FULL CIRCLE: Enterprise

Yet milestone it was. And Jill did not attempt to conceal her anticipation when Sarah suggested that they should celebrate it appropriately. "As long as we don't get any nonsense from you," she finished, slightly apprehensive.

"You can't have a party on a ship without inviting the captain," Jill shot back immediately. "But no presents, Mother. Please. I'd just rather have people. They're the best presents." And she hugged Sarah tight. After she had blown her nose, she added, "And anyway, he and Spock are a set."

Sarah had made arrangements for private use of one of the smaller recreation areas, and then gone about her business; she still had a few days to think about food and decorations.

Her business was not complex. Her days were full, but not overtaxing. Spock, as she had anticipated, had cancelled his leave, and so she had a great deal of time to devote to other people and, for virtually the first time in her life, to herself.

"After all," she had told him, "we can't make love all the time." His answer had been predictable in context, but she knew they were in accord, and she knew that he knew it. His quarters, which almost made her feel as though she were really home at last, had nevertheless given the illusion of shrinking in size at a remarkable rate after the first couple of days. They were both used to full days with many and varied duties and demands. His life had changed now that the Enterprise was no longer engaged in exploratory voyages. But the regimen he had designed for the trainees on Life Sciences rotation demanded a great deal of his time, and his private research remained ever on the edges of his mind. She, on the other hand, had again volunteered her time in Sickbay, where McCoy welcomed her assistance as well as the chance to play mother-hen. And it was also necessary that she and T'Ara continue her treatments in order to avert a repetition of the near-tragic circumstances that had brought them both on board in the first place.

Now that she was "back to square one" with her health intact, only two treatments a day were necessary. T'Ara came to her father's quarters to treat her mother, and they often sat together in companionable silence afterwards, watching the firepot. She knew that T'Ara too found these rooms a place of peace and a tonic to her home-starved spirit. But even for her, the walls came close after a time. And so they exercised together in the gym, and walked together in the garden, and smiled together when T'Ara would cycle her tea without having to ask if she wanted it.

"It would seem," Spock told her with a certain wistfulness, "that she and I require a crisis to establish significant rapport."

"You're her Image. For now, anyway." But she understood.

"Indeed." He lay with his head in her lap, even as his human self had lain so long ago--without that agony, but troubled nevertheless.

"You spent three hours with her at the computer last night."

Up with the right eyebrow. "Three point one six hours."

"Indeed," she acknowledged solemnly.

His lips curved in slight smile, but she heard the words in his mind: But it's not the same. And then, with wistful longing: The same as what?

"You'll find her again," she said softly.

"I do not understand why you have such faith in me," he said, his voice low.

"Then you're not a very quick study, my love."

Still she had time on her hands, and began to realize that it was her time, something she had had very little of in the past. The one thing she didn't have was something to read. She did not like to do recreational reading on a screen.

The admiral had assured her that passengers, including children, were welcome on the bridge as long as there was no trainee drill in progress, and so they sought him out there. T'Ara immediately gravitated to Communications; Uhura seemed to enjoy having her there, and T'Ara was fascinated by the intricacies of subspace communication. T'Ara's mother approached the admiral, who had just finished making a log entry.

"Do you have any books?" she asked.

He grinned at her sideways. "What makes you think I have any books?"

"Telepathy?" The grin deflated a little. "Jim, I'm teasing. I don't know why I thought so." Maybe I picked it up from Spock's mind. But it didn't seem wise to say that either.

"Mr. Sulu, you have the con." The admiral bounded out of his chair as though he were delighted to have an excuse to get away from the bridge. How will you last? Sarah thought. If you can't stand it here and you can't stand it there.... "I'll be in my quarters. T'Ara, will you join us? I have something I want to show you."

The something he wanted to show T'Ara was an ancient edition of Winnie the Pooh, once embrittled, now restored. Sarah was sure it was over three hundred years old.

"It's yours," he told T'Ara, and waved away her mother's objections.

T'Ara made the mistake of opening the book before she said "Thank you." For the first time in years, her mother had to remind her.

"This is a good opportunity to ask your advice," Kirk said as Sarah joined him on the floor beside his footlocker. The antique Milne had its own special case, but the books in the locker were all more recent editions, although many of them had been written centuries ago. "I know Jill said no presents, but I'd like to give her this--if you think she's ready for it." He handed her the volume, and her heart sank as she recognized the title. The Diary of Anne Frank.

"Is anyone, ever?" she asked, holding the small volume in her hands but not opening it. "This is part of us too. I'm afraid it always will be. And there is a terrible beauty in this book."

"Good." He did not smile, but she knew he was relieved that they were once again in agreement.

They sorted through the books in the locker while T'Ara read silently a few feet away, lotus-like. Sarah picked a Bonner novel, and another by a twenty-second century Vulcan named, ironically enough, Sol. "Their novels are so rare, and they're hard to read. But there's a kind of rhythm to the sentences--almost as though they're all in iambic pentameter," she said.

"Too long," Kirk said with a grin. But he nodded even as he said it.

The third novel she picked was twentieth-century science fiction.

"You'll like it," he assured her. "It's a fascinating--er.... Why the devil do we all do that?" he broke off, exasperated. "It's a perfectly good word." They both laughed, and T'Ara looked up, raised her eyebrows abstractedly, and went back to her reading. "It's a fascinating concept of a utopia. And the hero may strike you as "interesting." Math-genius type. Uh-uh." He grinned and shook his head. "Not that type. But there are...similarities."

And she thought affectionately, How interesting, Admiral, that you say "hero" instead of "protagonist"....

"What is a heffalump?" T'Ara asked in her clear little voice.

Almost in unison, Kirk and Sarah answered, "Ask Jill."

By the time her birthday rolled around, Jill's training unit had rotated to the bridge. And so she invited her unit, the bridge crew, Dr. McCoy ,and Mr. Scott to her party. "He's on the bridge sometimes," she explained, and then added, "Besides, I like him."

She then made the decision to sit with her friends rather than with the adults, and invited T'Ara to join her table. Sarah felt a vague disappointment, and suspected that Jim did too. But she could not think of a good reason to object. "Maybe because there isn't one?" she suggested to Spock, who agreed. And it seemed pointless to mar Jill's pleasure in the event. Unlike her father, she did not seek to be the center of her particular universe. But like him, she thoroughly enjoyed it when she found herself there.

Scott showed up in a kilt, and the rest of the male crew members wore their gold and blue dress uniform shirts--perhaps for the last time, as it turned out. Looking back on the event later, Sarah realized that the only thing that had made the evening less than perfect was Jim's mood. The edict had gone out at last: in four days, shortly after they left Vulcan, the Big Change would invade the recyclers.

"Next thing'll be white-glove inspections," he remarked lightly as he poured himself his third drink. But there was a bleakness in his eyes as he downed half of it. "To the new order." Disturbed, Sarah glanced at Spock, who was not looking at her. He was looking at McCoy, who was looking back at him.

One thing they agree on, she thought sadly, and realized that the Scot was watching her from across the table. She smiled at him and went on with her conversation with McCoy. But a few moments later, she noted that Scotty was again looking at her, this time with relieved approval. Sweet man, she thought.

"Are ye havin' a pleasant trip, Doctor?" he asked.

She realized abruptly that Spock had heard the question, and that it brought a compelling fantasy to his mind. Biofeedback, she thought. If she'd been able to keep from blushing when Jim....

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Scott," she said, firmly not-blushing, and decided that she would not look at Spock, no matter what.

That resolution lasted precisely zero point five minutes. More or less.

He was sitting with his hand resting loosely against his mouth, as he often did when he was thinking, she knew. It seemed to her that everything about him shone--the smooth cap of his hair, the formal blue of his dress shirt, and especially his eyes. Dark and bright, with a smile in their depths. And the eyebrow was about to go.

Don't you dare, she thought.

Tough as it was on him, he didn't. She had to give him that.

The helmsman and the navigator left the party at the same time. "Report, meester," said the navigator, with a grin. "You're seex days overdue."

The helmsman gave him his most beatific smile. "I got news for you, son," he said.

Since it was her birthday, Jill had requested and obtained permission to spend the night with her sister.

"What is a heffalump?" T'Ara asked as soon as they were alone. When pressed, she produced the source material and explained where she had obtained it.

Jill read several chapters and then looked up, her eyes dancing. "It's kind of like a Whodilla," she said. "But kind of not." And then she had to explain what a Whodilla was.

The next morning, after they had exercised together, T'Ara asked her mother, "What will you name the small one when he is born?"

"I don't know," Sarah answered. "Your father and I have had a few other things to think about the last few months." But the question stayed with her, and later she would marvel that T'Ara had asked it on that particular day.

Later that morning, she randomly chose the twentieth-century utopian novel that Jim had recommended, intending to read only for a few minutes. It was hours later that she finally closed the book at the last page and lay back against the pillows. Yes, she thought. Yes, yes, yes, and fell asleep with a smile on her lips.

When she woke, Spock was sitting at the computer console, and she realized that the whole day had flown while she was worlds away.

Knowing through the link that she was awake, he turned. "You were smiling in your sleep," he said softly.

"Was I?" She went to him and put her arms around his shoulders from behind, the book in her hand. "I want you to read something."

Her cheek against his, she felt his eyebrow rise. "Now?" The screen showed an incomprehensible schematic, with calculations speeding across the bottom of it.

"Sooner, if possible. Yesterday would be good."

"I have never understood," he said mildly, "the human proclivity for verbalizing that particular concept."

She turned his face around and kissed him. "After dinner will be fine," she said.

After dinner, he picked up the book and said quietly, "This is important to you."

"Yes."

"Very well." He sat down and began to speedread. The pages flipped, turned, turned more slowly. Lying against the pillows, she began to read Bonner, became engrossed, and surfaced to find him looking at her over a book three-quarters done.

Tell me why, he sent through their link. She told him, and he smiled.

"Yes," he said.

"It's logical."

"Indeed," he said, and went back to his reading.

When he had finished the book, he came to lie beside her, his head on her breast. "This ansible she dreamed of," he said quietly. "It is...theoretically possible."

"Maybe you could invent it," she said, stroking his hair.

He sighed deeply. "I am a bird with wet wings, Sarah. The knowledge I already have weighs too much for me to be able to fly." He raised himself slightly and laid his hand against her, where their son would soon be kicking. "Perhaps our Shevek will fly," he finished softly.

They slept in each other's arms although they had not made love.

In the morning, he rose earlier than usual to meditate. She lay dozing, not wanting to disturb him, and woke to find him engaged in the Vulcan equivalent of puttering around. A significant proportion of his puttering involved picking up after her. She had always considered herself to be more than reasonably neat, but certain aspects of her present circumstances had served to encourage her lifelong habit of shedding her clothes willy nilly at bedtime. Spock, who had never lived intimately with another person, was mildly compulsive about clothes on the floor, and he always rose earlier than she did. The saving grace of the situation, and grace it was, was that he invariably did his puttering in the nude.

She sat up, pulled the cover up, put her arms around her drawn up knees, and watched.

He turned. One eyebrow.

"I'm watching you move," she said.

Both eyebrows.

"Take it on faith," she said, and held out her hand. "You're up earlier than usual."

He moved to sit next to her, locking his hands loosely behind her neck, on top of her hair, resting his forehead against hers. She perceived immediately what this conversation would be about, and wondered that it had not happened sooner. She knew that he had picked up through their link her hypothesis regarding what he had been trying to prove on that long-`ago night when they had come together so violently, and also the guilt that she now suffered whenever she remembered it. He found her theory fascinating, and was inclined to agree with her interpretation. But he now felt only a lingering sadness that it had ever happened, and was not emotionally tortured by the memory as she was.

"Are you acquainted with the term 'guilt trip'?" he asked now.

She sighed. "Mid-twentieth, isn't it?"

"Indeed." He withdrew a little so that he could look directly at her. "Do you know what it means?"

"I guess." The eyebrow. Hint of a smile. Hopeless. "Yes, my love, I know what it means."

"Then let be," he said softly, intently. "The past cannot be undone. Let go of it, Sarah. Please."

"Because that's logical."

"Because it's necessary." She did not answer. "Am I that Spock now?"

"No."

"Are you that Sarah?"

"No."

He unclasped his hands and spread them wide in a gesture that said as clearly as words, Then why? His eyes were serene except for his love and concern for her.

She thought, And I thought you were beautiful before, and put her arms around his neck.

He had laid his hands on her shoulders when she embraced him. But as they both became aware that the bed cover had fallen away, he slowly moved his hands down and around to cup her breasts. She drew in her breath and whispered, "Please don't do that if you're leav--"

But he wasn't leaving.

Ensign Gardner was about to be inundated with blue-shirted trainees, and he was not happy about it.

The last unit, he reflected, had just gotten to the point where they knew something when they were rotated to the bridge. Now he had this new crop of dunsels to deal with, an unidentified life form to identify, and a boss who was already two minutes late. This had to be the day, of course. On training missions, the science officer was supposed to be in Life Sciences first thing in the morning, before the troops got there, in case there was something real that had to be attended to. Spock had always been early before. But this had to be the day.

The life form was in an energy bottle, since it was not solid matter. The bottle was not bottle-shaped, but a cylinder forty centimeters in diameter and fifteen centimeters high that was unofficially called a fishbowl. It sat on a worktable, and Gardner now put his hands on either side of it and leaned on them.

How the hell had it gotten into the ship anyway? And what was it doing in deep space all by itself?

Two and a half minutes late. Put you on report, Mr. Spock, sir.

There was something wrong with the thing. He was sure of it. When security brought it in, it had been a pulsing bright orange lightball, the color of a pumpkin. Now it was the color of pumpkin rind, and it barely pulsed at all. When he came near the fishbowl, the thing inside seemed to pull away. Could it be afraid of him?

Three minutes--

"Good morning, Mr. Gardner.

Hot damn. "Good morning, Mr. Spock. Sir, there's something over here that I think you ought to see." Garder turned back to the fishbowl and pointed at it.

"Can it wait, ensign? Trainee Unit C will be arriving in precisely three point...." Spock was abruptly silent.

Gardner turned around to see the Vulcan slowly approaching, staring at the fishbowl. Looking like he was seeing a--

"You must release it," Spock said softly. He moved to the fishbowl and laid his hand on it, almost as though the bottle itself were alive. The thing inside moved away from his hand, pulsing faintly.

"Sir?"

"It is in distress," Spock went on, sounding more like himself. "The color--"

"You know what this thing is, sir?"

"It is a transmigrating Zethan, ensign, on its way to its home planet."

"Yes, sir," Gardner said faintly. "You mean that thing is--somebody's soul?"

"Indeed." Spock seemed to forget the conversation momentarily. Again, he laid his hand on the fishbowl and simply stood there, staring into it.

"It looks more like a scared little kid to me."

Spock turned slowly. "Explain."

"Well, sir, you know how little kids are when they're scared." Not bloody likely. "They sort of--well--cower. I think that's what this thing is doing. Sir."

Spock stood absolutely still, just looking at him. Then he said softly, "Thank you, Mr. Gardner."

"You're....welcome, sir." What the hell...?

"I shall expect to see you and this energy bottle at Airlock 2 in five minutes. We must release the Zethan as a soon as possible. If we delay, it may...." An expression that Gardner could not identify passed across Spock's face. "It may cease to exist."

"Release...in hard vacuum?" Gardner swallowed. "Sir?"

But Spock was already on his way out. "Take it on faith, ensign." As he spoke, he made a characteristic gesture with his hands, and Gardner decided that he must be getting back to normal. Mr. Spock never said Move, mister out loud. He said it with his hands.

Gardner turned to pick up the fishbowl, froze, and turned slowly back to gaze after the departing Vulcan.

Take it on...what?

He did not want Jill to be with T'Ara now. Much as he loved her, he did want her to be there now.

T'Ara was alone. Dressed for the day in a red Starfleet coverall with black undershirt, permitted cycling for passengers under the age of twelve, she had obviously been meditating, but was just as obviously finished. She was sitting lotus-like on her bed when she responded to the door buzzer. As he came toward her, he saw his excitement take fire in her eyes as her lips silently formed What...?

"Come." He took both her hands and pulled her to her feet. "Hurry."

"What is it?" Fascinated already.

He hurried her along through the corridor, intensely gratified that Airlock 2 was nearby and that they would not be required to take the lift. It was not until they were almost there that he realized that he was still holding one of her hands, and that she, in turn, was holding his. Rather tightly, in fact.

At the airlock, she smiled shyly at Gardner, whose mouth dropped open until he recovered himself.

"Dismissed, Mr. Gardner," said Mr. Spock. Reluctantly, Gardner moved off, leaving Spock and his daughter and the airlock watch officer alone in the area. The watch officer had his back to them.

For an instant, Spock experienced a profound sense of deja vu. At another airlock identical to this one, he had rendered the attendant unconscious and left the ship to attempt to contact V'ger. Seems like yesterday, Jim would say. Had said on the day of their windflight. But V'ger was a year ago....

And such a year.

Sarah. His mind reached out involuntarily...and touched hers. She was there. There were no words, but she was there.

Stay with me now if you can, he sent to her. Share this with me if you can. He turned his mind to the task at hand, and only then realized that T'Ara had just seen the alien.

Gardner had set the fishbowl on the deck, and T'Ara now knelt and opened the bottle without a moment's hesitation. Watching her, Spock wondered abstractedly why he was not trying to interfere. He knew that the alien would not harm her. All that was known about Zethans confirmed what he had always known in his heart--Yes, he thought, in my heart.--that Mimbi had been typical; none of them would hurt another living thing if they could avoid it. And T'Ara was a powerful healer....

She had taken the alien into her hands.

Amethyst highlights. Pumpkin-rind changing to pumpkin. Reflecting in her eyes now. Shining eyes. Oh, T'Ara....

She looked up at him then and subvocalized, her lips moving only slightly.

Katra.

He nodded, unable to answer.

The officers' lounge was deserted, the lights on low.

How do I know? he thought. The Zethan had left the airlock two point five six minutes ago. All logic insisted that it was long gone by now.

But he knew.

They stood close to the observation window, and the bright ball came close on the other side. T'Ara put her hand on the window, her breath misting it faintly.

"Why is it here?" she whispered.

"It is wishing you goodbye."

"How do you know?"

The universe awaits you, Spock. Is that not home enough for anyone?

"It is...a long story." She turned her head and smiled at him briefly, eagerly. "Yes, I will tell you the story, T'Ara. I would...enjoy that very much."

She turned back to the window. For another moment, the Zethan lightball lay glowing and pulsing just on the other side of the panel from her hand. Then it shot away into the starfields.

Watching it go, she stepped back a little and reached for her father's hand. When the light was no longer visible, she turned, put her arms around him and hid her face against him. She was not crying, he knew. There was too much joy in her for tears.

He held her close to him and shed a tear or two himself, wishing that Sarah could share this moment. And then he realized that she was sharing it.

The captain of the Enterprise was bored out of his skull. And more than a little depressed.

A part of him rejoiced every time he saw Jill take the helm from Sulu, watched her do her elementary exercises there with the concentration and dedication of a seasoned veteran performing complex maneuvers. But another part of him clanged like a tolling bell. She'll be here, and I'll be there. She'll be here, and I'll be there. He had alternated between the two states for several days, and it was getting to him....

"Good morning, T'Ara," he said, and wondered why he was feeling better all of a sudden. Red coverall. Green eyes, shining. She looked like--

"Good morning, Admiral." She stood very straight, hands clasped behind her back. "A heffalump is an imaginary creature."

"You don't say." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "And what do you think of A.A. Milne?"

"The book is interesting," T'Ara said. "Is the teddy bear the Terran analogue of the sehlat?"

"Tell you what," Kirk said, deadpan. "You go and ask Dr. McCoy that question. He's the expert on...ah...analogues of that type."

"I have already done so," T'Ara informed him. "He asked me who put me up to it."

"Oh?" Kirk leaned back, rubbing his chin. "Fascinating. Is he on his way up here now?"

"No, sir. He gave me a message for you. He said 'Tell the admiral to get off my back.'"

"I...see." He could not keep the grin from spreading. "Well, you've accomplished your mission. Was there something else?"

"Yes, sir. I think Pinocchio was real all the time."

Shining eyes. Sparkling. Punch line coming. "Why do you think that, T'Ara?" he asked softly.

"I don't know," said T'Ara. "I just do."

Involuntarily, Kirk glanced at the back of his daughter's head. Sulu was standing behind her, but he could see the sheen of her hair. That sounds familiar. But he caught himself in time. "Then you go right on thinking it," he said quietly. "That's about the best reason I know."

"Thank you, sir." She looked toward Jill, who had been oblivious to her presence until now. Immediately Jill looked around and smiled. T'Ara smiled back. The exchange was so quick as to be almost imperceptible. T'Ara flashed him another shy smile and departed for the lift.

He sat for a few moments lost in thought, and then rose. "Mr. Sulu, I'll take over for a little while." Sulu moved off obediently, and the admiral took his place.

As he had expected, Jill was stiff and self-conscious at first, and he didn't feel too relaxed himself. But before long, both of them forgot what it was they had been stiff about. He had been Garrovick's helmsman on the Farragut, and he was convinced that these new kids couldn't steer worth a damn. He had ideas aplenty about how a helmsman should be trained, and he tried out six or seven of them on Jill that morning. It was the best morning he had had since they left Spacedock.

He had determined that he would maintain official distance, but as the session neared its end, he gave in, hoping that she would forgive him. Leaning over to make a totally unnecessary adjustment, he dropped his voice slightly. "Beats hell outta Raven, doesn't it?"

To his joy, she turned and grinned up at him. "Yes, sir." Then she dropped her voice to a whisper. "The port pads at Vegas are a little small. But we wouldn't have to remember where we parked. Sir."

Sulu had passed an exhausting morning trying to look busy, and now even the other crew members' trainees had gone to lunch. He was feeling a little jaded, but as he watched the admiral and Mister Halsted laughing together, he grinned.

"Very unseemly display," he murmured to Chekov, at whose shoulder he was standing. "Should we convene a general court or throw a mutiny?"

Chekov grinned back. "I vouldn't vorry about it. Heppens all the time. Even in Ruhsha."

"You two look like a couple of doting uncles," said Uhura.

They both turned to look at her, and Sulu said smugly, "Figuratively speaking," and waited for a reaction. He got one.

"What else is new?" Uhura smiled sweetly. "Man, you guys are slow." As they gaped at her, she made the turn back to her console, and encountered Spock's gaze on the way. Something she saw there emboldened her. "Do we make your day, Mr. Spock?" she asked softly. "Just fractionally?"

Her answer was one raised eyebrow, arched.