was also unable to stand, let alone cross the distance between them. She perceived the building as tilted at an angle of sixty one point five nine degrees and increasing. How she had managed to free the lock he had no idea.

Nor could she tolerate his coming any closer to her. In control of virtually nothing, she must retain the ability to continue or end her own isolation.

First things first. He sent her the image of the building as it actually existed, and then, before she could close her mind, began to re-envision it as he had in the lobby. Knowing that humans were unable to re-envision, he anticipated difficulties that did not materialize. T'Ara had not re-envisioned the building; her instruction on Vulcan had not yet reached that level. Fascinated, her mind watched as he flattened the building until it was a quadrangle scarcely a centimeter thick with an area one point one three six kilometers square. The fear that had magnified the angle of inclination in her mind evaporated; the broad, flat quadrangle was barely affected by the misaligned quake cushion a fraction of its size.

Silently he held out his hand, and she rose and walked to him across the flat quadrangle that tilted only slightly. She did not take his hand. It was too soon for that, he knew. But with a small shudder, she permitted him to seek the pressure points along the side of her head. He laid his other hand lightly on her shoulder, and oddly enough, that contact did not appear to disturb her at all.

Together they reconfigured the building in her mind, he showing her the misaligned cushion and its consequences. She had understood its purpose, but like most human children, she was more than capable of imagining terrifying variations on the simplest phenomenon until that phenomenon was explained. He explained, in images and words, in silence and aloud. "Do you understand?" he asked finally, aloud.

Yes, she answered silently. She had not yet made one audible sound.

Now he took her back though the years, back to the time when Sarek had begun to teach him the Vulcan way. Until he and she traveled those memories together, he had only suspected how different her way had been from his. Having seen T'Ara and his father together so seldom, he now marveled at the gentleness with which Sarek made his expectations known to his granddaughter. Marveled, envied, controlled that envy; it was not logical to wish that things had been different for him so many years ago, that a much younger Sarek had been less demanding and more understanding of his only son. Wishing would change nothing. And so he controlled his envy and remained untroubled by it.

T'Ara observed him controlling, glimpsed the Image, lost it, panicked.

It is here, he told her silently. Watch. Listen. Be patient. The words were Sarek's, but the mental voice was his own.

They began again, this time with her memories of Sarah.

He understood at once why she had been unable to control her grief. Her love was true and whole, the bond between her and her mother immeasurably strengthened by the time they had spent alone together. But even as her spirit cried out in anguish, another emotion shot through it and was instantly banished. Hidden. Buried.

She has brought me here to this nightmare world only to abandon me on it.

Rage. No. Outrage. His feelings of envy had troubled him; her feelings of having been betrayed and abandoned horrified her. But when she attempted to deny them and to hide them away again, he turned the eyes of her mind back to the moment when he had recognized his envy of her for what it was, determined that it was illogical and dangerous, and obliterated it with an act of will. Together they moved through that moment again, and this time she did not lose the Image of the Vulcan way. Holding it, she controlled her outrage. Rejoicing, she turned to her grief with the Image held like a torch against the night.

Wait.

She waited, trembling faintly. And he showed her what of her mother would be hers to keep if she obliterated her grief.

Nothing.

Without grief, love too would be gone forever.

He showed her then what Sarek had only begun to teach her when they were separated--that the control mechanism could be used to mitigate as well as obliterate, to make the unbearable bearable without annihilating it. He had walked that road himself only recently. Now they walked it together.

He could see her upturned face only indistinctly, but the calm intensity of her gaze told him that he had been successful even before she spoke aloud for the first time.

"I accept your gift...." She paused, almost as though she were listening, and again, as on his last day on Vulcan, his mind played with a phrase not in his native tongue. To a different drummer. "Thank you, Father."

His hand still on her head, he moved his thumb a little to push back the strand of dark hair that had strayed across her forehead. If only they could stop now. She deserved to be able to rest. But they both knew that that was impossible.

The emotional effects of the elaborate phobic fantasy involving the fog and the whale could be controlled as long as she remained indoors. But the delusion itself was too deeply rooted to be explained away in words. Unlike the building and its quake cushion, the fog-whale existed only in her mind, and could not be re-envisioned. He realized that she had contrived never to leave the building after dark or before sunrise, and that the whale pursued her in dreams as well as awake. In other circumstances, the phenomenon would have been fascinating. He was not fascinated. Should an emergency arise that would require her to leave the building during the night, she would be unable to do so.

"I will help you," he said quietly. "This thing must be done now, before your condition becomes untreatable."

"Yes," she answered. But she was trembling faintly once again.

She had deactivated all the lighting in the apartment so that there would be no shadows; her eyesight was fully Vulcan, and in her distraught state, dark rooms had seemed much less frightening than shadowed rooms. Now relatively calm, she showed him the controls, and there was light.

The first thing he saw was Sarah's shawl, left on the couch in the living room where she and Mary had talked on her last evening at home. Controlling, he picked it up and wrapped it around T'Ara and her white, long-sleeved flannel nightgown. Then they took the lift together to the lobby.

He had not been deceived by her apparent passivity. She was attempting to control, and in the main succeeding; he had done his work well thus far. But just inside the lobby doors, she stopped and looked up at him in despair. Too much in too short a time.

Give her something to hang on to.

Then, looking down at her, he was momentarily distracted. Unaccustomed as he was to fathering, much less fathering in San Franciso in November, he had not noticed until this moment that the child had nothing on her feet. Meeting her gaze, he raised both eyebrows. Meeting his, she raised her arm, curved expectantly. There was no hesitation in it; it was the logical thing to do.

When he picked her up with one arm, it seemed that he was carrying nothing. Or a sunbeam.

Not logical. But a valid metaphor nonetheless.

With the shawl wrapped around her feet as well as the rest of her, they left the lobby.

Her arm over one of his shoulders and her free hand grasping the other, she turned and twisted, controlling but still deeply agitated. He walked slowly, resisting the temptation to verbalize his abundant knowledge regarding the composition of fog. His knowledge was not relevant; her delusion was based not on knowledge, but on fear generated by the overactive imagination of an intelligent human child.

"Why isn't it here?" she whispered, having already perceived the fundamental visual aspect of fog: always around one but never quite where one was. He did not answer, but simply held her steadily as he walked on. He was still resisting the temptation to lecture her; once he began, he calculated the probabilities at 98.57 percent that he would pursue the subject verbally until what a human would call the bitter end. That course of action did not seem preferable in context.

The building they had just left was one of half a dozen that surrounded a plaza, lighted from above by arching outdoor lights. No sound penetrated the fog; even their Vulcan hearing could perceive nothing. Above them, the lights were ringed in fog. As he paused near the center of the plaza, T'Ara, no longer twisting and turning, reached out and upward toward one of the lights and closed her hand. It was clear to him what she was thinking: at their approach just a moment before, the location where they now stood had been invisible; logic indicated that the fog was here. But her hand came away empty.

"It's water," she said softly. "There is nothing here but invisible water." Still looking up at the lights, she smiled.

He thought of his mother saying, Thank you for that. I don't think I'll ever forget it. And he controlled. The time would come. But this was not the time.

They moved on through the silent plaza, and soon the ghosts of children's playground equipment loomed all around them. He stopped, and it seemed that now there were sounds in the fog--the sounds of noisy young humans shouting, arguing, laughing. Both knew that there were no voices here. And yet both could hear them in their minds.

T'Ara turned her head to look at him, expressionless. "It is called having fun."

"Indeed?" He raised one eyebrow. "Interesting."

Her mouth twitched, but she did not smile. Instead, she endeavored to raise one of her eyebrows without raising the other. It was a creditable attempt, but ultimately unsuccessful.

As they entered the apartment, both of them realized that someone else was there even before they saw her.

Jill rose slowly from the couch where she had been sitting with her hands clasped between her knees. Terrified. Expecting to find T'Ara there, no doubt. Not finding her, trying to decide what to do next. She wore her cadet uniform, blue for life sciences. It gave her eyes a touch of blue. When he looked into them, he found that it was not necessary to ask if she knew her mother's condition.

Still carrying T'Ara, he held out his free arm at the same moment that Jill ran to them.

At first he thought that there was no way he could help her. There was no Image he could give this human child who now clung to him and to her sister, her face buried in Sarah's shawl. But then he again remembered Jim's words: Give her something to hang on to. Hanging on did not seem to be a problem to Jill at the moment. But then, it never had been. And so he held her to him while T'Ara stroked her hair as their mother would have done. When Jill finally raised her head, she seemed surprisingly calm. He had often wondered at the capacity of humans to be calmed by the touch of other humans who loved them. Often, until a few days ago.

He set T'Ara down, relieved to the depths of his being that he would not have to take her with him to the hospital. She had borne enough in the last few days. Now she must rest. Laying his hands on Jill's shoulders, he said quietly, "I must go to your mother now." She nodded. "You must not leave your sister alone. If you leave this place even for a moment, you must take her with you. Do you understand?" Another nod.

T'Ara was folding the shawl.

They both watched as she laid it out on the floor, and then began to fold it precisely in half, then in quarters, then in eighths, all perfectly squared off. When she had folded it so that it was ten point seven three centimeters on a side, she brought it and laid it in his outstretched hand. And when she smiled her small, grave smile this time, it was at him rather than away from him. He smiled gravely back.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome," she said.

Jill stared, her mouth slightly open.

When he left them, still carrying the folded shawl, they were standing together hand in hand, the one in uniform, the other in her flannel nightgown. Incongruous sight, he thought. But a rather pleasurable one nonetheless.

When Chris had returned to Sarah's room before he left the hospital for the night, he had been profoundly disturbed that she had not taken her shot as she had promised Felix she would. The thing with T'Ara could be serious, but even after he had called Mary and asked her to check it out, Sarah would not take her shot.

"Mary can't help her," she insisted. "T'Ara won't let her in. I have to wait until Jill calls me." One spot of color in either cheek. Eyes feverishly bright. Pulse racing. Wouldn't lie down. Exhausted.

"Can't you trust us to take care of T'Ara?" he asked hopelessly.

"You don't understand."

He turned away and went to stand at the window, looking out at nothing. Couldn't even see the Bay. Damn fog. There were tears in his eyes again.

"Oh, Chris," she said softly. "I'm so sorry to keep hurting you like this. I do love you." He nodded, unable to answer. "If she's frightened and can't control it, she could become psychotic. Mary doesn't know how to help her. I'm not even sure that I would."

He stood staring out, trying to understand what she was saying. It went against everything he had ever believed about how to deal with strong emotions. And yet she believed it....

Hearing a sound he could not identify, he turned to see a Vulcan in a blue-shirted Starfleet uniform sitting on the edge of Sarah's bed, holding her face between his hands. Wondering why in the universe the man didn't take his wife in his arms, he saw Sarah raise her hands too. She didn't seem to be in a trance, and yet Chris was sure that something was going on that he could not perceive. Finally she whispered, "Are you sure she's all right?"

The dark head nodded, but Sarah's expression was already changing from incredulous joy to intense, empathetic sadness. He had seen this before in her--the capacity to share another person's pain. He did not have to wonder why Sarah's husband slumped a little, now resting his forehead against hers. He had interned at Salk Memorial in ShiKahr and spent several years on staff there, and he knew that with even superficial physical contact, they all had some degree of ability to perceive the presence of severe internal trauma in a patient. He and his human colleagues had referred to the phenomenon jokingly as "X-ray vision."

But Sarah's expression was changing again, and Spock had raised his head slowly, almost as though he were surprised. Watching, Chris tried to comprehend what was happening to the patient. At this moment, he could only think of her as a patient who had been on the verge of despair just a few moments before. And at this moment, she looked better than he had seen her look in weeks. But not quite normal. Could be in a light trance now. What in the name of heaven was he doing to her?

"Do you think we could?" she whispered finally. "For a month?"

"Perhaps," Spock answered quietly. "If your medication were discontinued."

Oh, no you don't. Abruptly, Chris decided it was time to make his presence known. Alien husband was one thing, but this was something else altogether.

He moved toward the bed, and when Spock rose and turned to face him, he realized with a small shock that the Vulcan had known he was there all along. That didn't make sense. In all his time at Salk, he had never seen a Vulcan family member interact emotionally with a patient in the presence of a human physician.

Disconcerted, he hesitated momentarily. He had hoped that Sarah's husband would look human; somehow that would have made the whole bizarre situation bearable. But he had hoped in vain. Meeting Spock's gaze, he thought, If I sell you my soul, Mephistopheles, will you free hers? I'll do it. Anything. Forcing a smile, he held out his hand. "Chris Jones, Commander. Happy to meet you." Too late, he remembered that Vulcans never shake hands.

Spock shook hands with him, studying him intently. Chris knew that Spock could not read his mind. As a lark, he had taken some tests at Salk, and discovered to his relief that he was what Vulcans called "inaccessible" even on physical contact. And Spock did not prolong the contact, but simply studied him. Don't send mixed messages, Mary had told him on more than one occasion. You don't fool anybody. But Mary had been talking about humans.

"What's this about being off medication?" he asked lightly, still smiling but now at Sarah, who was almost the last one he could ever fool. If he could wipe this stupid grin off his face...but he couldn't. And Sarah wasn't fooled either. Belatedly, he realized that he had not called Spock by name, and had probably set a tone right there. The whole thing was doomed from the start, and he wasn't helping matters any.

As Sarah answered his question, he had no difficulty getting rid of the smile.

Because she was a physician herself, she told him, she was able to precisely conceptualize, even visualize, the fetal defense system that was destroying her internally. Because of her deep rapport with Spock, his initial horrified resistance to the phenomenon had momentarily arrested its progress, which was accelerating with each passing day. "I can focus it," she explained with growing excitement. "I did, for just a moment, while we were en rapport."

"Focus what?" Chris asked, trying to keep his voice from rising. "Are you talking about some kind of a healing trance?" She nodded, glancing as Spock, who now stood with his hands clasped behind his back. "Sarah, that's self-healing. Please--" He turned to Spock. "Please don't raise her hopes. This--this momentary reprieve could be an illusion on both your parts. Wishful thinking." Hopeless.

"There is a probability of 65.87 percent," the Vulcan informed him expressionlessly, "that the procedure would be successful until the child can be taken alive."

Furious, Chris demanded, "Are you a physician, Commander?"

The eyebrows rose. You know better than that.

"Look, I'll make a deal with you. You can come here and practice any techniques you want to. But don't try to interfere with the patient's medication. Look at her. There is no way she's going to be able to rest without medication, let alone sleep." No reaction. "I think you two had better discuss this," Chris said tightly, and moved toward the door. Better get out before he started yelling.

To his surprise, Spock moved to intercept him. "What is the prognosis if the current treatment is continued?"

"She's going to die," Chris said steadily, looking Spock in the eye, "unless the pregnancy is terminated. There is no alternative."

"We have been discussing an alternative, Doctor, for the past four point four three minutes."

"Spock--"

They both turned to look at Sarah, who smiled sadly and shook her head. "Can I have my say now?" Spock moved to sit on the edge of the bed once more. Watching Sarah's eyes, Chris despaired even before she began to speak in Vulcan. "My husband, if it is your wish--"

But she never finished. Two fingers against her lips silenced her, and Chris heard the words, in English, that he would have sold his soul to hear.

"It is my wish that you choose."

There was no question in Chris's mind that Spock was absolutely sincere, simply because there was obviously no question in Sarah's. She looked...radiant. What has this man ever done--He forced his resentment down. This "man" had just accomplished what he and Felix and Mary had not been able to accomplish....

No!

He almost shouted it aloud, even before he saw her begin to raise her hand, the first two fingers extended. Later, he would try to describe it to Mary. But the only words he would find were She didn't look human. I swear to God, Mary--for just a second, she didn't look human. And I can't even tell you what I mean by that.

He did not realize he had been holding his breath until he let it out in a sigh of sheer despair. At the sound, Spock turned slowly.

Absolute, non-human stillness. He almost shone with stillness.

And yet: I can talk to him. If I can just find the right words, I can reach him. Now. "Don't let her do this." He began to walk slowly toward them, and Spock rose to face him. "You can stop her. She'll do anything you say. Don't you understand? Even if your treatment works, the thing has gone too far. The damaged organs must be repaired now. We can't regenerate without killing the fetus. If there were some procedure that could be carried out selectively, it would be different. But the mixed racial heritage of both mother and...."

They weren't listening. Either of them.

At the word "selectively," Spock had turned his head sharply to look at Sarah, who was looking at him, her eyes slightly narrowed. Chris had seen Mary when she was onto something in her research. Nothing else existed until she had tracked the thing down. At this moment, nothing else existed for Spock and Sarah.

"There was no trauma," Sarah said softly. "His retinas were intact, and there was no trauma."

Non-telepath that he was, Chris was sure that Spock "said" something in answer that was deeply disturbing to him. Sarah nodded slowly, her gaze still locked with Spock's.

"And what am I doing right now, Spock?"

"She's going to sign herself out this morning. There's nothing I can do to stop her." Looking at Felix on the screen, Chris sighed. "I had to talk to you, and it's almost seven-thirty."

"Christ." Felix rubbed his eyes. "Give me a minute." He yawned and shook his head. "Sorry. Tell me what happened."

Chris told him, and watched him wake up fast.

"What the hell did she mean--retinas?"

"She won't tell me. Whatever it is, she's excited. Up. But nervous. Afraid, I think. And whatever it is, it's offworld. He's going to take her aboard the Enterprise. The reason I woke you--can he do that?"

"If she's a Starfleet dependent, she can be a passenger and receive medical treatment if all Federation regs are kept."

"She's nobody's dependent. The way she lives, she makes enough to support herself and four or five kids."

Felix was already working at his desk computer, apparently just beside the 'phone. "It's an archaic designation, retained for the purpose of determining benefits for family members. Ah, here we go. Well, he's thorough. I'll give him that. 'Wife, one child.' Everything in order."

"What benefits, exactly?" There had to be some way. There had to be.

"Interplanetary transport and medical care. Registered dependents are entitled to medical care on any Federation starbase, colony, or vessel, as long as the vessel isn't on hazardous duty. What's the Enterprise up to these days?"

"Would you believe--a training cruise." Chris put his face in his hands. "I can't believe she's rational, Felix."

"She seemed pretty rational to me," Felix said wryly. Then, more seriously: "Could he have hypnotized her?"

"No. It wasn't anything he did. It was almost--at one point, it was almost as though she was determined to put her life in his hands."

"But you said he wouldn't let her. Did she believe him?"

"Hell, I believed him. But she still chose to go with him--accept this hokum about a vicarious healing trance. And then that other thing, at the end...." Chris frowned. "One child?"

Felix consulted the com screen. "Wife, one child, nine SYO. Almost ten."

Chris nodded slowly. "I'm not tracking this morning." He was silent, rubbing the stubble on his chin.

"Something?" Felix asked.

"Might be. She says he's still a friend of hers. Can you use that thing to locate a Starfleet officer whose ship is in Spacedock? I mean, tell me where he is right now, this minute?"

"Why?"

"I'm going to see if I can appeal to the military mind on this. It just might work."

Felix's computer had informed him that Admiral Kirk was not on leave, having had leave on Vulcan three months before. His official assignment was Commandant of Starfleet Academy. But his temporary assignment for the next three weeks, on which the ink (metaphorically speaking) was barely dry, was interim commander of the U.S.S. Enterprise. Captain Spock, it seemed, had requested and been granted compassionate leave owing to the illness of his wife.

At the moment, 0823, Kirk was in his office at the Academy, collecting the tapes and papers he would need for the training cruise. His visitor, who had been greeted cordially when he identified himself, said sympathetically, "This must be very frustrating for you, Admiral. Couldn't they have found someone else to command the ship so that you could assume your new position as planned?"

The man in the gold shirt half sat on the corner of the desk near Chris's chair. "Well--" Bewildered, Chris had the distinct impression that Kirk was embarrassed. He looked almost...guilty? "I'll be supervising the entire hands-on training program, but I've never commanded a training mission myself. It...seemed the logical thing to do under the circumstances. How is Sarah?"

Chris answered the admiral's questions, watching Kirk's expression as he did so. Affection, concern. This might be easier than he'd thought. "Are you aware that her husband plans to bring her aboard the Enterprise this morning?"

Kirk frowned slightly. "Yes, of course I am."

"Do you know that he plans to treat her condition himself while on board the ship?"

Kirk looked at him in silence for a moment and the shook his head slowly. "No, I didn't know that. We--I only spoke with him for a few moments last night, by 'phone. We were talking interplanetary transport for her and T'Ara. Back to Vulcan."

"I see." What the Old Man doesn't know won't hurt him, huh, Spock? "I understand that this man has been one of your subordinates for some time?"

In the moment before Kirk answered, Chris had the impression that his expression changed, although he could not define how it changed. "He's been my first officer for some time," the admiral said quietly. "He'll be the captain of my ship when I leave it."

"Well, I think that's commendable," Chris said firmly.

"I don't follow you."

"Well--" The indefinable sense that the wind was changing rapidly began to make Chris feel a little uncomfortable. "I think it's commendable, Admiral, that Starfleet makes it possible for everyone to have an equal opportunity for advancement."

After a moment, Kirk nodded thoughtfully, rose, and went to sit behind his desk. The man must have been trained as an administrator, Chris thought uneasily. That meant he had to know that the business with the desk was intimidating behavior. What the hell--?

"Is this about Sarah or about Spock?" Kirk asked.

"Actually, it's both." Trying to regain the congenial atmosphere of their initial exchanges, Chris explained in as few words as possible what he knew Spock planned to do, and then told the admiral as much as he knew of Spock and Sarah's additional intentions. "I have no idea what they were talking about," he finished. "But it scares the hell out of me."

"Whose idea was this--Sarah's or Spock's?"

"Well, it seemed to be hers, mostly. But she'd do whatever he said. She's completely dominated by him."

"Sarah?" Kirk asked softly, smiling a little.

"She's critically ill. She's not herself." Chris leaned forward, letting the desperation he was feeling show in his voice. "Admiral, I worked with Vulcans at Salk Memorial in ShiKahr for several years. I have no doubt they're sincere and upright and all the rest of it. I know the Federation Council is impressed with their intellectual capabilities. So am I. But the question is whether we want their values to control the entire Federation. They just don't think the way we do."

Still smiling faintly, Kirk did not comment.

"Will you help me stop him from taking her away with him?"

"No."

"Sorry?"

"You heard me," Kirk said softly, pleasantly.

"You won't cooperate?"

"You got it, mister." Still smiling faintly.

"Admiral, I can't believe that you'd take this position against one of your own."

"Try," said the admiral, who was no longer smiling.

"You'd trust this--this alien with Sarah's life?"

Kirk came to his feet so quickly that Chris, who was still leaning forward, jerked back in his chair. "I'd trust him with mine." He brought both hands down on the desk, hard, and leaned on them. "And with Jill's. And I have." He straighted up slowly. "Are you through, or do I call Security?" When Chris began to speak again, he pressed a button on the desk top. "Ensign, Dr. Jones is leaving. Please escort him to the lift."

The young ensign had been on duty directly outside the office, and had shown Chris in when he arrived. He was in the room almost before Chris had finished rising slowly to his feet. "This way, sir," he said, impeccably polite.

Still staring at Kirk, Chris said softly, "I don't understand you."

"Try harder." Kirk made a quick gesture with his thumb to the young ensign, who escorted Dr. Jones to the lift.

As soon as the door closed, Kirk activated his communicator.

"Enterprise."

"Standing by, sir."

"Tell McCoy I want him. On the double. And beam me up." He swept up papers and tapes and stowed them in his case, closing the lid with a snap. "Now."

"You look like you rattled the wrong cage." Felix's tone was sympathetic, but there was a wry smile lingering around his eyes.

"You knew what was going to happen." Chris glared at the image on the phone screen.

Felix shook his head. "No, I didn't. I've never met Jim Kirk. For all I knew, it could just as easily have gone the other way." He sighed and added softly, "Unfortunately."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Look, Chris, I'm with you, okay? She's my patient, remember?"

"Sorry." Chris buried his face in his hands. "That seems to be the word of the day. She was gone when I got back to the hospital. Left me a note. 'I'm sorry.' Didn't even wait to say goodbye."

"Did you leave word when you'd be back?"

"No."

"Where you could be reached?"

"No."

"The com says the Enterprise was scheduled out of Spacedock at 0900."

"I know. I know. You told me." Still with his face in his hands, Chris went on softly, "I can't believe any of this is really happening. It seems like just last year that we were all kids together. She and I--we were the mischief-makers. Had my brother and sisters going all the time. One Christmas we sneaked down early and emptied everybody's stockings behind a chair. Put cookie dough in them." Raising his head, he smiled sadly, reminiscently. "Down at the bottom. You should have seen them sticking their hands in.... Mom and Dad were ready to kill the both of us. We had to sit in the den while everybody else was opening their presents. We sat there on the couch, trying to keep a straight face, and every time one of us would remember how the other kids looked when they hit that dough, we'd start giggling again. I think we had to sit there all morning." He pressed his hand against his eyes. "Now she's just...not of this world."

After a moment, Felix said softly, "Did you tell him any of this?"

"Who?"

"The military mind."

"Hell, no. He's a tin soldier."

"Chris, you idiot!" Felix flung himself back in his chair. "If that's true, he'd have given you the Vulcan's head on a platter. Can't you see that?" Chris simply stared at the screen. "There is one more possibility."

"Do me a favor and don't tell me about it."

"I'm serious. If alien medical techniques are going to be practiced on a Starfleet vessel, the CMO has to sign on as physician of record. I know McCoy slightly--"

"Come on, Felix. It's a goddamn old-boy network."

Felix shook his head. "This isn't a matter of personal loyalties. We're talking medical ethics here. A lot will depend on how well he and the Vulcan communicate."

"You'll get in touch with him?"

"I...somehow, I don't think that'll be necessary. And if McCoy doesn't cooperate, Kirk will have to put her off at the nearest starbase. It's in the Book."

Chris gazed at the screen for a moment, and then said quietly, "I wish you were the CMO on the Enterprise."

Felix sighed. "I don't," he said.