II: Enterprise

Part 1 of 2

When the Enterprise left orbit two mornings later, Jill and Monica had been on board for two nights and the day between. The crew had been on leave when Monica attacked Shevek, and once the Dac was again confined, the captain did not consider the situation critical enough to deprive his entire crew of one additional day of much-needed shore leave on Starbase Vulcan. He himself had returned to the ship with Jill and Monica.

There was only a skeleton crew on board, and he had spent some time reading the poetry of Simon Greenwood, his soon-to-be ship's counselor. The experience was at once confusing, exhilarating, and irritating, and he looked forward to discussing the matter with Spock before he interviewed Counselor Greenwood for the first time. Having made that decision, he went to find Jill and Monica.

At Jill's suggestion, a force field had been substituted for the transparent aluminum cage in which Monica had traveled to Vulcan aboard the long range shuttle. The advantages of a force field were many, including the fact that its size could be changed in a second, depending on where the "cage" was located. So far, however, the captain had insisted that it remain in Jill's quarters, which she occupied alone because of the presence of the Dac.

"Don't you have to--er--clean it out?" he asked when he joined them after lunch.

Jill had been reading when he arrived, and she still sat in the chair in front of her computer screen. She turned now to face him, her arm on the back of the chair.

"It doesn't take long. She hardly eats at all, so...." She smiled ruefully. "I'm used to it by now."

"Jill, what is it with you and Monica?"

"I don't know. But I promised her I'd get her home."

"Can she understand that?"

"She understands."

He looked at the Dac, standing in the center of the room, eyes fixed on Jill, her restraints invisible. "Yet you wouldn't defend yourself."

"You weren't attacking me, Captain."

"You know what I mean. 'No explanation, sir' is the equivalent of a nolo contendere plea in a domestic court." She nodded. "If Spock hadn't intervened, I would have been forced to relieve you and send you packing back to HQ."

"And that would have relieved you of responsibility for whatever happened to me." She waved away his interruption. "I know. If I'd been thinking straight, I wouldn't have said it. Spock knew that. But I haven't exactly been thinking straight recently, have I?"

After a moment, he asked, "Is there something bothering you?"

She sighed. "No, J.T., there is nothing bothering me that being off and running won't cure." She smiled then, the first time she'd really smiled since the interview on Vulcan. "Does it get old hat to you? The excitement, I mean. Even the ship is excited and waiting to get underway."

He laughed, and his hand moved, about to reach for hers. But even before she spoke, the expression in her eyes warned him and he stifled the impulse.

"It's better if she doesn't see anybody even touch me," she said.

"Amen to that." He looked over at the Dac, whose eyes were fixed on Jill. "Doesn't that bother you? She's obsessive--"

"And you're anthropomorphic. Her intelligence isn't human-like."

"Obsession is obsession." But she simply shook her head. "All right, Ensign. It's your show. And...by the way, that was a class act there on the Forge when you wanted us to walk away."

She flushed with pleasure at the compliment. "Thank you, sir. But it wasn't an act."

"That's what I mean." He rose, blew her a kiss, and left her alone with her silent familiar.

After the ship was underway the following morning, the captain left the center seat and perched on the edge of the science station console. Cunningham's tape lay nearby, and he was sure that Spock would have run it by now.

"'Then your opinion is wrong.'" he quoted, too softly for the others to hear. "God help her, Spock. Bones was right. She's got the genes."

"And it shows," said Spock, with love. But only the science station heard the love. The captain was already pacing. After several turns, he returned to his perch.

"And the brains and the training and the emotional support. But there's something...." He rubbed the back of his neck as Spock's eyebrows rose. "I was going to say 'missing,' but that's not it. There's something there that doesn't fit here. But I can't tie down what it is. Cunningham calls it 'verging on insubordination,' but I...I wish I could have seen it myself."

"We will, Jim. In time."

"In time for what?" Spock shrugged. "Not very logical, my friend." No response. "Speaking of not-logical, I read some more Greenwood yesterday." Still no response. "What the devil is he out here for anyway--to write about it? The Poet Laureate of the Milky Way?"

"He was helmsman on the Lexington before he went to Betazed for training as a ship's counselor. During the latter part of his service on the Lexington, he also served as first officer with a rank of commander. His record there was exemplary."

"For nine years. Two dry promotions. Why didn't he move up? All right. I'm asking the wrong person that question. But he--his poetry doesn't sound Vulcan." Kirk's gaze drifted to the viewscreen, where stars streamed by in warped streaks. "'Never known, ever new,'" he quoted softly, and Spock nodded, watching his captain's face. "But why does he want to write about it?"

"Perhaps he has no choice."

Kirk frowned. "Is he any good?"

"He is a highly gifted artist, Jim. Were you not aware of this, we should not be discussing it now. Have you interviewed him yet?"

"Let him get oriented. I'll talk to him tomorrow." No response. "Procrastination, Spock. Gives the Old Man time to get his act together." Spock frowned. "Relax, my friend. As Jill would say, I capitalized it in my mind."

Had she chosen to do so, Jill could have viewed the SOT1 in her quarters. The Ship Orientation Tape #1 was available on the Library Computer, accessible even to passengers; only the SOT2 was restricted to the crew. But it was almost a week to Beta Canaris 12, and Jill already knew that she would be unable to spend the entire time isolated with Monica. Nor would it be good for Monica to rely on her continuous presence. She knew that there was at least one other new crew member, and that the communal showing of SOT1 at 1400 hours each day was a good place to make new friends. So she told Monica, "I'm going to see a tape, little one," and left, aware that the Dac's gaze followed her to the door, and a bit relieved that it could not follow her any farther.

In the observation lounge, she stood for a time before the huge window, watching the stars warp past. At 1400 hours, the lounge was almost deserted, and no one approached her as she stood there.

Going somewhere at last. Moving. As long as she kept moving....

She never knew what made her turn, finding herself unexpectedly face to face with Simon Greenwood for the second time in her life.

It was as though he had always been there, waiting for her to turn around and see him. Later, she was sure that her heart rate had not even changed. Memory sang, Oh, Barb, he is so beautiful, but it was so good just to stand there and look at him that it did not occur to her to do anything else until he spoke.

"Did your mother tell you I came to find you yesterday?" he asked, smiling a little.

Bizarre, babysaid a faraway voice in her mind. But her own voice answered easily, "I haven't talked to her since I came aboard. Night before last."

"She was surprised." The memory appeared to amuse him. "Are you?"

She shook her head. "I would have tried to find you, but I didn't believe it was real."

"Commander Greenwood?"

The sudden appearance of the CMO at Simon's elbow did not startle her, much less annoy her. All the time in the world....

McCoy nodded to Jill, whose physical he had completed the previous day, and apologized to Simon for the interruption. "Regs say that this should be done as soon as possible, but if there's something else you wanted to do--"

"Indeed there is, Doctor. But after five years, it'll keep." Laughter shone in Simon's eyes now, and Jill felt it bubble up in her as he continued their conversation as though they had not been interrupted. "Believe it, Mister Halsted." And the eyebrow went.

"Very good, sir."

McCoy's eyes moved from one to the other once, and then once again. "Well," he said. "Um." Again, his eyes flicked toward Jill, and then back to Simon. "Are you sure...um...?"

"Very sure," said Simon, and he and the doctor went away together.

Toward the end of the day shift, McCoy made one of his ambling tours of the bridge, exchanged bantering pleasantries with the captain, and then drifted over to Spock's station. "You free for dinner? I think maybe we got a problem." But he was grinning.

"Maybe?" Spock repeated, minimally distracted from his work.

"Big problem," said the doctor, his grin spreading. "Small maybe."

The next morning, the first officer surprised the captain by agreeing to be present when the captain interviewed the ship's counselor.

"If you wish, Captain," said the first officer.

"You will?" Kirk had couched the question as a request rather than an order, and had expected Spock to refuse.

"It will be...interesting." Spock frowned. "Jim, why do you wish me to be present?"

"I want your impressions of him. You're half Vulcan too. You're a telepath--"

"Simon Greenwood is not a telepath. He grew up on Earth, with his father's family. If he has natural telepathic abilities, they are negligible."

"He could be suppressing them the way Sarah did."

"They would have surfaced during his training as an empath on Betazed."

"I suppose." Kirk finished his breakfast coffee and set the cup down slowly on the table between them. "I'm primed to dislike this man, Spock. His presence feels like a threat to me. I need your objectivity." He sighed. "I need your help."

"And you shall have it."

"Good. Let's get going, then."

The first part of the interview went better than Spock had expected. Jim had elected the observation lounge as venue, perhaps for the same reasons he and McCoy had interviewed the returning Spock there just before the Enterprise's encounter with V'ger: the absence of the trappings of bridge and office lent an informality to the proceedings that had been unsuccessful with the tormented Spock but appeared to put Simon Greenwood at his ease. Or perhaps, Spock thought, Simon was perennially at his ease. The man fascinated him. Here was his own opposite number: Vulcan mother, human father, raised on Earth. And yet, Simon too had come to Starfleet seeking...what? His height was virtually the same as Spock's, his build similar to that of the young Kirk with whom Spock had served so many years ago. In his reddish brown Starfleet uniform, he looked to be the prototype Starfleet officer in his mid-thirties, and his general demeanor was, if not entirely Vulcan, suitably reserved. And yet there was something in his eyes....

"And what are your objectives as ship's counselor, Commander?" the captain was asking.

Simon's gaze remained steady, but he hesitated, and Spock sensed trouble.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?" the counselor asked.

Mistake, Spock thought. Too soon. Kirk's expression had not changed, but the tension between him and Simon, which had been negligible up to this point, increased--a factor that Simon was certain to perceive. And also certain to have anticipated. Intentional, then. But why?

"Permission granted." Kirk, who had been sitting forward, eased back in his seat. Spock could see him making himself relax.

"My objectives as ship's counselor are virtually impossible to achieve. But I'm going to give it a damn good try anyway."

Kirk let a few seconds pass before he asked, "Why impossible?"

"First, because I've been a Starfleet officer for more than a dozen years. That's quite a handicap."

"Explain."

"Because I've been trained as a Starfleet officer, I won't see things I should see as ship's counselor." Simon leaned forward, elbows on his knees hands clasped between them, dark eyes intent. He has a cause, Spock thought. More difficulties. "Captain Kirk, five years ago, Reliant was permitted to approach to within a few hundred meters of Enterprise before Enterprise raised her shields. By that time, Reliant had fired and Enterprise was disabled. That wouldn't have happened if anyone on board Enterprise had remembered General Order Twelve."

There was a long silence, during which Spock wondered if the man could be mad while the captain sat perfectly still, looking directly at the ship's counselor. Eventually, the captain said, "Someone did. I didn't listen to her."

Expecting Simon to pounce, Spock was astounded to see incredulous respect dawning in his eyes.

"A young officer, then. A peagreen? Kirk nodded. "A bridge trainee? But nobody listened."

"Nobody listened," Kirk repeated. And Spock thought: If you ask him why, I may break your neck.

"Reliant was a symbol to all of you," Simon continued. "That symbol said 'Safe.' It said, 'Familiar.' It said, 'One of us.' The longer we're in Starfleet, the more training we've had, the more exotic aliens we've encountered, the more likely we are to be seduced by familiar symbols. It was a peagreen who said, 'Be careful.' The new kid in the club. I lost that advantage years ago. We all did. One of my virtually unattainable objectives is to try to get it back."

"How many more do you have?" the captain asked politely.

"Just one. But it will be even harder to achieve than the first."

"Go on."

"I want you to trust me someday," said Simon, and it came to Spock that this man was very far from mad. "You got where you are on skill and intelligence and cunning and courage and gut feelings. But as the captain, you have to use all of them at the same time, and that's distracting. That's why Reliant happened. Starfleet thinks I can provide some backup gut feelings, and I've been trained to do that. But I can only do it if you trust me. That's why I'm up to my ass in alligators right now. So you can see the worst first. No surprises." Simon paused, his gaze never leaving the captain's. "I imagine you'll be wanting to talk with Mr. Spock in private. Permission to return to quarters, sir?"

"Granted," said the captain, and the ship's counselor rose and left the lounge.

After a time, the captain said, "That is exactly what I meant."

"Meant?" Spock repeated.

"Jill. Something there that doesn't fit here. She screwed up with Cunningham because she's...the new kid in the club. But in five, six years, she'll be washing out of Command School for doing that." And he pointed toward the door through which Simon had left the lounge.

"He may be self-destructive," Spock offered, sounding doubtful even to himself.

"The hell he is." The captain commenced pacing, which Spock took to be a good sign. "He was testing me, and he didn't even try to hide it!"

"I would say, Captain, that you passed."

"Hell, Spock, everybody in the fleet knows about Reliant."

"For all he knew, Jim, everybody but you."

Kirk paused, studying his first officer intently. "He's got me, you know. If I ship him out, he's won."

"Not his battle."

Kirk stood still, continuing to stare at Spock. Finally he said softly, "That son of a bitch." Yet beneath the frustration and annoyance, Spock detected a trace of awe.

Wrong, McCoy, he thought, remembering the doctor's description of the interaction he had witnessed between Simon and Jill. Small problem, big maybe.

Jill was working out in the gym, sweaty and puffing, pushing her body to its limits to make up for the relative inactivity of the previous day, when a now-familiar voice said, "Why do I always have to come and find you?"

"Well, Simon, I already told you that," she answered easily, and he laughed. Standing with her hands on her hips, intensely conscious of the skin-tight fit of her leotard, she scanned his bare chest with the same evident enjoyment as he was scanning her, and blew a stray lock of damp hair out of her eyes. "A fifteen-year-old's fantasies don't usually walk up behind her and say 'Did your mother t--'"

"Fifteen? "It was the first time she had seen him startled. "Good thing I spent the last three years in a cold shower on Betazed." She echoed his laugh, and wondered if anybody was watching them. Nobody seemed to be, although the gym was a busy place, the day watch having ended half an hour ago. "You got the Fossey award when you were fifteen?"

"How did you know about that?"

"Research." He indicated the empty corner of the mat she had been using, and they both dropped down on it, tailor fashion. "Same reason you've been reading my poetry."

"What if I said I haven't?"

"But you have."

She nodded slowly. So it was real. "Can you explain all this logically, Commander?"

"You know damn well," he said softly, "this has nothing to do with logic."

She nodded again, luxuriating in the open intimacy of his gaze. "Why are you on the Enterprise?" she asked, and then smiled when he raised one slanted eyebrow. "C'mon, Simon. I wasn't even assigned to this ship until a few days ago. I mean, why else?"

"Court jester and all-around pain in the butt."

"Court...?" Uh-oh.

"I'm the ship's counselor, Jill. Pilot study on the flagship." She nodded uneasily, having heard the concept discussed at the Academy. "The position is in the process of self-definition, and that's..." He sighed. "Difficult. For everybody. I had an interview with the captain and the first officer this morning, and it went about as well as I expected. Better, really."

"Meaning?"

"Kirk impressed the hell out of me. Spock...." A small smile that was half grimace. "He's very--protective, isn't he."

"Protective? Jill whispered.

"He thought he had cause. I was being...." Simon frowned. "Sorry. I'm not criticizing your step-father." Their gaze held for a long moment, and then he asked quietly, "Why did 'stepfather' hit you so wrong?"

"I don't know." Wrong was the only word even she could think of. "Nobody's ever called him that before, and I...." Her voice trailed off in confusion.

Watching her thoughtfully, he said, "You know your father, and you love him."

"Yes."

"Does it bother you that I'm reading you?"

"No."

"Why?"

She found herself smiling again. "Fair's fair."

His eyebrows rose at that, and then a very unVulcan smile crept into his eyes. "You have hidden talents, mister. You could warn a guy."

"I just did, sir."

"So tell me what you're reading now."

"The part about me is classified. For the moment." His smile spread to a delighted grin. "Well. You had some kind of confrontation with the captain this morning. About your function as counselor? It feels like...everything's on hold? You're not sure what's going to happen? But you're not afraid of him. You're afraid he...misunderstood something. Something you said deliberately." Simon simply watched her, fascinated. "But you're--but if you had it to do over again, you'd do it the same way."

"I had to."

"Um-hmm."

"The Betazoids would be crazy about you. Are you telepathic too?"

"Some. I haven't had much training. Are you?"

He shook his head. "If they couldn't find it in three years of digging, it's not there." He rose and pulled her to her feet. "Come on. Let's get dressed and have dinner. You haven't told me what you're doing here."

In the middle of the ship's night, Jill rose and dressed in a loose tunic and pants, checked the sleeping Monica, and slipped out the the observation lounge. Having dinner with Simon had compounded her excitement at being aboard the Enterprise at last, and she was unable to keep her eyes closed for more than a few minutes, much less sleep. A couple of easy chairs faced the observation window, and she pulled a hassock in front of one of them.

She sat down, crossed her sandaled feet on the hassock, and watched the star streamers until her eyelids finally began to droop. It was good here. Her quarters seemed so small, the corridors so narrow, even the mess hall confining. Here in front of the only real window on the ship, she could imagine that she was free....

Her drowsiness fled at the sound of a step behind her. Normally no one would have been able to hear a footfall on the thick carpet, but his was a step she had listened for all her life. Did he ever sleep? she wondered. Did he prowl his ship at all hours?

"Penny for your thoughts, Mister Halsted." Dropping into the other easy chair, the captain hooked a second hassock with his foot, pulled it over and duplicated her position.

Her gaze still on the stars, she smiled. "I don't know what a penny is, Captain." Then, wistfully: "I was thinking about David, wishing things could have been different for him. For all of us."

She heard J.T. turn his head against the back of the chair, but there was a pause before he said quietly, "David isn't here, Jill."

"I am." She turned to look at him, still smiling, still pleasantly drowsy. He was frowning a little, and seemed about to say something else when she went on: "Did you ever have all your dreams come true in one day?"

"All of them?" She sensed that her question triggered a memory for him, but he was more interested in her answer.

"I'm with you on the Enterprise, just where I've always wanted to be." He nodded, now smiling too; the seriousness of his question about David had been banished by her joy. "And there's a man I met in Mother's office five years ago. He--we still remember each other." And she realized she was blushing.

His smile fled. "Simon Greenwood?"

"How did you know?"

He shrugged. "Your mother's speciality is hybrid obstetrics." His elaborately casual tone had once been able to fool her, but that had been a long time ago. "Did she--did T'Loreth deliver him?"

"That's what Mother said. She said he was part of a pilot study they did."

"It figures," said the captain.

"Okay, J.T. What's going on? Don't you like him, or what?"

"What," he repeated immediately, and then they were both laughing, if a little nervously, J.T. obviously as puzzled as he was annoyed. "What the devil does 'We still remember each other' mean?"

She told him.

He watched her eyes as she talked, and when she had finished, he said, "It figures" again, but with none of the sarcasm he had used the first time. Then he got up and began to pace.

Still in the chair facing the window, Jill rubbed her eyes, now smarting with fatigue, and asked, "What happened this morning?"

She heard him stop abruptly and turn on his heel. "Didn't he tell you?"

"He said Spock was protective. That didn't sound too good."

"Spock didn't say a goddamn word." But he paced back more slowly and stood behind her chair, his hands on the back of it. "Simon didn't tell you what he and I talked about?"

"He said he did what he had to do, and if he had it to do over again, he'd do the same. He said you impressed the hell out of him and Spock was protective. That's all."

"Does he know I'm your father?"

"Not yet."

He moved to sit down again, swiveling his chair so that he faced her. "Does it occur to you that the two of you could be too much alike?"

"No," she answered serenely. "He's the one."

"Not just another Noah."

"No."

"That doesn't give me the right to discuss a private conversation between me and one of my officers."

"Oh, I know that! I shouldn't have asked."

He nodded once, satisfied, and sat back in his chair. Again, both of them were facing the stars. "Then why did you?"

"Because I wanted to know." He sighed, but appeared disinclined to continue the conversation, at least for the moment. Best to quit while she was ahead. "When I said that all my dreams had come true in a day, it made you think of something. What was it?"

"You reading my mind, mister?" But his voice smiled. "I was thinking of the first time I saw the first Enterprise. I was in a shuttle. The Columbus. The Enterprise was my first ship. I'd just been assigned to her." There was a silence. Then: "That was a long time ago."

"You had that great moment all by yourself?" she asked, disappointed.

"No. I inherited Chris Pike's first officer. He was the only one who understood how much I wanted to see my ship. He was piloting Columbus."

She smiled out at the stars, imagining. "Was he a Vulcan, perchance, Captain?"

"Half right, Mister Halsted."

The following evening, dressed in a silky blouse and trousers and nothing else, Jill went to find Simon.

"For a change," she explained, leaning against the door of his quarters, which had just slipped shut behind her. The dark eyes that she had not forgotten in five years met hers; he had been lying on his bunk, reading, in uniform pants and undershirt, and now he sat up slowly, the book (Real book, she noted absently. Amanda would approve.) sliding to the floor. As she crossed the room, he met her halfway.

She had wondered during the past two days whether his fantasies were as good as hers; once they were lying naked across the bed together, she decided rather quickly that his were better. The expression "Turn her every way but loose" sped across her mind shortly before she realized that she was moaning and pressed her bent fingers against her open mouth.

"Who do you think can hear you?" he whispered, his hands finding places to touch that she had no idea existed.

"You can," she gasped.

"Mm-hmm." One of his hands drew hers away from her mouth and held it briefly until she forgot what she had been doing with it.

When they were finally still, sweating, tangled in the sheets and one another, she murmured, "God, it's hot in here" against his bare shoulder, and felt him begin to laugh. Rolling over and pulling her on top of him, he let go, spread his arms and legs, let his head fall back against the edge of the mattress and gave himself up to his laughter and hers until it occurred to her that she still had a few good untested ideas, and that his spread-eagled position was ideal for their implementation. He did not laugh long.

After they had turned out the light and pulled the sheet over them, she said, "Tell me about Kathleen." Her mother had told her only that Simon's wife had died in an accident shortly after the birth of their second child.

"I wasn't thinking about Kathleen," he said, and she could feel him waiting for her to say I know.

"I didn't think you were, and no, I don't read your thoughts."

She felt his momentary apprehension leave him. "Why?"

"Wouldn't be fair." His cheek smiled against hers. "Tell me about her."

"We loved each other a lot. She pulled me through the worst time in my life. Twice." He waited for her question, and when it did not come, he sighed, raised himself on one elbow, and tapped her nose with one finger to emphasize each word. "Not fun."

"You're changing the subject."

"I'm...?"

"I said 'Tell me about Kathleen,' and you told me about the two of you together."

He gazed back at her thoughtfully. "So I did. Maybe because all I knew about was the two of us. Once she left Starfleet, we were only together for a few days at a time." His finger traced the line of her collar bone above the edge of the sheet. "That's no way to live, tiger."

"If I hadn't been in Starfleet, would you have come looking for me?"

Clearly, the idea had never occurred to him. "I don't know," said finally, and his eyebrows drew together briefly as though he were in pain. Then the pain passed, leaving only an echo within her. "But you are."

"I'm not permanently assigned to the Enterprise."

"Neither am I," he said wryly. "So, as your--as Mr. Spock would say, there are always possibilities."

"You've talked to him?"

"For a while." He lay down again, arm still around her shoulders, drawing her close until she snuggled against him. "Routine stuff. He's my division head."

"Can you read him?"

Simon laughed softly. "Jill, he's the most emotionally visible person on this ship."

"Spock?"

"Spock."

She closed her eyes, remembering his visibility.

"You do not frequently disappoint me."

And even further in the past:

"Good night, Jill Kirk."

"That's not my name."

"Yes, it is."

She slept the night in Simon's arms, and toward morning, she dreamed. In the dream, he and Saavik were having a drink together on Luna, their red-mahogany uniforms reflected in the mirror above the bar. There was a transparent aluminum cage on the floor at the end of the bar, next to where Simon was sitting. And inside the cage--

She started awake, heart pounding, stomach churning. "That's not my name!" she said aloud, and then she was fully awake and Simon was holding her and stroking her hair.

"Wake up, sweetheart," he whispered. "It was only a dream."

"It wasn't Monica in the--" Monica. "What time is it?"

"Not quite 0600."

"I have to get back. Monica...." She shook her head to clear the dream away. "God, I hate this. I feel like I'm the one that's in a cage."

"Enter reality?" he asked softly, and she lay down beside him again. "Jill, you've trained her to get along without you overnight. Don't blow it now, huh?"

"Okay. But I have to go back." The pounding of her heart had slowed, and her stomach settled down. "Mmmm. I could get to like this."

"Hold that thought," he said. But when she got up and began to dress, he did not try to stop her.

Back in her own quarters, she was relieved to find Monica still asleep. But when the Dac opened her eyes, Jill imagined that there was accusation in them.

"You're going to drive me nuts, little one," she said as she cleaned the cage. "Are you going to eat something this morning?" No, Monica was not going to eat something this morning. "Thanks a lot." Jill went to shower, emerging to find the Dac staring at the bathroom door. "I've got an idea. How 'bout you and I go see the doctor?"

Monica stood near the head of the diagnostic bed, as she had stood everywhere: silent, unmoving, wings folded around her. Her eyes remained fixed on Jill.

"What's wrong with her?" Jill asked, aware that her father, standing just behind her, had asked the doctor no questions. J.T.? No questions to ask? "Why won't she eat?"

"I don't know, Jill," McCoy answered. "There are no data in my files about her race. But...." He glanced at the captain, apparently got no help there. "She isn't getting any exercise. No wonder she isn't hungry."

"She never actually refused food until this morning. Can you do anything for her?"

"I'll need a complete analysis of her bioscan, but I don't want to medicate her." McCoy glanced at the captain again. Nothing. "I'll be right back," said the doctor, and made for the next room as though he were in a great hurry to get there.

The diagnostic scanner thumped in the silence, all readings sluggish.

"So you left her alone all night," her father said.

"Uh-huh."

"You're putting yourself on report for that?"

"Yes. No. I don't know!" She half sat on the edge of the diagnostic table, her body slumping. "Oh, J.T., what am I going to do?"

"You're going to quit feeling sorry for yourself," he said.

Meeting his gaze, she slowly straightened up. She was not at attention, but her back was straight and her chin was up.

"Now," he said, "what are you going to do?"

"I'm...." She sighed. "I'm going to ask you to get Cunningham to let her out of that stupid cage. Captain's discretion. Will you?"

"Depends. What else are you going to do?"

"I'm--I'm going to ask you to give her some space of her own. A shuttle hanger or a cargo bay. I'm going to request permission to send a message to Samal, a Vulcan I work-- worked with at FML. And...I'm going to ask you for Spock. For his time. For about a day."

"Programmed environment? "She nodded. "Holos?" Another nod. "You can do that for her here with Spock's help?"

"Yes."

"Not 'Yes, sir'?" he asked softly.

"She'll die if she won't eat. I don't have time to mess around."

"Just time to feel guilty about leaving her alone?"

"No." But a single tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.

"Good." Almost casually, he brushed the tear away. "Let's get on it, then."

McCoy returned to the examining room, took a moment to watch them leave together, and then turned back to his patient.

It had been Simon's suggestion that he and Spock begin the second part of their orientation tour in Sickbay that morning. The ship's counselor made no effort to conceal his concern about Monica, although Spock suspected that there might be a bit more to it than professional concern.

They had arrived at the door of the examining room just as the captain was brushing a tear from Jill's cheek.

Simon did not even do a double-take. He froze for an instant, then moved quickly off down the corridor and stopped, his hand on the bulkhead. The hand was shaking, and Simon's shoulders were rigid. Immensely grateful that no other crew members were present at the moment, Spock moved to his side.

"What ishe to her?" It was only a whisper, and Simon's face was turned away. But Spock could not recall hearing such anguish in a human voice.

He felt several persistent Vulcan taboos crumble, and discovered that, as with a number of others that had met a similar fate, he would not miss them at all. Laying his hand lightly on Simon's shoulder, he answered, "He is her father."

Simon turned then. Spock saw utter horror replacing the anguish, and realized belatedly what Simon had inferred. But before he could speak, he saw Simon Greenwood summon the control mechanism as he himself had once had to summon it--consciously, deliberately, with superhuman and indeed superVulcan effort. The emotional display that Spock could not help but dread was cut off at its source, and Simon, at that moment, was Vulcan to the core.

"I ask forgiveness for violating your privacy, sir."

"You violated nothing," Spock answered quietly. "Jill was three point six seven years old when her mother became my bondmate." He went on, explaining the circumstances and the reasons for Jill's reluctance to announce to the universe that James T. Kirk was her father, giving Simon time to recover, his hand still on Simon's shoulder. "She would have told you herself, in her own time."

"I accept your gift of self," said the ship's counselor, in Vulcan.

"The obligation was mine."

"No, it wasn't," said the counselor, in English.

Spock removed his hand, clasping it with the other hand behind his back. The expression in Simon's eyes suggested that he was danger of developing a severe case of hero-worship on the spot, a prospect that Spock found decidedly unsettling.

"If you wish," he said, "we shall return to Sickbay now."

Simon nodded, and they moved back toward the doorway together.

After Jill had spoken with Samal and he had left to transmit the program via subspace, Barbara came back on the screen. Jill had almost wished she wouldn't.

"Oh, baby," she said. "You look like hell. What's wrong?"

Jill gave the first answer that came to her, and realized that it was truest one she could have given. "I miss you guys." Oh, Barb, she thought. I want to come home. But she held the words back because J.T. was there with her.

With a fine disregard for the captain's presence, Barb pressed a little. "Are you sure Spock can do the job? It's Samal's program, and it isn't exactly standard stuff. Maybe--"

"Spock'll be fine," Jill said, and smiled in spite of herself. "He doesn't mind stopping for meetings, and he listens hard."

"No shi--uh, no kidding." They grinned at each other, and then Barb's eyes flicked momentarily toward the captain and back to Jill. "Look, keep in touch, okay?" She turned her gaze to Kirk, earrings jangling. "Captain, if there's anything we can do here, just give a holler. Jill's like family, y'know?"

There was an odd silence before the captain answered. "Thank you, Ms. Loftis. We may do that." His smile was genuine enough, but after the subspace connection was broken, he remained staring at the screen for a moment before he turned toward the door.

All morning, technicians swarmed the empty cargo bay, working under Spock's direction with Jill close beside him. The joy of working with Spock was so intense that she could almost forget about Monica. Unlike Samal, who avoided techs like red meat and expected Jill to test each section of the program while his mind flew on to the next subroutine, Spock tested as he went, undistracted by the muted chaos around them. Like most programmers, he was totally uninterested in modifying someone else's code, and concentrated on adaptation rather than modification. They both forgot to eat lunch.

"Computer," Spock instructed the bulkheads at a little before 1500, "run program BC12SPEC1."

Monica's world materialized around them: the beach, the tidal pool, the chalk cliff, the Earth-blue sky above, the sea breeze carrying the scent of salt. One of the techs whistled admiringly, and Jill turned to Spock, holding out her hand.

"Mr. Spock, it's a pleasure to work with you." The corner of his mouth turned up as he returned the handshake, and there was scattered applause from the departing techs.

Monica's response to her new environment was more rapid than either Jill or McCoy had hoped for. As soon as all the techs were gone and her force field deactivated, she immediately glided upward to the top of the cliff, turned upside down and roosted. Delighted, Jill clapped her hands, and the Dac's eyes turned toward her.

Then Monica saw Spock, and screamed.

Never having heard her make a sound, Jill froze with shock for an instant, unable to believe her ears and her eyes. Monica was treading air, right side up, her wings flapping madly, utterly terrified of Spock. He stood looking up at her, and Jill saw hurt in his eyes and hated Monica for it. It was clear that he could read Monica's fear, and was suffering because of it.

"She won't attack you as long as you stay away from me," Jill managed, and then realized that she didn't have to tell him. He nodded, controlled, and spoke quietly.

"Her fear is regrettable, but unavoidable."

"She never felt pain before--before--"

"Indeed." It was almost a sigh. He actually looked tired, Jill thought. All those hours of work, and then to get screamed at for it.

"That's not fair!" she shouted at the Dac as soon as Spock had left the cargo hold. Monica was again roosting upside down, but she gave a small squawk that sounded suspiciously like an argument that Jill was in no mood for. "Shut up, dammit! He was the one who did all this for you. He's the kindest person I know, and all you do is holler at him. I'm ashamed of you!" Her fury was a little like the tears after she had blown it with Cunningham. Out of proportion, she knew. But she had paced the deck and shouted for a while before she realized that they were no longer alone in the cargo bay.

Monica was still upside down but now silent, staring intently over Jill's shoulder. As soon as she realized someone was there, Jill knew who it was before she turned around.

"Simon?"

"Hi." He stood still, looking up at Monica as though hypnotized. "Mind if I take a look? Everybody's talking about what you and Spock accomplished...." His voice trailed off, and Jill realized that he was as terrified of Monica as Monica had been of Spock.

"What's wrong?" She began to moved toward him and then firmly suppressed the impulse. The farther she and Simon stayed from one another in Monica's presence, the safer Simon would be.

"She wasn't like this in Sickbay," he said.

"Like what?"

"Can't you sense it?" He had not taken his eyes off Monica since Jill turned around. "The sheer, animal ferocity. She--she could kill any of us in a couple of seconds. She just doesn't feel like it right now."

"I guess. But it's not mindless."

"It is to me." There was a thin film of sweat on his forehead now.

What must it be like, Jill wondered, to sense Monica empathetically without being kylh or even telepathic? Shivering a little, she said, "You don't have to stay here, love."

"Yes, love, I do." Moving slowly, he eased toward the bulkhead until his back was against it, and then slid carefully to a sitting position against it. "You think I only want to get to see you in bed?" His gaze moved from Monica for a moment, and he smiled a quick, shaky smile. She could feel him forcing himself to keep looking at her for several seconds. Then his eyes went back to the Dac. "So I might as well get used to our friend here. Hi, there, Monica." He let his head drop back against the bulkhead, but his eyes were focused, his pupils large."What was all the shouting about?"

It took Jill a moment to realize he had asked her a question. "Shouting? Oh, that. Just a tantrum." She sat down against the bulkhead a few meters away from him.

"No," he said. Again he turned his head to look at her, and this time it seemed less difficult for him, although his body was still stiff with tension. "Don't let yourself feel too much of what she's feeling, Jill. It was as though you were trapped too."

"Trapped?" she repeated. "She doesn't feel trapped right now."

"Somebody around here does."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Jill shook her head, genuinely puzzled.

They looked at each other for a moment, and then he said, "Okay."

"Simon, I really don't know what you're talking about."

After a moment, he nodded. "I know," he said, and sighed. But at least he was beginning to relax a little.

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