DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The story contents are the creation and property of Cheree Cargill and is copyright (c) 2000 by Cheree Cargill. This story is Rated NC-17 for sexual situations.

THE CASTAWAYS

by Cheree Cargill

PART ONE

"EXILE"

Spock bent to clear the low doorway and dropped the armload of kindling next to the center hearth. The hogan was empty, the fire banked down to embers. Christine wasn't back yet from her errands though the daylight was beginning to wane.

Squatting next to the firepit, he laid several dry twigs across the embers and poked among the coals, encouraging the fire to rouse itself. When it had caught once more, he fed it more wood and then used his poker to push the cooking stones closer to the flame. As the stones heated, he turned to the chore of paring several tubers for evening meal, using his flint blade to peel them.

A commotion outside the dwelling drew his attention and almost at once a black-haired young boy rushed in, closely followed by an even smaller girl, both bearing baskets of fruit.

"Papa!" shouted the boy. "Look what we found! Apples! Lots of 'em!"

"They are not apples, Sapel," Spock answered patiently but nevertheless admired the bounty.

"Well, Mama calls 'em that," the boy replied. "You can ask her yourself!"

A woman bent underneath the doorway, weary from the double load she carried, her gathering basket on one hip and her baby on the other. "Your papa's right, Sapel," she said tiredly. "I don't know what their real name is."

The boy shrugged. "Well, if they don't have a name, then apple's good enough."

"A very logical deduction. Apples they shall be. Here, give me that basket, Christine," Spock said, starting to get to his feet.

"No, take T'Kai. Lord, but she's getting heavy!" Christine slipped the baby out of her carrying sling and handed the infant to her father. Then she set the basket down next to the children's smaller ones. Straightening, she popped the kinks out of her back and stretched. "God, it's good to be home! So, how was your day?"

"Not as productive as yours, unfortunately," Spock replied supporting the baby as she tentatively tried standing on her wobbly legs. "The game is beginning to migrate. I fear we will have to do so soon as well."

"Yes... It's getting that time of the year again."

The other little girl, half her brother's age, leaned on his arm, looking intently up into his face. "Guess what we saw, Papa?" she asked in a lisping voice.

"What did you see, T'Jenn?" Spock queried, giving her his full attention.

"A bunch of big birds! Lots and lots and lots of 'em! All flying the same way!"

"We saw a huge flock of black geese flying south," Christine explained. "Autumn is definitely closer than we think!"

"Yes..." Spock mused. "They'll be coming in on the marsh. Perhaps we could set snares..."

"Well, right now, I want you two--" She indicated the children. "--to wash up and get ready for supper. What have you got started there? Okay, I'll take it over."

"No, you sit and rest," Spock replied. "You're exhausted. I'll do it."

"Then let me have T'Kai back. I might as well feed her while you cook." Christine settled herself onto the furs and Spock handed the baby back over to her. Cradling the infant in the crook of her left arm, Christine opened the front of her jerkin and put the child to her breast where she immediately began to nurse eagerly.

Spock set a clay bowl onto the cooking stones and filled it with water from the container that stood nearby, then finished peeling and chopping the tubers. By that time the water was bubbling and he scooped up handfuls of the vegetable, dropping them into the pot. Adding some herbs and rough crushed salt, he stirred the mixture with a carved wooden spoon.

It had grown dark outside as the sun set and there was a little chill in the evening air, but he did not move to close the leather flap of the doorway. He'd grown used to the cooler temperatures here and anyway the open door kept the lodge from becoming too smoky, despite the exhaust hole in the roof. His son and older daughter returned from washing and plopped down by the fire, watching hungrily as the meal was prepared.

"Will you tell us a story tonight, Papa?" Sapel asked.

"I think you're too tired for a story tonight," Spock answered, testing the tenderness of the vegetables. Almost ready.

"No, we're not," the boy insisted. "I wanna hear the one about the troubles again."

"Tribbles," Spock corrected him gently. "You have heard that tale at least a dozen times."

"But I still like it," the boy responded.

"Me, too," the girl echoed. "I like tibbles."

"Tribbles."

Over by the wall, Christine couldn't help laughing. "Give up, Spock," she grinned. "They won't let you rest until you tell it again."

He sighed and turned his gaze on his wife, still beautiful despite the hardship of the past few years, her long hair braided and hanging down her back, tendrils feathering around her tanned face. It had long since grown back out to its natural brown but the sun had streaked it with blonde highlights and her blue eyes still shown as radiantly as ever.

"Very well," he answered, smiling at her. "But only a little bit. I won't tell the entire tale." He looked back at his children. "Your mother is tired and so are you, although you won't admit it. Now, find your bowls before these tala roots turn to mush!"

* * *

The children settled onto their sleeping furs and already deep into slumber, Spock banked the fire for the night and pulled his leather shirt off over his head and draped it across a drying rack by the wall. Then, unlacing and shedding his boots and leggings, he lay down beside Christine, wearing only his loincloth. She had dressed in an old, buttery soft leather dress, thin from years of wear, but comfortable to sleep in.

As he settled beside her, she pulled the furs up over them and turned into his arms. He kissed her softly and asked in a low voice so as not to disturb the children, "Did you have to go far today?"

"Mmm ... all the way to the river. We were really lucky to find the fruit tree that we did. The summer was too dry. Pickings are slim."

"I know," he answered. "It's time to go farther south. Maybe to the sea this year."

She looked worried. "That's a long walk. Do you think the children can make it that far?"

"We'll move in easy stages," Spock replied thoughtfully. "If I can catch one of the horses, I can rig a travois. If they were bigger, we could ride."

She gave a lop-sided smile. "If wishes were horses..."

He shrugged and drew her closer. "You should sleep now," he murmured.

She snuggled against him, content in his comforting warmth. After a few minutes, she whispered, "How long have we been here, Spock? I can't remember. Is this the ninth or the tenth summer we've seen?"

"By my estimate, it has been eleven years, two months and approximately sixteen days," he responded softly.

She raised her head to look at him in amusement. "Approximately?"

He peered down at her, one eyebrow lifted. "Even I lose count, Christine. Go to sleep now."

"Yes, sweetheart. Good night."

"Good night."

Silence descended once more but Spock did not sleep. His thoughts turned instead back to the events, eleven years before, which had brought them to this world and the life they now knew...

* * *

Spock paused at the second level railing and scanned the scene below and around him with amusement. The promenade of Deep Space Station 4 was crowded with the usual crush of traffic from this newly opened sector near the Romulan border. Ferengi traders hawked their wares shamelessly. Tall, stately Bethyians glided through the crowd, ruffling their golden plumage if jostled too roughly. A blue Saurian brandy-seller offered small cups of its homeworld's famous liquor, its scales glittering in the station's lights. A small group of Vulcans, robed and solemn, made their way in Spock's general direction here on the second level. Humanoids of every description -- civilian and Starfleet -- milled and mingled in the everyday throng. DS4 was a cross-roads in this sector and had quickly become a locus of shipping and business.

How different it all was when he'd joined Starfleet eighteen years before. Starfleet was a human organization, almost totally, despite being the military/exploratory arm of the Federation. Spock had paved the way for non-Terrans into the service and many had soon followed his lead. As Federation territory had expanded and incorporated new worlds and new races, Starfleet had become more diverse as a result. Where once Spock had been the only non-human on board the Enterprise, they had recently welcomed aboard several newly minted officers that had included a felinoid, a Bolian, and two Betazeds.

The Enterprise had put in here at DS4 for minor maintenance and the crew had been given shore leave to enjoy what resources there were on the station. Spock, of course, did not feel the need for R&R. In any case, as executive officer, he was required aboard ship most of the time and had only beamed over to the station to personally check on a supply problem that the quartermaster had reported. Sometimes the imposing presence of the tall, humorless Vulcan officer was needed to reinforce a deal with an independent dealer and this had proven the case.

Towering over the Ferengi merchant who was reluctant to finalize a transaction for foodstuffs that would suit the palates of the new alien crewmembers, the Vulcan had impressed upon the merchant his displeasure in the delay. The Ferengi had little actual dealings with Vulcans but had unfortunately experienced Romulan wrath in the past. To his eyes they were the same race and he quickly pressed his thumbprint onto the order and sent it out for processing. Satisfied, Spock turned and left, striding back in the direction of the station's transporter room. He had left a long list of duties to attend to this and was eager to get back aboard ship.

Nevertheless, he was pleased that it had gone smoothly and so he did not hurry. He rarely got to see such a diverse collection of peoples and he took a moment to enjoy it.

The three Vulcans that he had noticed earlier passed him and he exchanged a nod of greeting with them then turned to go on his way once more. As he did, he saw Christine Chapel standing before a shop window, her arms full of wrapped packages. She seemed to be having difficulty carrying them and he stepped up beside her.

"Good morning, Miss Chapel."

"Oh, good morning, Mr. Spock. I didn't know you'd come over."

"My presence was required on ship's business," he answered. "You seem to have already spent a good deal of time here."

She smiled. "I don't get the chance to shop very often."

"Indeed. May I assist you with your packages?"

"Would you? I'd really appreciate that!" She allowed him to take several of the parcels. "I've been buying things as gifts. It won't be long until the holidays and I like to pick things up when I get the chance."

"A wise idea," he acknowledged. "However, I would suggest that you take these purchases back to the ship before you buy any more. You seem to have reached your limit at the moment."

She laughed. "I think so, too." They began to thread their way in the direction of the transporter room. "Thank you for stopping to help me. I was about to start dropping things."

"So I surmised," he answered, looking down at her with a little smile playing in his eyes and the corners of his mouth. "Human females do seem to have the ability to overestimate how many items they are able to carry."

She gave him a smile in return and then they were stopped by the line stretching outside the door to the transporter room. There was a lot of traffic going back and forth to the various ships in orbit.

As they stood there, a strange voice spoke up in Vulcan. "Excuse me, sai, I apologize for the intrusion but could I ask your assistance?"

Spock and Christine looked around and found one of the Vulcans standing beside them. The man was dressed in a travel cloak with the hood pulled up over his head, shading his face. This was not unusual and Spock thought nothing of it. "Of course," he answered in his native tongue. "How may I assist you?"

"My companions and I do not speak Terran and are unable to communicate with the agent for passage on a ship we must board. We have just arrived here and I am afraid neglected to have our decils transferred into Federation credits before we left Vulcan. Now we find ourselves without viable currency. Could you speak for us and aid in the purchase of our passage?"

"I would be most pleased to translate for you," Spock answered. "Please lead the way."

The other Vulcan bowed and started back through the throng, Spock and Christine following. Their destination was one of the side corridors, out of the main traffic pattern, and there they found the other two Vulcans waiting, clad similarly to their companion. For a second, Spock faltered, sensing something amiss, but the leader turned and urged, "Just a little farther."

Against his better judgment, Spock continued on, Christine in his wake, until they reached the other two Vulcans. Then, abruptly, the three strangers leapt into action.

Before the Starfleet officers could react, two of the Vulcans had seized them, jamming blaster muzzles into their sides. Christine squealed in reflex and had a hand clapped over her mouth.

The third stranger stepped up close to Spock and threw back his hood, glaring malevolently. Only then did Spock recognize him.

"Tal!" he whispered.

"Yes," the Romulan answered. "It has taken me a long time to find you, Vulcan. And now it is time for payment of your debt."

"What debt?" Spock demanded tightly, all too aware of the blaster pressed against his stomach.

"To her. What you did to her," Tal responded. "You have no idea, do you?"

Spock remained silent.

"After she was released to the Federation, they bargained with Romulan Command for her return. After they had interrogated her for weeks, that is. Finally, she was returned to our people, but then her real ordeal began." Tal's eyes blazed. "I will skip the bloody details because I do not have time here to relate them. Suffice to say that, when Command finished with her, she was sent into exile. You would not recognize her, Spock. My beautiful, brave, valiant Talishka was stripped of command, dignity and heritage. She lives now imprisoned on a lonely world, and she will never see home again."

The Romulan glared at Spock, his face hard. "Since it was your doing that sent her there, you shall share that fate. Not on her world, of course. I would not subject her to that indignity. But on another I have chosen for you." He glanced at Christine. "I had planned on leaving you there alone, but I have a better idea now. You--" And he pointed at the woman. "--are one of the medical people who helped in this deception, are you not? How fitting then to add to our triumph. The two of you ... what a joke this is! ... a Vulcan man and a human woman together, trying to survive! It will reach its climax, if you will pardon me, when the Mating comes upon you! Will he die in madness, unable to bond with a human, or will he kill the woman in his fervor?" Tal laughed loudly. "Oh, this is better than I planned! I wish I could be there to watch!"

Spock was breathing heavily. "She had nothing to do with this, Tal. Leave her out of it."

"Very well. Then we shall simply kill her here." He brought his blaster up level with Christine's forehead. She gave a scream, muffled by the hand still over her mouth, and squirmed desperately.

"No!" Spock snapped, terrified that the Romulan would carry out his threat.

Tal lowered the weapon. "Then you do prefer my suggestion."

"Just do not harm her," Spock answered desperately.

Tal smirked again at him and brought out a communicator from the folds of his robe. "Raptor," he said into it. "Lock on and energize."

And then the beam of a Romulan transporter caught them and the station vanished around them.

* * *

The planet where they left them was Class M, beautifully Earth-like, but completely absent of sentient life. Spock had not the faintest idea of its location except that he suspected it was somewhere inside Romulan space. Tal had kept them locked in his brig for two days then forced them into the transporter room. On the pad were two small heaps of supplies.

"I will leave you with what they left her," he said. "Enough to get you started, then you are on your own."

And that was it. When Spock and Christine materialized on the planet surface with their small store of belongings, the awful fact hit them that they were stranded with no help in sight and no hope of rescue.

Around them stretched a wide plain, gently rolling and dotted with occasional trees. Knee-deep grass rippled in the breeze, green and lush, thick with small yellow flowers. Far off, they could see a herd of some sort of animals grazing placidly. The sky overhead was blue and streaked with white cirrus clouds, and something like birds darted about, chasing insects. It was utterly beautiful and utterly wild.

Uncaring about what he might think about it, Christine sank into Spock's arms and buried her face in the soft blue fabric covering his chest, giving herself over to hysterical sobs. He was too stunned to do anything but hold her and try to stay upright himself.

* * *

The baby's fussing woke Spock the next morning and he rolled over to find Christine sitting cross-legged on the furs, changing the infant's diaper. Seeing him awake, Christine smiled and said softly, "Good morning."

"Good morning," he answered, sitting upright. "Do you need any help?"

"You can dispose of that," she answered, indicating a wad of sphagnum moss and fluff she'd set to one side. She was in the process of packing more between T'Kai's legs and securing it with a rough square of chamois. The plant fluff cushioned the moss and made it more comfortable.

Spock got up and gingerly picked up the discarded diaper stuffing between thumb and forefinger and went outside, still clad only in his loincloth. Making his way down the hill to the little creek that flowed nearby, he tossed the moss into the water and watched it float away downstream. While there, he took the opportunity to relieve himself and then, after settling the buckskin covering back into place, squatted down to wash his hands in the swiftly flowing water.

Standing back upright, he pulled a twig off a tree branch and peeled the bark away with his thumbnail, then stuck it in his mouth and began to chew on the end. While he did so, he picked and peeled three more twigs and started back up the hill to the little earth-covered dwelling he shared with his family.

"I brought you a toothbrush," he said to Christine as he entered.

"Oh, thank you, sweetheart." She was holding T'Kai with one arm as the baby suckled and stirring boiling grain in a pot with the other hand.

Spock pulled on his leather breeches and secured them, then laced on his knee-high moccasins. The soles were getting worn, he noted. He'd have to think about a hunt that would secure them a hide tough enough that he could cut shoes. The children had gone barefoot all summer but would need foot coverings soon as cold weather approached.

Pulling his shirt on over his head, he went back to the fire and took over the cooking from Christine so that she could give her attention to her baby. "What are your plans today?" he asked her.

"We've got to prepare and start drying the apples," she answered. "Why?"

"Can you spare Sapel?"

"I suppose. What's up?"

Spock dished the porridge out into the little set of carved wooden bowls to allow it to cool a bit. "I need him to help me. I'm going to try to catch one of the little horses and it will be easier with two of us."

"Good idea," she answered and looked down at the child in her arms. "All done, sweetie-pie?" She disengaged the baby from her nipple and put her up to her shoulder to burp her. The older children began to stir, awakened by the smell of breakfast and the voices of their parents, and Spock reflected for a moment how content and comfortable he was now. It had been so different in the early days...

* * *

Spock let Christine cry for a little while then pushed her away from him. "That will do us no good, Miss Chapel. Our immediate concern is survival and overwrought emotions will only complicate the matter."

She wiped her face, attempting to get herself under control. "I'm sorry, Mr. Spock. You're right, as usual. But I'm scared out of my wits! What are we going to do?!"

He looked around them. "First ... I think we should see what sort of supplies the Romulans left us and then we can plan accordingly. Next, I believe finding shelter would be in order. Those animals grazing there are plant eaters and logic dictates that there must be some form of predator or predators that feed on them. Until we can identify the local wildlife, it would be wise to find a shelter that will give us the maximum protection." He scanned the countryside around them. "That copse of trees might be best. I suggest that it would be prudent to spend the hours of darkness on a level sufficiently above the ground to discourage ready access to ourselves and our supplies."

"You mean you want us to climb a tree?" she answered rather incredulously.

"Would you rather sleep on the ground and risk being eaten by the local equivalent of a lion?" he responded.

"Well, when you put it that way... All right ... let's check the supplies and then go pick out a tree."

The supplies consisted of several dozen parcels of dried military food cakes, a canteen of water each, a small portable analyzer unit for testing native plants, two hunting knives with scabbards and belts, a first aid kit, two blankets made of a woven material like wool, two plasticine rain capes, two pocket-sized fire starters, old-fashioned chemical-reaction scratch sticks in a waterproof box, and a small bound book written in Romulan. Thumbing through it, Spock deduced that it must be a military survival guide. It did them little good since neither of them spoke or read Romulan but some of the letters and words looked similar to Vulcan and he decided that he could eventually translate it.

This meager store was packed into two military backpacks and, after buckling on the knife, he swung his arms through the straps of one and settled it across his shoulders. Christine followed his example, her hands trembling so that it took her longer to get the buckle closed on her knife belt. Then, donning her own pack, she followed Spock as they set out across the grassland toward the trees they had spotted about a mile away.

The sun was beginning slip low into the west by the time they reached them. Once there, Spock set about the task of locating a suitable tree. Watching him, Christine ventured, "How do you know that there won't be predators up in the trees, too?"

"I do not. I merely surmise that our chances for surviving the night are greater off the ground than on it. At least until we are able to study our environment. Ah ... I believe this one will do."

Spock was staring up the trunk of a massive oak-like tree, its multitude of gnarled limbs spreading out in a wide canopy. The lowest limb was a good seven feet off the ground but offered easy access from there to a thick network of other limbs higher up.

"Do you think you can reach that limb if I give you a boost, Miss Chapel?" he asked, gauging the distance.

"Do I have a choice?" she responded rhetorically.

He bent slightly and formed a saddle with his hands and she put one foot in it, bracing her hands on both his shoulders. He bent forward a little more then abruptly launched her upward, his massive strength easily lifting her high enough to catch the overhanging limb. Still supporting her foot, he pushed her higher, enabling her to get a leg over and straddle the branch.

"So far, so good," she called down. "Now ... how are you going to get up here?"

"Catch my backpack as I toss it up," he instructed. "And please try not to fall out of the tree, if you will!"

"I'll do my best!" she retorted in an ironic tone. He swung the pack by the straps and it sailed up into her reach, where she caught it and hung it on the stump of a limb just above her. "Okay, now what?"

"Climb up a little farther."

A little laboriously, she did so, then looked down to see Spock bouncing on the balls of his feet, gathering himself. With a sudden lunge, he made a mighty leap upward. His hands caught the limb, slipped, then reaffirmed their grip. His muscles bulging, he pulled himself up waist high with the limb and swung one leg over it, then blew out his breath and looked up at Christine.

"Find a place where you can rest through the night," he said. "I shall do likewise. Then we can do nothing more than wait out the darkness."

It took a while and Christine both tore her stockings and obtained a long bloody scratch down her leg in the process but finally both of them had managed to lodge themselves into places where the massive branches forked out from the main trunk. It was actually fairly comfortable because they could lean back against the trunk and still remain secure enough that they had little fear of falling. Once there, they settled in for the night, managing to tuck their respective woolen blankets around them to ward off the evening chill, already becoming pronounced after the sun had set. They each sampled one of the Romulan food cakes and found them palatable if not truly appetizing.

By then it was truly dark and Christine began to be aware of the night that was coming alive around them. Insects scritched and cheeped from the grassy fields. Weird hooting sounds came from deeper in the woods behind them and was answered by hoots even farther away. Something moved along the ground below them but it was too dark to see what it was.

In the eastern sky, three small moons rose, one about the size of Earth's moon and the other two progressively smaller. They were all three about a quarter full and shed little light on the grasslands. Far out onto the plain, there was a sudden commotion, a high pitched shriek amid a burst of braying, punctuated by deep-throated roars. After a couple of minutes all was quiet again.

Christine reached over and groped for Spock's hand in the darkness, comforted when he caught and squeezed her hand in his. "What do you think that was?" she asked fearfully.

"Our theoretical predators making a kill," he answered matter-of-factly. "We shall try to locate the site in the morning and see what we can learn."

"I just hope our predators don't think we're breakfast," she replied and pulled her hand reluctantly back to herself as he released it.

A long time passed and Christine fell asleep despite herself. Snugged into the tree's embrace and with the blanket pulled up under her chin, she dreamed that she was sitting in her father's big easy chair at home. Spock was there, keeping watch, and she felt safe. He turned and looked down at her, his dark eyes warm and full of affection for her. His lips pulled into a smile and then that widened into a grin. He began to laugh, a malicious guffawing full of satisfaction and cruelty. It wasn't Spock anymore. It was the Romulan, Tal, and he began to lean in closer and closer to her face.

Christine jerked awake, remembering where she was a split second before she would have bolted upright. And then she froze in absolute terror. Something was peering around the limb just in front of her, staring directly at her with large, luminous eyes. Then she caught her breath in a gasp as the eyes seemed to grow suddenly closer.

Reflexively, she let out a terrified scream and the eyes vanished, accompanied by the sound of something scrambling down the trunk -- several somethings, in fact -- all giving voice to the hooting sound they'd heard earlier. Something latched onto her arm and she screeched again, jerking away before realizing that Spock had grabbed her, both out of surprise and to keep her from falling.

She clutched at his thigh. "Oh, God! What was that, Spock?"

"I don't know," he answered, his voice shaking. "Are you all right? Are you harmed?"

"No ... I'm okay," she sniffed. "Just so scared I nearly wet myself!" She burst into tears. "Oh, God ... I want to go home!"

He rubbed his hand up and down her arm, all that he could do. There was nothing he could say to comfort her. Finally, when her tears had eased, he said, "I believe it is near morning. Try to go back to sleep if you can. I shall stay awake and keep watch."

The shock and emotional burst left her feeling weak. She lay back against the tree trunk and pulled up the blanket once more. She didn't realize that she'd drifted off again until she opened her eyes and found the morning well under way.

* * *

Spock crouched in the tall grass, waiting, and watched the figure of his son move around to the far side of the herd. The little animals were alert, bunching together restlessly, but were unable to smell any of their usual predators. They could see Sapel but didn't know what he was.

The boy began an easy trot towards them and the herd stallion threw up his head and snorted loudly. That got the mares and foals moving and they started trotting as well ... right into Spock's ambush.

Spock held still until they were almost upon him then suddenly leaped to his feet and dashed straight at a mare that had come closer to him than the rest. She whinnied in fright and bolted, but her short legs did not give her enough acceleration to outdistance him at this short range. Calling upon his Vulcan strength and speed, Spock closed to within reach and made a grab at her streaming tail.

The little horse kicked back with one hind foot and swirled to meet her attacker, then was suddenly hit from the other side as Sapel launched himself at her and tackled her around the neck. She whipped back around, teeth bared, but then Spock had her by her sensitive nose and the two Vulcans wrestled the animal to a standstill.

She bucked and fought but after a few minutes gave up, her sides heaving, her eyes huge with fright. "It's all right now," Spock said soothingly to her, stroking the lathered dun hide, and Sapel did the same, keeping a secure grip on her mane nonetheless, both of them sending comfort thoughts to quiet her.

Gradually the animal seemed less frightened and Spock went to work, gently digging a finger into the corner of her mouth so that she was forced to open her jaws, then he slipped the noose of a woven leather rope over her lower teeth and secured it with a slip knot. Puzzled by the strange thing in her mouth, the horse champed her teeth and worked her tongue, trying to rid herself of it, but it was caught too firmly and after a while she got used to that, as well.

Sapel was now stroking her neck and patting her gently. "Good girl! It won't hurt, I promise. You caught a good one, Papa!"

Spock nodded. "They all seem fairly placid when not frightened," he confirmed. "Not very intelligent but she will serve our purpose."

He took some time to look over his catch. The animal, of course, was not really a horse but he and Christine had dubbed them that. Occasionally, his wife called them "mezzies" after the more scientific name Spock had given them. More than anything, they reminded him of mesohippus, a primitive prehistoric ancestor of the modern horse. The animals were about the size of a large dog, three-toed and with short, stocky legs supporting a body that was changing from a forest dweller to a plains animal. They were generally the color of yellowed grass with darker brown stripes almost like a zebra, a camouflage that worked extremely well on the open prairie. A stiff, dark-brown mane followed the crest of their necks, then became a stripe down their backs to the base of their tails, which, again like a zebra, was short-haired for about half its length before bursting into a thick tassel of long hair.

Spock now looped the leather braid around the back of the mezzie's head and back down to the jaw section. In a moment, he had fashioned a simple halter to control the animal. Taking a step forward, he urged her to go with him.

She balked, spooked by the strange sensation, but he was patient and gradually she began to take steps forward with him, Sapel guiding her from the other side. In a very short time, they had her walking nicely between them, and they began the journey home.

Sapel petted her and talked reassuringly to her, interspersing his horse talk with comments and questions to his tall father. Spock couldn't help glancing proudly at the boy, musing on how fast he was growing. This had been his tenth summer and he had sprouted like a sapling, slim, with arms and legs that seemed too long, a child's face that was on its way to becoming a man's. Despite the fact that he was three-quarters human, his physical features were Vulcan, concealing the fact that most of his heritage was Terran.

Sapel looked up at him and asked seriously, "Are we leaving soon, Papa?"

"Soon. I don't know yet when. There are still things to be done. Perhaps in a ten-day or two. We'll see."

"I heard you tell Mama we were going to the sea."

"Maybe. It's a long way. Again, I will have to see--"

Sapel erupted into sudden motion and Spock barely had time to realize what was happening before the boy's bola whipped out in a deadly blur. A second later it impacted a small, furry animal that leaped into the air and then fell back into the grass.

Sapel sprang after it and a few minutes later returned with the body of a long legged animal, holding it by its oversized hind feet. "Meat tonight!" he announced.

Spock nodded in approval. It had taken him a long time to accept the fact and even now his stomach still gave him a twinge of protest. He thought back to the early days when he steadfastly held onto his Vulcan upbringing, refusing to bow to the logic of their situation. He'd nearly starved to death...

* * *

They had found more or less permanent shelter six days later. Christine had declared that she'd risk getting eaten rather than spend another night in a tree and Spock was inclined to agree with her. Both of them were bruised and scraped, stiff and tired, and even Spock had to admit that it had only been a stop-gap measure.

The trees, as it turned out, followed the meandering course of a creek that cut through the plains and eventually flowed into a small river a few miles away. Having no better plan, the two exiles followed the creek along its route, exploring as they went, using the analyzer unit to test various edible looking plants along the way. There wasn't a lot. It appeared to be spring here and, while many trees and bushes were lush with blossoms and the promise of a good harvest months later, there was very little fruit left from last year's crop. Animals had eaten it all over the winter.

The creek itself flowed at the bottom of a channel eroded about ten feet deep into white limestone bedrock. Ankle-to-knee deep, it gurgled placidly along, shaded by overhanging trees on both sides, their roots exposed and bare. There were numerous places where Spock and Christine could make their way down to the water and here they found a wide variety of tracks in the sand and mud along the creek bank. Little fish-like creatures darted about in pools and once they surprised a long, slick animal that looked like a snake with legs. It plotted into the water and disappeared.

They spent their second night by the water on a sandbar that stretched across a bend in the creek bed. They managed to find enough deadwood to light a fire and the security of the limestone wall at their back made them sleep easier.

Nothing bothered them and they continued on in this manner for the next several days. On the sixth day, they reached a place where the creek emptied itself in a little waterfall over a small escarpment and into a pond at its base, then ran on through a shallow valley toward the river that they could see glinting about a mile away. Best of all, there appeared to be little caves eroded into the limestone and they spent the rest of the day "house hunting", investigating each one for size, depth and, most importantly, current occupants.

The biggest one stretched back about fifteen feet and ten feet high, the floor sloping gently towards the opening. A crack in the roof demonstrated its origin -- water had run in through the skylight and gradually eaten away at the stone. The "door" faced south and was wide enough to let in light but not so wide as to be impossible to close up if need be. And there didn't appear to be any evidence that something else called this hole "home".

Spock looked at Christine, his expression plainly asking her opinion. "I doubt that we will find anything much better," he said. "At least not right away."

"It suits me," she responded then grinned mischievously. "What do you think ... should you carry me across the threshold or drag me in by my hair?"

His eyebrows shot up to the line of his bangs. "Miss Chapel! You know that I would never do anything--"

"I was joking, Spock" she responded. "Well, I think I'll call this the kitchen, and that will be the living room, and ... oh, dear, there doesn't appear to be space for separate bedrooms and a gameroom, too. I guess we'll just have to work something out!"

"Indeed," he answered, still shocked by her earlier suggestion.

She grinned again and shrugged off her pack, becoming more serious. "I guess we should set up housekeeping then. So ... which side of the cave do you want?"

It didn't take long to unpack their meager belongings and arrange them. Spock spread his blanket out a little closer to the doorway since he was the lighter sleeper and had the most acute senses, thus being the more logical one to guard their front entrance. Christine laid hers down against the opposite wall, becoming aware that this was where they'd be living now and that Spock would be almost within arm's reach of her.

Traveling and camping each night, the situation had not seemed quite real to her. It wasn't "home" and her subconscious continued to hold onto the hope that somehow they would be found and rescued. Never had she been in any trouble from which she wasn't ultimately saved and brought back to her familiar surroundings. She was still in denial that their present circumstances was permanent. She had hidden behind the mental camouflage that this was merely a jaunt, a holo adventure, maybe even a dream, but still a safe screen to shield her from reality.

Spock was much more pragmatic, his Vulcan training forcing him to look at a situation and meet it head on. No matter that Christine was attempting to remain upbeat, he was extremely worried. They were moving from immediate survival methods and into long-term basics. Needing to think, he said, "I am going to gather some firewood. Why don't you see if you can find stones that are suitable for constructing a hearth ring? I shall return shortly. I saw a pile of drift wood not far away."

"Be careful," she admonished him. "There might be snakes or something in that brushpile!"

He nodded and started off. Walking down to the water's edge, Spock found a large flat rock and sat down on it, giving himself over to the subject of their survival. Logically, he ticked off the things he must consider -- food, clothing, shelter, tools -- and then he examined them one by one.

Shelter. That was the easiest. The little cave looked as if it would suffice. It appeared dry and snug, easily defended, although he would need to construct some sort of barrier that would keep out any predator that might attempt to enter it. He had no idea yet what sort of animals there might be here.

He added a fifth point -- exploration. They must find out about their surroundings, the plants and animals, the weather and seasons, geological conditions and any dangers they should be aware of, such as seismic activity. The contours of this little valley led him to believe that the creek flooded periodically, possibly even with flash floods. Fortunately, their new shelter was high enough that he hoped any flood waters would not reach it.

Subpoint -- the "smoke hole" needed to be examined for water flow pattern. It wouldn't do to have water pouring in every time it rained. Possibly he could build a chimney around it to encourage smoke draw and yet prevent water from entering.

Next point ... tools. That covered a broad range of things -- eating utensils, weapons, things with which to sew and cook and prepare leather. Tools to make other tools. Another subpoint -- look for flint nodules that would be suitable for flaking into knives, scrapers, axes, and other things. They would need to be alert to anything they could use -- shed antlers, bones, stones, wood, plants. Of necessity they must learn to make everything they would need.

That led to clothing. Much as he abhorred the idea, they would need to kill animals and learn to tan the hides. Their Starfleet uniforms were already showing wear and tear and would not last many weeks longer. Not to mention the fact that they had to wash them sometime and there was nothing to wear while the clothing dried. They would also need warmer clothing than they had. Presumably this planet's climate included a colder period and they would need furs, coats, warm boots, hats, all manner of arctic clothing to keep them warm.

Spock searched his memory and realized that he didn't know how to tan leather. He doubted that Christine did either. He would have to work diligently on translating the Romulan survival guide and hope that the information he sought was there.

Then he turned to the subject of food. They would have to diligently examine the area for edible plants -- tubers, fruit, grains. How many ways could they be prepared and eaten safely? Could grain be ground into flour? Would fruit keep if dried? What plants could be used as medicine? Which ones avoided at all costs?

Then, finally, he forced himself to think about a subpoint he'd been avoiding because it contained an unpleasant fact that he was not yet ready to face. Sooner or later, the food plants in the area would be exhausted and the only way they would be able to survive was by hunting. The thought of killing and eating an animal turned his stomach. Just thinking of roasting flesh or blood dripping from butchered animal tissue caused a wave of nausea to nearly overcome him.

No, he couldn't... He wouldn't eat meat. He'd starve first. Somehow, somewhere he'd find enough vegetable matter to survive. Vulcans were extremely resilient and could go for a long time on very little food. They proved that in the kahswan test.

That was only for a week, said a little voice in the back of his head. What are you going to do when weeks become months? You haven't been truly hungry yet. So hungry that you would eat anything to survive.

Spock shuddered and forced the thought away. He would deal with that when the time came, he told himself. Then, seeing that the sun had crossed into the western sky, he rose and made his way to the pile of driftwood that lay scattered against a bend in the creekbed. Christine would be getting worried about him and he wanted to be back well before dark.

* * *

Spock stopped what he was doing and flexed the fingers of his right hand, working the cramps out of the muscles. He had been working all morning, first in searching out a suitable stone to use as a hand axe, then finding another to chip off flakes from one end to sharpen it to an edge, then going in search of saplings or limbs that he could use to build a barrier.

He had a sizeable stack of wood laid out now but still needed more. Down on his knees beside a young sapling, he had been hammering away at its base, chips flying as the stone edge bit into the wood. He had rejected the idea of using the knife he'd acquired from the Romulans. He couldn't risk dulling it. The hand axe fit his palm nicely, but the rough surface on his uncalloused hands was beginning to wear and he felt certain that he'd have blisters by nightfall.

The sun had climbed to mid-day since he and Christine had set out this morning. He had assigned her the task of exploring the area for edible plants and collecting samples. Meanwhile, he had tackled his list of chores that would fortify their shelter and provide them with materials to make tools. He had included in his wood gathering both a supply of seasoned firewood and also straight timber that could be fashioned into spear shafts, arrows and bows.

All during the time that he labored, his agile mind was working on the problems of their survival. He hadn't slept last night, but sat at the entrance to their cave keeping watch, noting and beginning to catalog the sounds he heard during the evening and any movement his keen night vision had picked out in the valley. Christine had slept the slumber of the exhausted and occasionally he could not resist turning his gaze on her face and form, illuminated slightly in the pale light of the three moons filtering in through the smoke hole.

He had been decidedly uncomfortable to find himself imprisoned with her, his innate fear of emotional involvement nearly sending him into a panic. But then he'd taken that fear firmly in hand and banished it. For the entire time they'd been trapped here, outside of a couple of initial emotional outbursts, she had behaved exceptionally well, proving again her strength and resourcefulness.

And there was something else. Deep inside he was beginning to admit that he was aware of her as a woman and the fact that they were stranded here, like Adam and Eve, made him think ahead to a time that would inevitably come. He was about halfway through the cycle of his pon farr. If they survived that long, she was the only choice he had for bonding.

Not that he found that entirely displeasing, he hastily corrected himself. Indeed, he found that the thought of bonding with her did not distress him at all. Still, it was inappropriate to think of her in that context. Despite her early declaration of her love for him, she had been quite circumspect in displaying any further amorous actions. Perhaps it had all been simply the results of the Psi 2000 virus. He had certainly lost control and, if his rigid barriers could be breached so easily, then hers should prove even more vulnerable.

Spock sighed and went back to chopping at the sapling with his crude hand axe and was rewarded as the wood split and the little tree toppled. That was enough for this load, Spock decided, and carefully laid the axe down where he could easily find it again.

This was the third load of wood that he had transported back to the cave mouth since he began. The first load was unwieldy and he had devised a simpler method. Stripping off his blue tunic, which had begun to grow uncomfortably warm in any case, Spock had laid it down with the sleeves outstretched and laid the cut wood along its length. Then he had pulled the sleeves up around it and tied them securely. He did so now with this third load of wood, then squatted down, hefted the load onto his right shoulder, and stood, his muscles bulging underneath the snug black t-shirt he still wore. Then he started up the now familiar pathway along the shore of the pond.

He hadn't seen Christine since this morning and, after he dropped his load of wood onto the pile he'd accumulated, he decided to find her and make sure she was all right. As he walked back down to the shore, he heard splashing and searched out the source.

A bright flash of blonde hair and pink skin halted him in his tracks and he stared, absolutely astonished, at the sight of his companion submerging once more under the water. In a few seconds, she surfaced again with a brilliant spray and then, shoulder deep, pushed her wet hair out of her face.

Spock recovered from his surprise and marched down to the water's edge. "Miss Chapel!" he demanded. "What do you think you're doing?!"

"Oh, Spock!" She ducked a little bit lower. "I just couldn't stand myself anymore. I decided I had to have a bath!"

"It was very foolish to go into the water alone," he admonished her. "If you wanted to bathe, you should have let me know so that I could stand guard."

"What? And have you ogle me in the altogether?"

His eyebrows went up in offense. "Miss Chapel, I do not 'ogle' women. I am quite capable of turning my back to protect your privacy."

She grinned mischievously. "How could you see whether anything got me then?" she asked.

"I could not," he admitted, crossing his arms and gazing at her serenely. "I would have to be guided by any screams you emitted during the process."

Christine laughed and then paused, caught by the sight of him. She couldn't help but be struck by his sheer masculinity as he stood clad all in black, his arms mostly bare, the regulation t-shirt showing off his physique as the velour tunic did not. She felt her body give a distinct throb of desire. "You could use a bath yourself, you know," she commented. "Why don't you join me, Spock? The water is wonderful."

One eyebrow went up again and he tilted his head slightly. "I think not, Miss Chapel. It would be improper for the two of us to swim unclothed."

"Spock, it's just you and me here," she replied. "Who cares what's proper and what's not?"

"I do," he answered, his gaze level.

She peered back at him for a long moment, their eyes meeting, and she saw that he was completely serious. And then she smiled again as her love for this man soared even higher. He was completely honorable and completely honest, and she knew that she could trust him as she had never trusted any man before.

"Okay," she said. "I'm coming out. Turn around."

For a second, the thought of her emerging naked from the water made Spock freeze, caught by a pulse of urgency that surged through him. Then he did as she asked and he listened to the splashes as she waded out close by. There were other sounds and then she said, "All right. I'm dressed."

He turned to find her clad not in her uniform but in a dress-of-sorts consisting of one of the rain ponchos from their survival gear, tied at the waist with a belt made of her dark tights. They had become increasingly ragged during the days of travel and Christine had finally come close to discarding them altogether. But then she'd realized that they couldn't afford to throw anything away and had found another use for them.

Spock raised an eyebrow at her bare-legged, barefoot appearance, her hair slicked back and dripping. "Where is your uniform?" he asked.

"I washed it. It stunk to high heaven and I couldn't stand it anymore." She gestured to her new attire. "It was this or go naked while it dried."

"Very resourceful of you," he commented, although again the mental vision of her nude body flashed through his mind. "Come back to the cave and show me what you found in the way of plants. I am most curious to sample the local cuisine. Meantime, I have a question for you... Can you tan leather?"

* * *

The flickering firelight made it difficult to decipher the glyphs of the Romulan language, but Spock worked at it diligently night after night. It was beginning to make some sense to him, enough so that he could follow the context of the writing. After a while, his eyes began to ache and he looked up at Christine who was sitting on the other side of the fire from him. She was using an antler point to scratch marks into a shoulder blade that they'd found in a bone pile a little further down the river. Spock hadn't identified to which animal it belonged although he strongly suspected it to be an elk-like creature that he saw occasionally.

Now he peered curiously at Christine and asked softly, "What are you doing?"

"Making a calendar," she answered. "We've been here twenty-two days and I want to be sure and keep track."

"All you have to do is ask me for that information," he replied mildly. "I know exactly how long we have been here."

She glanced up. "You do now, but what about later? And, anyway, there are some things I need to keep a count on that you wouldn't know about."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Indeed?" She didn't answer him, going back to her intense scratching. He looked at her closer and thought that the color of her face had deepened. That made him even more curious. "Like what?" he prompted.

She finally looked up at him and he saw that she was indeed blushing a bit. "All right, like my period," she responded, irritated. "I started my period yesterday and I need to keep track of it, okay? Any other personal information you'd like to know?"

Embarrassed, he backed off and looked down at his book. "No," he answered in a quiet voice. "I apologize, Christine. I violated your privacy."

She was silent for a moment then replied, "It's okay, Spock. I don't suppose there's such a thing as privacy here, living the way we do. It's just that I need to have some idea ... um ... well, if we ever ..." She shut up and looked away.

He had lifted his head and was staring at her, perplexed. "If we ever what?" he asked in a whisper, somehow knowing what her answer would be.

She swallowed, realizing she'd said too much to retreat from the subject. "Spock ... I do not want you to get the idea that I have ulterior motives or anything like that. I know that our history has been really strained, but I'm trying to be realistic. You're a man and I'm a woman and we're alone here. I think it would be logical to assume that at some point in time we're going to find ourselves ... well, you know ... with ... urges that we need to ... act on."

"Indeed," he answered softly, unable to look at her directly. "That thought has also crossed my mind."

"Well ... when it does ... happen ..." she went on uncertainly, "the only form of ... birth control we're going to have is ... what used to be called the rhythm method. My knowledge of where I am in my monthly cycle. Whether I'm fertile or not."

"I see," he said quietly. "It had not occurred to me that we might face that problem. I suppose the only other reliable course of action would be celibacy."

She looked around at him then and her eyes held a subtle pain in their depths that surprised him. "Yes, I suppose that would be best," she murmured, but her eyes were saying just the opposite. Despite her words, there was a longing in her gaze that pulled at him. And he suddenly realized that, having made the pronouncement that there should be no physical relationship between them, he was beset with the need for just that.

With determination, he fought it down and took control of himself once more. "Perhaps you should return to your work and I shall return to mine," he suggested. She nodded and looked back to the carving she was doing. But he found it nearly impossible to concentrate on his translating for the rest of the evening, now incredibly aware of her just across the fire from him.

* * *

Spring drifted into summer and heat shimmered across the yellowing grasslands. Spock had found and translated the section in the survival guide that covered tanning leather ... and had been absolutely horrified to discover that the procedure involved soaking a hide in either urine or a soup of brains and water in order to break down the tissues and make it pliable. Bad enough that it involved killing an animal and stripping its skin off, but this was so abominable to him that he simply could not deal with it.

Fortunately, Christine was less squeamish and, while feeling initially nauseated, undertook to learn the skill. Her first efforts weren't very successful, but gradually she improved until she was able to transform bloody, hairy pelts into supple, workable, lengths of leather. By this time she was also experimenting with making clothing, following picture guides in the Romulan book. Once she got the hang of it, she began improvising.

That left, of course, the question of what to do with the carcasses of the animals they killed. Here they reached an impasse. While again Christine was pragmatic and even hard-nosed about it, insisting that the meat not be wasted but be cooked and eaten, Spock again ran headlong into his cultural taboos and steadfastly refused to do so. Although he gradually became accustomed to the sight and smell of roasting meat, he would not touch it. More than once he got up and left the campfire, disappearing into the darkness until the odor had dissipated. Christine followed him once and found him sitting in the darkness on the little bluff above their campsite, breathing in the cool, sweet air that blew across the plains, cleansing his lungs of the scent he found so abhorrent.

Fortunately, the grasslands were bountiful in their harvest. They learned where to find early ripening fruit, where to dig tubers and pick young greens, where to gather nuts and seeds and other plants that were edible. Spock subsisted on these, enough to nourish him, but not enough to provide any excess calories. Always slim, he grew even leaner, his muscles hard from the physical labor of their day to day existence. He often went shirtless as he worked in the day's heat and his skin grew deeply bronzed with a verdant patina that made him look like a cast statue come to life. And, as his deep black hair grew longer and began to brush his shoulders, he took to tying it back with a leather strip or holding it in place with a headband.

Christine changed as well. She'd always considered herself just a little bit on the plump side, but any excess fat she might have had melted away. She too became lean and hardened, tanned and strong. As her skills at leatherwork improved, she made herself a simple dress to replace the ragged uniform. And, as summer wore on and her boots became much too hot to wear, she managed to cut moccasins and lace the pieces together with strips of rawhide. Then she tackled the job of making clothing for Spock, leggings and a breechclout and moccasins.

The daily basics of survival began to grow easier to accomplish and they had time occasionally to walk together out across the grassland in the evening, talking, learning of themselves and each other, beginning to grow close in the ways of a man and a woman. They had maintained their self-made promise of psychological distance between them, but both were finding it harder and harder to do so. Their close lifestyle, so dependent upon one another for survival, working side by side during the day and then the nearness of the other at night, combined with growing friendship to wear away at the barriers.

They had been in their new home for three turnings of the moons when Spock returned from the stream, bearing water in a waterbag they had made from the cleaned and scrubbed stomach of an elk. He found Christine bent over her grinding stone laboriously milling grain into rough flour. With it they had discovered how to make tough flat bread, gritty and unleavened but which vastly expanded their menu. She was having an exasperating time of it this evening because her hair kept escaping its tie and falling into her face. She would push it away with the back of her hand, but inevitably it returned to annoy her.

Spock smiled at her predicament and, setting down the waterbag, said, "Here, let me..."

He moved around behind her and knelt at her back, then untied the leather strip that held her hair loosely in place and began combing through her unruly locks with his fingers, gently pulling it together. It had grown long and thick and curled around his fingers as he worked. Loving the way it felt as he smoothed his palms over it, he stroked through it again and again, gathering it into the gentle grip of one hand while retrieving errant strands with his other. Then, with careful movements, he divided it into three parts and began weaving it together into a braid.

Christine had closed her eyes and leaned her head back, lost in the feel of his big warm hands caressing her hair, ever-so-gently tugging and manipulating it until she gave a little sound of contentment at his touch. She felt him tie the braid with the leather string, then he unexpectedly stroked her hair once more and released her, rising to his feet, returning to his evening chores, giving her an affectionate smile as he did so. She felt very cold, very empty with his warm presence gone from behind her, and it took her a long time to still the furious pounding of her heart.

* * *

As the sun spread its final light of the day across the land, Christine climbed up the gentle slope of the bluff to where Spock was standing, gazing out across the grasslands. The golden light was painting his features and naked torso with a sheen of warmth, and his hair, loose about his shoulders, ruffled in the breath of wind stirring across the hilltop. Clad in his buckskin breeches and loincloth, she couldn't help thinking that he looked like an ancient warrior of the American plains, proud and fierce. Bathed in the radiant light, he was an apparition from the past, both from her world and his, for she imagined that his Vulcan ancestors appeared much the same.

Then he turned and caught sight of her and his warm smile brought her back to the present. As she reached him, he offered her his hand and pulled her up beside him, then turned his attention back to what he'd been watching.

Christine scanned the horizon then asked, "What are you looking at?"

"The weather," he answered, nodding in that direction.

She looked back and saw what he was talking about. The day had been oppressive -- hot and muggy, the air still and heavy, with barely any breeze. Now, in the late afternoon, massive thunderheads were building on the western horizon, their wide bases black with unshed rain, the sun's rays breaking underneath and highlighting the turbulence there. The sound of distant thunder reached them, barely more than a low grumble.

"Do you think it will hit us?" Christine asked.

"I don't know," Spock answered. "I should think we will get rain from it at the very least."

Thunder rumbled again, louder this time, and if they watched closely they could see the crowns of the cumulus towers roiling and building higher into the upper atmosphere. The tops began to spread out in the high winds of the stratosphere, flattening into anvils that raced out ahead of the main body of the storm. Far off, lightning cracked in a brilliant streak from the cloud base and in a moment the thunder of its strike reached them.

Enthralled by the sight of nature at its most powerful, the two people stood silently and watched as the sun sank below the hills and the thunderstorm continued to build. A wide rain shaft now slanted from the cloud base and lightning played through the thunderhead's billowing body, its thunder increasing.

Wind rippled suddenly across the grassland like a wave on a wide green ocean and washed over the two people with delicious coolness, bringing with it the clean sharp scent of rain.

"Oh, smell that!" Christine said, lifting her face to the breeze. "It's wonderful!"

"The gust front off the storm," Spock replied, his hair whipping about his cheeks.

The wind picked up in strength, buffeting them. As Christine staggered slightly, Spock slipped an arm around her shoulders to steady her, then pulled her against him as a sudden crash of thunder made her jump in startled reaction. She buried her face in the comforting heat of his bare chest then slowly looked up into his face as she realized that he still had her enfolded in his embrace.

His dark eyes were intent upon hers, his expression serious and filled with an indefinable longing. Something told her that the time she had spoken of so long ago, the time they had been avoiding, had come. Whatever had made them hesitant to come together, whatever had made a barrier between them, was gone and the only place she wanted to be was here in his arms.

Slipping her hands up around his back, she returned his intent gaze as her heart pounded wildly, her eyes saying all that was necessary. The wind lashed her unbound hair across her face and he absently reached up to smooth it away, leaving his broad palm resting against her cheek, his lips parting slightly as if he meant to speak but couldn't. She could feel the longing in his touch, almost radiating out through his whole body, the last threads of hesitancy breaking as she lifted her face to him.

He met her halfway, their lips coming together in a kiss of surrender on both their parts. Suddenly, everything was right, complete, between them. He crushed her against him, devouring her mouth as if he were starving and she returned the hunger for him full measure. Clutching each other desperately, they scarcely noticed as the first fat drops of rain began to fall, breaking apart only when another boom of thunder shook the air.

"Come on," Spock said, taking her by the hand and urging her back the way she had come. "We must get into shelter."

They ran, losing their race with the rain. By the time they reached the cave mouth, both of them were soaked and Christine was laughing as they gained the sanctuary of their home. Spock wedged the wooden gate into place to block the rain, then turned in the semi-darkness to find that Christine was standing at the back of the cave beside her bedding, and had already begun to unlace the wet dress. Her back to him, she let it drop to the floor and reached up to shake out the blonde mass of her hair, allowing it to tumble down her naked back.

He stood transfixed at the sight of her pale, feminine form in the half-light of the cave, the breadth of her shoulders and the concave line of her waist, the soft contours of her hips and the long clean length of her legs. Before he knew what was happening, he was moving toward her, his heart pounding as if it would explode.

"Christine," he whispered and she turned, looking up at him, her eyes full of love for him, ready and eager. In the next instant she was in his arms, their lips melded together in a fiery kiss. His strong arms threatened to crush her but she didn't care. She was only aware of his tongue dueling against hers, of his bare chest pressing against her breasts, of the growing hardness throbbing against her welcoming softness.

Outside the storm descended in all its fury, rain pummeling down in sheets as thunder crashed and lightning crackled across the sky. They were oblivious to it, intent only on the storm raging between them. As they kissed and their hands roved over muscles and limbs, somehow he managed to rid himself of his clothing, then together they sank down onto her blanket and their lips found each other once more.

Neither had the desire for play or teasing, at least not this first time. They both had waited too long already, and she eagerly opened herself to receive him, an invitation he accepted immediately. With assuredness and strength, he hefted himself into place and, as thunder shook the ground beneath them, he plunged his length into her.

She cried out and clutched at him, lifting her hips to meet his, and he breathlessly drew back and then buried himself in her again. She wrapped her legs around his hips and dug her nails into his back, sending him into a delirium of desire such as he'd never before experienced. To the accompaniment of the driving rain outside their shelter, he bent his face into her shoulder and began to thrust hard and fast into her hot depths. It took only moments before he lost any semblance of control and felt his whole gut twist in a massive orgasm. She hung onto him harder and gave a long, gasping cry.

Pausing, he caught his breath then began pumping into her again. He was still hard and hungry, not at all satiated by this first time and, judging by her reaction, neither was she. The second time, with the urgency dulled a bit, he took longer, varying his movements to give her more pleasure, bringing her to a peak several times before he finally found that he could hold back no longer. Shifting, he plunged deep into her again and quickly brought himself to an explosive conclusion.

He held his place for a minute longer, savoring the exquisite internal quivers of her fading ecstacy, then he lifted himself from her and rolled off her to one side. For a moment they lay there, breathing heavily, then he sat up and reached far over her, managing to snag his own blanket, and covered them both with its warmth. The rain had cooled the temperature inside the cave and he pulled her lush body into the heat of his embrace.

"I didn't expect this," she whispered, smiling, her blue eyes dreamy and soft.

"Nor I," he answered, caressing her cheek with his fingertips. "But there is a great deal to be said for spontaneity."

"Mmmm ... that's for sure..." she sighed and snuggled against him, closing her eyes. As she dozed off, she murmured, "There's a great deal to be said for thunderstorms, too. They bring out a very interesting side of you!"

* * *

It was still raining heavily when Christine opened her eyes and she immediately missed Spock's presence by her side. Lifting her head, she saw that he was kneeling beside the fire, adding wood and building it back into a blaze.

As he stood and turned back to her, she nearly caught her breath at the stunning image he presented. He was naked and the firelight limned his figure in a coppery light, his black hair hanging about his shoulders and painted with the dancing illumination of the flames. He was the utter primitive, First Man, strong and primeval and untamed. And she wanted him with the same kind of fierce wildness that he now seemed to possess.

He slipped back underneath the blanket and drew her into his arms and she melted against him as he kissed her, his tongue probing in between her lips to tease and fence with her own. But then he pulled back somewhat and he was again her beloved Spock, peering at her with soft affection.

"It was getting cold in here," he said.

"There must be some way that we can warm up," she smiled back at him, giving her pelvis a little grind against his. She was rewarded by an immediate twitch of attentiveness.

"Undoubtedly," he agreed softly. "Shall I make tea for you?"

She shook her head and rubbed her hips against his once more. "I don't want any tea."

"Soup, then? I believe there is some broth remaining that I could reheat for you."

"No, not soup either." She began moving her pelvis rhythmically against the wonderful hardness beginning to be evident between them.

"Well, I'm afraid I'm at a loss," he answered as seriously as he could. "It is raining much too hard to heat enough water outside for a bath. Do you want to go and stand by the fire?"

She slid one leg over his thigh and pulled him against her. "I want to make our own fire," she murmured and brought her lips down onto his. The playful banter stopped as they devoted their energies to generating that fire.

He rolled over onto his back, taking her with him, and she straddled his hips, loving the feel of his pulsing heat against her sensitive womanhood. Bent over him, she continued to trade kisses with him, then she straightened, lightly raking her nails down over his chest.

Underneath her, he shuddered and caught his breath, then reached up to cup her full breasts, stroking and massaging them until the nipples stood hard and high. Pulling her back down to him, he raised his head and flicked his tongue over one, finally sucking it into his mouth and working it with a roughness that expertly stayed just below the threshold of pain. Then he released it and moved to the other. Christine was gasping with ecstasy by the time he finished.

As he lay back, she leaned over and did to him very nearly the same thing, licking and tonguing his nipples erect. Then she did him one better. Moving lower, she trailed her kisses and teasing tongue down the line of hair across his stomach and into his navel. His flesh quivered beneath her mouth and she made a note of his ticklish spots, moving still farther down his abdomen.

As she neared the object of her search, she felt him tense suddenly and understood that he might not be experienced in what she wanted to do next. Looking up, she gazed at him and asked softly, "Shall I stop?"

He wet his lips and then shook his head. "No. If it pleases you, it pleases me." His steadfast expression encouraged her and she smiled and bent back to her task.

The only times she had ever seen him naked had been in totally clinical situations, when he was lying unconscious on an operating table and even then his body had been quickly draped. She had always been utterly professional about it, never allowing herself to see him in any other way while in her charge.

It was much different now. Bending over his rigid masculinity, breathing in his hot musky scent, knowing that soon all of her senses would be in play, Christine allowed herself the total sexual release that she had scarcely known existed within her. Closing her eyes lazily, she trailed the tip of her tongue up the length of his erection, tasting him, feeling his heat, hearing his gasping intake of breath as she swirled her tongue over the sensitive head.

He muttered something in Vulcan, softly, causing her to open her eyes and look at him. "What did you say?"

He shook his head slightly, his eyes closed tight. "Nothing," he answered in a strained voice. "An oath. An invocation of the Goddess."

She smiled and bent to cover his hot shaft with light kisses and an occasional nip to tease him. Nibbling her way back to the top, she suddenly changed her tactics, clutching him snugly about the base and taking as much as she could into her mouth.

His whole body jerked and he reflexively gripped the blanket beneath him. As she worked him against the roof of her mouth, his hips began to pump up below her and he groaned loudly. "Oh, Goddess, Christine! Please stop! Now!"

She did so at once, sitting up. "Did I hurt you? I'm sorry, Spock!"

He was panting for breath, then suddenly reached down and grasped her upper arms, pulling her atop him and crushing her lips to his in a devouring kiss. Quickly he rolled them both over and mounted her, lunging into her with frantic thrusts. Almost at once, he was over the edge, filling her with liquid fire. Then he collapsed on her, spent.

She peered up at him, worried, and slipped her fingers through the ebony strands hanging across his face, tucking them back behind the pointed tip of one ear. "Spock?" she asked again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

He shook his head and gazed down at her, still breathing heavily. "You did not hurt me. On the contrary, I was on the verge of hurting you. When you took me in your mouth, you aroused me almost beyond my ability to control myself. If I hadn't stopped you, I would have ... well, I would have injured you seriously."

He closed his eyes once more and rested his forehead against her neck. "I fear this, Christine. I should not be this sensitive."

"Perhaps because it's been so long since--"

"No! A Vulcan may be celibate the majority of his life without any adverse reactions. It is only when..." He halted and against her skin she felt his brows bunch together in pain. "No! It is not yet time! Not for years yet!"

Christine's heart constricted and she felt her throat tighten until she could scarcely breathe. "Oh, my God..." she whispered and slipped her arms around him to hold him tighter, realizing that the heat radiating from his body was more than could be accounted for by either exertion or the hearthfire.

* * *

Spock, attired once more in leggings and loincloth, moved to the far side of the cave, kneeling down on a fur spread before the hearth. His fingers steepled before his face, he sank deep into meditation, seeking to find within himself the answers that he needed.

Christine dressed as well, pulling on a leather gown she'd made. She'd been experimenting with beading it in tiny bones and bright pebbles she'd been collecting, but the design wasn't finished yet. Nevertheless, her other clothing and shoes were wet and laid out to dry by the fire along with those Spock had worn. She was careful not to disturb him, quietly heating up the leftover broth and adding a handful of crumpled, dried meat to it. Once it was hot, she took the bowl back to her sleeping place, sipping the mixture as she turned over the events that had occurred.

His heightened sexuality should have alerted her, but she had been too besotted by his attention to notice anything amiss. She had simply thought that at long last he was beginning to love her, letting down his emotional guard as his feeling for her grew. Now to discover that it was this ... That what he'd been feeling was nothing more than the sudden increase in testosterone output that presaged pon farr. He didn't want her. He wanted her body. He needed her for sex in order to survive.

Christine blinked back tears as she forced herself to finish her supper. Very well. She wouldn't deny him. It would be tantamount to murder if she refused to allow him sexual release. Then a chill went over her as a more frightening thought leaped up -- what if he refused to be denied and took her anyway? There wasn't another female to choose from. He didn't have any choice but to use her for his needs. And there wasn't any hope of evading him. Vulcans were twice as strong and fast as humans in any case. A fully aroused Vulcan male in the heat of pon farr would be three times so. Maybe more.

Christine looked across at the man with whom she'd been living these past months, on whom she'd depended for survival and companionship and protection. The man who had made glorious love to her earlier that evening and who had sent her soaring to realms of ecstasy she'd never known. How could she believe that he could harm her? That the fervor and emotion she'd tasted in his kisses and felt in his arms had been nothing more than rampaging hormones?

She shook her head in denial. No, she couldn't believe that. She knew Spock, had grown to understand his every expression and nuance. If nothing else, she knew without doubt that his was the kindest, more caring soul she'd ever met. If he turned to her in his time of need, it was because he trusted her as much as she trusted him.

She wouldn't betray that trust. She had felt his love for her radiating from his mind to hers and knew that she would do anything he asked of her, anything he needed. Willingly. Gladly. 'Til death do us part...

Setting her bowl down, Christine rose and quietly moved to the other side of the fire, kneeling down to face him. Gently, she covered his clasped hands with both of hers and he opened his eyes to look at her, his gaze dark and intense, locking onto hers. Nothing needed to be said but she said it anyway. Reaching up to caress his fevered cheek, she whispered the word that made them one.

"Husband."

* * *

Spock left at dawn to seek seclusion and meditate as the blood fever increased within him. He was gone for two days. Christine tried not to worry about him and went about her daily chores, working on the hides stretched on frames beside their dwelling, preparing food for both short term and long term consumption, hauling water up from the stream where it ran swift and clean over rocks. But still she felt his absence keenly, constantly expecting him to be there.

Indeed, as time wore on, she realized that she did have the faint sense that he was somewhere near. She could almost feel him. It was not like a telepathic bond but just a sensation that, if she turned around, he would be somewhere close. But whenever she did give in and look for him, he was nowhere to be seen.

That sense of disquiet increased throughout the second day, making her jittery, as if something was sneaking up behind her, ready to pounce. As night came on, she ate a light supper and finally stretched out on her blanket, tense, almost too nervous to sleep. Something was wrong but she couldn't figure out what. Every sound in the night made her jump slightly and search the darkness for movement.

There was none. The sounds were only the ones she'd long grown used to hearing ... the barking and braying of the herds of little horse-like creatures out on the grasslands, the high pitched peep of a night flyer similar to a bat, the far off sound of the animals that they'd dubbed "hooters" which had frightened them so their first evening here. They'd turned out to be nothing more than lemurs, their huge eyes adapted for night hunting and their loud calls as territorial challenges to one another. The first time Spock had referred to them as hooters, Christine had burst into laughter, then had to explain that the word had once been used as a derogatory synonym for large breasts.

The memory of his expression made her smile now and she relaxed more. She settled down, willing herself to go to sleep.

Christine had no idea how long she'd slept when she suddenly jerked awake to find Spock on his hands and knees crouching over her. He looked terrible, his hair disarrayed, his face flushed, his eyes abnormally bright.

Before she could speak, he leaned down and captured her mouth in a rough, hungry kiss. He was burning up with fever, nearly scorching her with his touch. He forced his tongue between her lips, his hands groping simultaneously down her body to find the hem of her gown. Fending him off, she found that he had already stripped off his clothing and was naked.

She managed to shove him away. "Spock! What--"

"Now, Christine!" he said in a painful, strained voice. "I need you now!"

"Wait a minute! Let me get this off then," she answered, still groggy from sleep, and proceeded to pull the soft leather dress over her head, aware that he was shaking in his effort to control himself even that long.

As soon as she had tossed it aside, he pushed her onto her back and moved atop her. Without preamble, he forced her legs apart but she again stopped him. "No, Spock! I'm not ready. I'll tear without lubrication. You have to get me ready."

He squeezed his eyes shut in genuine pain. "I cannot wait, Christine!" he said through clenched teeth.

"Yes, you can," she whispered and gently caressed his hot cheek. "I'll help you."

Her voice and touch were like cooling water and he opened his eyes to stare down at her. Then, still poised to enter her, he abruptly moved his hands to her face, locking his fingertips instinctively into the proper positions. Immediately she felt his strong presence inside her head and she jerked away reflexively, so strange was the sensation.

He held her firmly. My mind to your mind, t'hy'la. My thoughts to your thoughts, his voice purred throughout her consciousness, rich as molasses, deep as night. It soothed her, comforted her, was familiar and blotted out any unpleasantness. Join fully with me now, my beloved. Enter into me as I enter into you now. Wrap yourself in me and let us be one being, one heart, one mind.

Anything outside of this world of their entwined psyches had ceased to be. Her soul melted into golden ribbon like butter, her sun brightness mixing and blending with his night darkness. Nothing was hidden between them, nothing. She knew his pain and his joys, his rage at injustices and the sweet soaring of triumph, the hatreds he had concealed and the loves he had dared not show either.

She shared with him all that was within herself and opened to him the endless longing she had felt for him, the fantasies she had dreamed, the all too brief moments when she had cherished a look in her direction, a faint touch as they worked together, the sound of his voice, the sight of his face.

Time had no meaning here. They journeyed to Earth and Vulcan and a hundred other worlds, reliving and sharing moments and places that had pleased them. She looked down at two little feet, scooting through and wiggling toes in soft hot red sand and lifted her eyes to an orange sky and black volcanic mountains. He climbed up the face of a high snow-colored gypsum dune and looked across the expanse of a sea of white sands sparkling under a New Mexico moon. She savored the melting creaminess of a'qa'sii against her tongue on the shores of a copper ocean and it instantly became the flavorful burst of lime sherbet in his mouth as blue waves and sea froth washed around his ankles and feet.

Together they floated in the vast blackness watching the roiling vapors of the Orion Nebula build into solar system-sized knots of multi-colored gases, condensing over the ages into new worlds and stars. They flew with the avians of Kalendria 2, possessing their own spans of opalescent wings that took them high above the jungles and aerie-like cities. Deep they dove into the oceans of Palanka, to the coral abodes of the Tk'ok-i, the gentle intelligent cetoids that did indeed seem more like the legendary merfolk of Earth than the dolphinesque creatures from which they were descended.

Finally, they found themselves where they wished to be most, snuggled together beside the remnants of their burnt-out hearthfire, arms still holding one another, faces still close, apart physically but still bonded mentally into one soul. Parted from me but never parted ... never and always touching and touched...

Christine noted absently that, outside, the sun was setting as the day waned. Hadn't it been full night when Spock had awakened her? How much time had passed? she wondered muzzily. But then he stirred in his sleep and pulled her a little closer against him and she drifted back into exhausted slumber, content and secure in his arms.

* * *

Christine awakened to soft kisses brushing her eyelids. As she stirred and opened her eyes, she saw that Spock was bending over her, watching her with gentleness and affection in his features. It was morning and he looked as if he'd been up for some time already. Clean, dressed, his long black hair pulled back and tied into a ponytail, he peered at her smiling and asked softly, "How are you feeling?"

She started to move and her whole body screamed in protest. She lay back down with a grimace. "Awful! Did you see the speeder that hit me?"

He smiled again and answered, "Here, drink some of this tea. It will make you feel better." He supported her in raising up enough to sip from the cup he brought to her lips. It was hot and a little bitter, although she could taste honey in it, sweetening the mixture. When she'd had several swallows, he laid her back down and said seriously, "It is always bad afterwards. If we were on Vulcan, you would have women to care for you until you recover but I'm afraid you will have to make do with me."

She blinked up at him. "What happened, Spock?"

He was silent for a few seconds then answered, "Pon farr happened. It is bad enough for Vulcans but for a human to be forced to undergo it..."

"I wasn't forced," she whispered.

"Nevertheless... I regret that I injured you," he responded softly, trailing a fingertip down her cheek. "I did everything I could during our Bonding to insure that you would not feel the pain but I fear that I was not very successful in controlling myself."

She reached up to cup his face in her hands. "It was the most magical thing I've ever experienced. I just wish I'd been able to fully experience our wedding night."

He shook his head. "That was not our wedding night, t'hy'la. And you would not have been able to endure it fully awake. Even a Vulcan woman is shielded from the ravages of her mate's pon farr by a deep mind meld. The Mating is violent and prolonged. Until the blood fever abates, it is best for the woman that she be protected from the abuses being heaped upon her. It is why a mating couple is almost never left alone. The male's friends stand by in case he becomes too violent and the woman's friends are there to care for her afterward. That is why I feared this time so much. Because we are alone here and I could not be certain how it would affect us."

"You said 'prolonged'," Christine commented, remembering the seeming erratic passage of time. "How long..."

"Three days," he whispered. "Approximately 54 hours all told. The fever finally burned itself out yesterday about sundown and we simply slept throughout last night."

"Three days..." she murmured. "No wonder I feel like I'm going to explode! Help me up. I've got to go outside!"

He assisted her to her feet and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, then with a supporting arm around her back, walked her down to the spot at a swiftly flowing part of the creek they used as a latrine. It was downstream of their camp, hidden by a copse of bushes and the rush of water was as good as a flush sani. He left her so that she could have some privacy, then waited until she called him again and aided her shaky return to the cave.

She didn't quite make it back before her legs gave out beneath her and he quickly swung her up into his arms and carried her the rest of the way. She clung to his neck, burying her face in his shoulder, loving the strength and security she felt there. Once back inside, he gently deposited her on her bed -- their bed now -- and said softly, "You rest now. I'm goiing to heat some water to bathe you and then cook some grain."

Over the next few days, she slowly recovered as Spock cared for her with gentleness and dedication. She felt badly bruised internally and bled lightly when she got up. She wondered just had much damage she'd actually sustained but had no way of knowing for sure. He prepared her hot compresses to ease the pain and did what he could, but only at night, when he held her and opened their Bond fully with his touch, did she feel complete relief.

She cried a little sometimes, feeling a bit of irrational anger at him for hurting her, but then she shoved that part of her back down. He'd had very little control over what had happened and had honestly shielded her as much as he was able. Late one evening, sitting in the dark with the fire burning low, he had managed with a great deal of hesitation and reluctance to explain why it had been so difficult.

"Vulcans are humanoids, Christine," he said softly, self-consciously poking the embers with a stick and focusing his gaze there. "But they are not humans. Because I am half-human and because I live and work among humans, I am regarded, consciously or subconsciously, as being as human as they. Superficially that is an apt comparison, because Vulcans and humans are much alike, physiologically. But there are certain things about Vulcans that the vast majority of humans do not know, particularly about our ... sex lives and ... other things."

She remained silent, not wanting to interrupt him. He considered his words for a while longer, still poking the coals. "There are ... physiological differences ... that occur during pon farr. To the male, I mean." He took a shuddering breath and looked away. "To the ... the male ... organ," he said with difficulty.

Again he swallowed and, her heart pounding, she wondered if he was going to continue. Finally he did. "Pon farr generates a nearly insatiable need to mate in both the male and female. He becomes capable of an enormous amount sexual activity and output of sperm and she is stimulated to ovulate. Evolution has insured that this once-in-seven-year chance to reproduce is not wasted. In order that the maximum amount of sperm can be delivered to the vicinity of the ovum, the mating pair are sometimes ... um ... incapable of ... separating ... uh ... once he ... uh...." He gulped and trailed off, too distressed to say anymore.

"I think I get the picture," she spoke up, then felt enormous sympathy for him. What he was describing was nearly an animal-like coupling. No wonder the Vulcans had hidden this part of their nature. It must mortify these proud, logical, rational people to be reduced to their basest, ugliest levels in order to assure the survival of their species.

Christine moved over and put her arms around his slumped shoulders, leaning her head against him. "It's all right now, Spock," she said softly, projecting her love to him through their bond. "Everything is going to be all right now."

He turned and caught her in his embrace, holding her tightly, and she could feel the sadness that permeated him. Still holding her close, he said in a gentle, pain-filled voice. "There's something else, Christine ... that you need to know."

He paused and seemed to steel himself. "You're pregnant. I guarantee it."

* * *

Within a week's time, Christine had recovered and life had resumed its usual pace. She had been at first shocked and panic-stricken at Spock's pronouncement, then had laughed at him. Vulcans and humans didn't work that way, she assured him. It would take genetic manipulation to produce a baby. He simply said, "We'll see," and said no more about it.

It hadn't seemed that summer could get any hotter, but the days settled into a long endless string of blistering days and sultry nights. The plains turned yellow as far as the eye could see and the sky overhead was a dull, cloudless blue. Insects sang continuously in the trees and hovered over the grasses in little clouds. The creek's flow dwindled, but it never stopped altogether and herds of mesohippus and other types of animals began to come down to the pond to drink, the prairie waterholes having dried up. It also meant that the predators that followed the herds came too, forcing Spock and Christine to be doubly alert when outside the cave. Unfortunately, the heat made the cave as hot as an oven and they spent as little time inside as they could. At night, they built a campfire to ward off hunters and slept under the stars near the cave mouth.

The morning had dawned with oppressive heat already lying on the land like a batting of heavy cotton wool and by mid-day heat haze shimmered across the grasslands. Even Spock found the heat uncomfortable as he caught up his bow and quiver of arrows, stalking off to hunt as afternoon temperatures climbed, hoping to make a kill while the herds were lethargic and sleepy. He had resigned himself to the fact that they must hunt to survive, but he still refused to break his taboos and eat the meat that Christine prepared.

No matter how hot it became, of course, there were chores to be performed and one of them was preparing for the inevitable winter to come. It seemed ludicrous to worry about cold weather on a day when the mercury must have been topping 110, but if she waited until it was cold, then it would be too late. So Christine sat in the shade and worked away at a hide stretched on a frame, a fur from a big carnivore resembling a bear. It was an old male who had lost a fight with a rival and died soon afterwards from his wounds. They'd found it before the carcass had been more than a day or so old and had salvaged the pelt. The meat wasn't good, but they couldn't afford to waste a windfall such as the hide.

But it had been a massive job curing it and Christine was still trying to get it scraped down to her satisfaction on one side, leaving the fur on the other. Finally, though, the heat defeated her and, tired of alternating between wiping sweat out of her eyes with the backs of her hands and trying to scrape tissue off the pelt, she threw down her bone scraping tool and announced to no one in particular that she was going for a swim.

Walking down to the water's edge, she untied the leather halter top she wore and tossed it aside, then did likewise with the loincloth that served as the bottom part of the outfit. It was outrageously skimpy but also cool in the hot weather and besides, she smiled, Spock seemed to like seeing her in it.

Naked, she waded into the pond and then struck out swimming toward the little trickle of the waterfall at the far end. The water was wonderfully cool and invigorating. She lolled about lazily, then swam some more, and finally pulled herself up onto a flat, sun-warmed rock. The stone was almost hot from the sun but the little wavelets that washed up against it were cool and teasing. Enjoying the dichotomy of sensations, she unbound her hair and shook it out. It had grown halfway down her back now and was mostly brown as her natural color had replaced the dyed blonde. Still there was enough natural bleaching from the sun that the colors blended fairly well.

She lounged back on the rock, turning her face up and enjoying a few moments of full sun. Not too much; she didn't want to burn. When the temperature became too much, she slipped back into the water and swam back near the waterfall and into the shade of the little cliff there. Surfacing, she pushed her wet hair back out of her face, enjoying the spray on her face as much as she had enjoyed the sun a moment before.

She knew Spock was behind her an instant before his hands slipped around her to cup her breasts. It was an effect of their Bond; she usually knew if he were near and so she didn't jump in shock at his touch. Instead, she leaned back against him, luxuriating in the kiss he pressed against the side of her neck as he covered her breasts with his broad hands and massaged them gently.

"How long had you been watching me?" she asked.

"Six point three seven minutes," he responded, tickling her earlobe with the tip of his tongue. Her nipples had risen up taut and firm against his palms and he teased them still further, stroking them lightly. "All the time you were sitting on the rock. I was minded of water nymph from your Greek mythology."

She laughed throatily. "Pretty big nymph! Mmmm...." She shivered against him as one of his hands trailed down her stomach. "You deliberately shielded from me, didn't you?"

"Yes. I didn't want to alert you to my presence. I was enjoying the view too much." He turned her slightly and his fingers lightly slipped lower, to the soft, pillowy mound at the juncture of her legs. As he did so, she lifted her face up to him and he leaned down to kiss her.

His mouth moving on hers, his fingers found the warm cleft he sought and he slid his fingertips into her welcoming recesses. She moaned and turned more fully toward him, opening her legs a bit more for him and simultaneously reaching down to gently grasp the hard shaft pressing into her thigh. For a few moments, they stood half-submerged in the water, stroking each other and locked in a deepening kiss.

Then she suddenly pulled away, laughing, and said, "Catch me!" and pushed away from him, swimming toward the shore. He launched after her but, not being as strong a swimmer as she, he lagged behind. She managed to make the rock first and was in the process of drawing herself up out of the water when he caught her. Ignoring her squeal, he grabbed her and pulled her back. She squirmed and play-fought him for a moment, then he had her wrapped in his arms and silenced with another long, hungry kiss. She melted against him and returned it in full.

When their lips drew apart, she murmured, "You're not still ... um ..."

"No. I am fully in control," he responded and kissed her again. His hands went down to her waist and then lower to cup her buttocks and he lifted her up as easily as if she were a child, the buoyancy of the water partially supporting her. Her legs went around his slim hips and her arms around his neck as she kissed him again.

As he lips moved sensuously over hers, he allowed her body to slide lower against his and in a moment she felt his hot shaft nudge into her. He did it gently, aware that she might still be sore, but she murmured against his mouth, "It's all right," and she felt him relax a little and continue the movement. In seconds, he had completed the sweet impalement and began to move slowly within her.

She matched his gentle thrusts with her own hips and soon the rhythm and force had increased. The Bond opened between them and they lost themselves in the timeless cadence of love. She felt his approaching climax through the mindbond and it triggered hers. The rapture hit them simultaneously and she clung to him tightly as he gasped and shuddered compulsively.

When he pulled away from her, she unclasped her legs from around him and settled lower into the water, leaning into him, cheek on his chest. "That is so much nicer than the rough stuff," she sighed.

"Indeed," he answered, his breathing still heavy.

"Have you eaten anything?"

"No. I didn't plan on being gone very long."

She straightened and took his hand, leading him back toward shore. "Any luck?"

"Just a hare. Nothing else was stirring and the herds are keeping their distance." They waded out and she dressed in her clothing while he donned his breechclout, all that he'd been wearing besides his moccasins. "I think that pelt you're working on has the horses spooked."

"Probably," she agreed. "Lord knows I can smell it and if I can, they can." In fact, it had stunk so badly until she soaked it that she could hardly stand to handle it. She had staked the frame way out under the trees so the smell wouldn't get into their living quarters. Hopefully, the washings and airing would make it easier to live with by the time they needed it.

At their campsite, Spock sank down into lotus seat and they had a simple meal of tortillas they had grilled on a flat cooking stone that morning and a mixture of cold boiled grain and cherry-like fruit mixed with it. She broke off a piece of jerky and chewed on it thoughtfully.

"Do you suppose they're still looking for us?" she asked softly after a while.

Spock's gaze turned far away as well. "It is nearly five months since we were abducted," he answered. "I would assume we've been declared dead by now."

"I can't believe that the Captain would give up hope," Christine replied. "I think he's still trying to find us."

"Perhaps, but he is a practical man and he has responsibilities to the ship and the rest of his crew as well." Seeing that she was still staring wistfully into the distance, Spock reached over and took his wife's hand, holding it tight enough that she was forced to turn her attention to him. His face was completely serious, intent.

"Christine, I want you to listen to me and hear what I say. Do not go on hoping that we will miraculously be rescued. Wherever this planet is, it is not within Federation space. I have deduced that by studying the star patterns since we have been here. I do not recognize any of them. I suspect we are deep within Romulan territory, which means that no Federation vessel will risk war searching for us. Tal left us here with the intent that we die alone, with absolutely no contact with anyone else. That means that this planet must be remote from even the Romulan shipping lanes. We are stranded here, Christine. Just you and I and our children--"

"I am not preg--"

"If any," he interrupted her, forestalling an argument. "I know that secretly there has always been that hope within you, but you must turn loose of that dream."

She stared stubbornly ahead, determined not to give in to tears.

He peered at her and said softly, "I'm sorry, Christine. But we must be realistic."

She pulled her hand out of his and got to her feet. "I'm not feeling very good all of a sudden," she said. "I think I'm going to go lie down in the shade and see if I can get my stomach to settle down. I shouldn't have eaten that jerky."

Spock watched as she walked away stiffly, her back rigid with anger. Sighing, he went back to his lunch.

He had scarcely taken a bite when Christine's outraged scream had him vaulting to his feet and racing in her direction, his hunting spear in his hand. It took him only seconds to reach her and he found her standing beside the stretching frame with the big hide she'd been working on, brandishing a fairly large branch at what looked like a cross between a crocodile and an iguana. The lizard was about five feet long, greenish in color and presently gulping down a section of hide that it had ripped off the framework.

"Get out of here!" Christine screamed at it, fiercely poking the branch at it. Spock joined her, jabbing the lizard with the flint point lashed to his spear.

The animal's dull brain eventually registered that it should move on and it shuffled down the creek bank and they heard it plot into the water.

As Spock made sure that there weren't more around, Christine dropped the branch and inspected the damage to the hide. "After all my hard work, look at that! It's ruined!"

"I would hardly deem it ruined," Spock answered. "There is a rather large rip in it, but it should still be usable." He looked toward the creek. "I am more concerned about the reptile. I have not seen those before and it seems to have taken up residence near our water supply. Had I known that anything like that was lurking nearby, I would never have allowed you to swim. I'm afraid that we must go back to standing guard whenever either one of us bathes or fetches water. It is obviously a carnivore and this drought has made it hungry enough to eat something like that hide."

"Do you think it will attack us?" she asked, worried now.

"I do not know. It reminds me of a Terran monitor lizard or Komodo dragon and they will certainly take a human. I want you armed at all times, Christine, and more alert than ever. I fear that things will get worse until such times as the rains come again and the herds move back out onto the plains." He put a protective arm around her shoulders. "We have been extraordinarily lucky this summer in not having to deal with many predators, but that luck may be changing now."

* * *

The new routine complicated their food gathering, for Spock was now apprehensive about leaving Christine by herself. He had no doubt that she could defend herself adequately, but it was too easy for one person to be ambushed by a predator and overwhelmed. They went back to wearing their knives all the time and Spock was never without the stout spear he had made and tipped with a razor-edged flint point. They had both become too complacent by the idyllic surroundings of their little valley but now they found themselves very aware of the predators that stalked the herds and presumably themselves.

The sweltering days passed by quietly, however, and they went on with their lives, continuing in their preparations for winter. Gradually, the weather changed with afternoon thunder showers popping up to deluge the area with rain and then dissipate quickly. The temperature began to drop slightly as well, mostly at night, and they moved back into the cave to sleep. The days seemed as hot as ever but one day Christine noticed the woods around the valley was taking on the slightest tinge of yellow instead of true green and she also realized that the pelts of the animals they killed were beginning to be thicker and more lush. Autumn was coming on.

It was also about this time that she began to be aware of changes in herself. Her breasts were tender and she seemed to be tired all the time. There were foods that she simply couldn't bear any longer and others she would have killed for, had they been available. She would have sold her soul for a platter of roast chicken and a few slices of cheddar cheese. And chocolate. She would have sold Spock's soul for just one semi-sweet dark chocolate candy bar!

Once aware of these things, she looked for other signs and to her dismay found them. She wasn't ignorant and, as a medical professional, she certainly recognized her symptoms but she still couldn't deal with the reality of the situation. And, perversely, she refused to acknowledge it because she didn't want to give Spock the satisfaction of being right. But she could tell by the way he watched her that he knew. Oh, yes, he knew.

Irritated, she strode away from camp and up to the bluff above their dwelling. From here they had a panoramic view of the surrounding twenty miles or so. Spock was absorbed in napping out flint arrow points and didn't noticed she was gone. That suited her just fine; she needed a little time to herself.

Up on the bluff, she slowly turned and surveyed the land. Far off on the northern horizon a bank of dark blue clouds spread out low and menacing. She could see lightning occasionally fork down but it was so far off that only the faintest mumble of thunder reached her. To the west the line of the creek emerged from the heavier woodlands, themselves a green blanket. Off to the south and west, the yellow plains rolled out of sight, mesohippus and bison-like animals and something like antelope grazing in immense herds. Very, very far away, beyond the horizon, she could just barely make out the snow-covered tops of a range of mountains.

And in all that immense wilderness, as far as the eye could see, there was not a single other sign of man, save for their tiny encampment below her.

With a crashing suddenness that took her breath away, that enormous, empty vastness crashed down on her with a fear such as she'd never known. They were alone. Two insignificant, frail people in that unfathomable emptiness!

She was alone and pregnant and helpless without any hope of rescue! What if there were complications? What if she needed a caesarian? What if Spock were killed and she were left to fend for herself? What if she died in childbirth and her baby was left alive? What if--

Christine began to hyperventilate as full-blown panic set in and she felt a keening wail begin to rise from her throat. Pressing her fists to her mouth, she spun in irrational terror, seeking help from somewhere, anywhere!!

Spock came charging up the hill, wild-eyed, spear in hand, ready to do battle with whatever was attacking her but faltered as he saw her uninjured but apparently frightened out of her wits.

"What is it? What happened?" he demanded.

As her gaze locked on him, tears flooded up and she went into his arms, burying her face in his chest and sobbing with an utter hopelessness born of finally, finally accepting the terrible, unspeakable truth of their situation. Bewildered, he had no idea what to do except hold her as grief and fear and despair poured out of her in massive, lung-wrenching wails.

Finally she was so drained that there was nothing left to give and she sagged against him. He continued to hold her, still not understanding what had triggered this, but feeling the full force of her emotions through their bondlink. Stroking her hair, he said gently, "We'll be all right, t'hy'la. Please do not cry anymore."

"I want to go home," she sniffed plaintively. "I want a hot bath and a good book and a some hot cocoa with marshmallows. I want a hamburger and fries. I want my hair done. I want to put on my old bathrobe and lay back listening to Siegfried's Funeral March with the lights turned low." She sniffed again and the last tears leaked down her face as her voice dropped to a whisper and she clung tighter to him. "I want my mother with me when our baby is born."

Saddened that he could give her none of these things, he bent his head and pressed his cheek into her hair, projecting as much warmth and comfort as he could through their bond.

Christine let her eyes drift open as she peered over his shoulder into the distance at the advancing storm front. Something about it didn't look right and that eventually penetrated her mental miasma. There was a haziness about it that didn't look like rain. And the low rumble of thunder seemed to be doing on longer than thunder should.

She lifted her head from Spock's shoulder and looked harder at the panorama on the horizon. "Is that dust?" she asked almost rhetorically and he turned to look at the distant line of gray as well.

And then Christine's heart froze and she clutched at him in a new kind of terror. "Oh, my God -- it's smoke!" And then they could see the panicked herds stampeding in their direction.

Spock paused a moment longer to survey the horizon. An orange line was visible now for two or three miles in both directions and grayish white smoke was beginning to billow into the air. "Lightning must have started it," he said. "We've got to salvage what we can! Hurry!"

Rushing down to their campsite, both frantically retrieved tools, utensils, raw materials -- anything that they could get into the cave before the stampede and then the grass fire reached them. Spock snatched up their water bags and took off at a run toward the creek. For a second, she wondered what he was doing when she was so frantically trying to save their few belongings and then she understood. The herds were going to come thundering right through their water hole, churning it into a mud pit. It might be days before they had drinkable water again.

The reverberation of thousands of hooves was growing louder and she could smell the distinctive smell of burning grass now, too. The ground beneath her feet began to shake with the impact of the stampede and she looked frantically for Spock.

Then he came running awkwardly back up the trail, burdened by the full waterskins. She started toward him, but he yelled, "Get inside!! Now!!"

An antelope came soaring over the top of the bluff and landed clumsily, recovered and ran. Then another and another hurtled over, scrambling for a foothold. Spock dodged the animals and got to the cave mouth just as the main body poured over and around the bluff, heedless of anything but escaping the fire.

Frantically, Christine reached out and grabbed him, yanking him to safety and then they clung to one another as a river of bleating, panting, terrified animals engulfed them. The dust choked their throats and set them both coughing harshly, and then this was thickened still further by clouds of smoke that roiled and swirled down into the little valley. Pushed to still further panic, the animal herds swarmed down the banks of the creek and pond, floundering in the deeper water, scrambling over one another in order to get away, drowning their companions in their frantic flight. Thousands of hooves and pads churned the creek into a quagmire and more animals bogged down there, perishing as the ones behind them leaped onto their backs and crushed them.

It seemed as if it went on for hours to the two people huddling in the little cave but it was over in less than a few minutes but then came the hissing and snapping of the fire line as it raced through the paper-dry grass, the heat causing it to burst into flames as the line advanced. Embers and sparks sailed out ahead of the flames, further spreading the fire and it jumped the water line of the creek, the grass there flashing into flame as well, continuing to spread at astonishing speed.

And then all was quiet except for the thrashing and groans of the dying animals left behind. Gradually the heavier smoke cleared, although the smell of burned grass permeated the valley. Still coughing, their eyes streaming, Spock and Christine gingerly emerged from their shelter to survey the damage.

The aftermath was devastating, shocking both of them. The fire had swept through quickly, leaving the plains black and smoldering. Trees had generally not caught fire but in a number of places, low bushes were still burning.

Their campsite was wrecked, everything that had been in the path of the stampede trampled into the mud. The hard fought-for hide was buried somewhere in the muck, the stretching frame utterly destroyed. Food that they had been drying, tools and weapons that Spock had been working on, firewood stacked in a dry spot ... it was all gone. They had lost nearly everything.

The creek was unrecognizable, now only a muddy swamp, with over a dozen dead or dying antelope mired there. In the pond, bodies floated and on the other shore, an antelope managed to pull itself out onto the bank, one of its forelegs dangling uselessly. Higher up, a calf bleated frantically for its mother, trotting back and forth along the bank in search of her.

Christine sagged against Spock and brought a hand up to her mouth, tears beginning to pour down her face. She hadn't thought she had any left, but they came anyway. Her knees gave out and she sank down into a limp heap, burying her face in her hands. And then the world went black around her.

* * *

Christine awoke to find herself lying on her blanket inside the cave. For a moment, she wondered what she was doing taking a nap in the middle of the day, then the smell of grass smoke brought it all back to her with a start. She raised her head, looking around for Spock, and found him sitting in the doorway of their home, his back to her. He had his forearms folded across his drawn up knees and was staring out across the devastation that had been their campsite. The defeated slump in his shoulders alarmed her almost as much as the disaster because she had never known Spock to give up on anything. Now it seemed that he had.

As she stirred and got to her feet, he looked around and hurriedly rose as well. "Christine! How are you feeling? You have been unconscious for one point three four hours."

"I'm fine," she answered, surprising herself somewhat to discover that she felt better than she had in quite a while. The catharsis of the panic attack and then the terror of the stampede had purged her of wishful thinking and forlorn hope. What she felt now was clear-eyed, rational fortitude. And a fury that had replaced her despair with a determination that this planet was not going to beat her. She walked past Spock to stare out the opening.

"How much daylight do we have left?" she asked him.

"Approximately six hours. Why?"

"Then let's get to work," she responded flatly and started outside.

He didn't move. "Work? Christine, it may have escaped your notice but all of our work is destroyed," he answered.

Angry, she turned back and pinned him with a hard glare. "It may have escaped your notice, Mr. Logic, but our work is just beginning," she snapped. "The first thing we've got to do is clear those dead animals out of here. Every scavenger for miles around is going to be here shortly and they're all going to be camping on our doorstep. They're showing up already!"

He looked up to where she gestured and saw that carrion birds were circling, some of them beginning to spiral down to alight on the dead antelope.

Christine continued, "We're going to drag all those carcasses out onto the plains where the scavengers can get them. I don't want them rotting here under our noses."

Spock caught her arm and pulled her back to him, his face grim. "One thing first, though, Christine. You do understand that you are pregnant, do you not?"

"Of course I do, Spock," she frowned. "What kind of idiot do you think I am? By this time, I'd be a fool if I kept denying it."

"Then you should not be dragging or lifting heavy loads. I do not want to risk your having a miscarriage," he said seriously.

"Neither do I," she replied, her gaze locked on his. "That's why you're going to be the mule in this operation. Let's get going."

For the rest of the day, the two of them worked up to their necks in mud, blood and gore. More than once, Christine excused herself for a moment, went to one side and vomited, but then she came back more determined than ever. Frequently, she had tears streaming down her face, but she never stopped. Spock barricaded himself behind rigid Vulcan control and worked with a fierceness that belied his anger and frustration.

Animals that were mired but alive and relatively unhurt, they freed and sent on their way to take their chances. Those that were injured and stuck in the mud were quickly killed with a knife slice across their throats. Together they captured the antelope with the broken leg and got it up onto the plains, then dispatched it as well, knowing that it had no hope of surviving. And they did the same with the calf, Christine sobbing brokenly even as she slit its throat. It was more humane than allowing it to be eaten alive by predators. But she huddled over the little body for a few minutes in her grief, then she wiped her nose with the back of her hand, smearing blood across her face, and went back to helping Spock pull carcasses up to the carrion pile.

By the time it was dark, they were so weary that they could barely move. There was still work to be done, but predators and scavengers were already fighting over the carcasses and they were forced to retreat to safety. Spock gathered as much firewood as he could find and built a large fire to ward off hunters, but with so much food available for the taking, they weren't bothered.

All night they listened to the roars, howls and squabbles of the feasting predators and with the morning light, they dragged themselves up to pick up where they had left off.

First, they finished pulling the bloating carcasses out of the pond where they had drowned, hauling them up to the plains, then they began the hardest work -- digging out the antelope that had been trampled and bogged into the mud of the creek. With no shovels, they had to do it by hand with only a few primitive aids such as elk shoulder blades they had retrieved. By nightfall they still had not finished and once again were forced to retire to safety.

The second night was a replay of the first and they slept only because their exhaustion was total and they could not have stayed awake had they tried.

Late on the third day, they dragged the last of the carcasses to the dumping site. It had begun to decay and the smell sent Christine into a fit of retching that left her weak and dizzy. Spock didn't feel much better but managed to maintain control.

He helped her to her feet and supported her as they stood and looked back across their valley. From here they could see that the blackened plains were already beginning to show a tinge of green as new growth pushed up through the charred old grass. Below them, the creek continued to spill over the escarpment into the pond and the overflow was beginning to carve a new channel for itself through the quagmire, running down to the river.

Spock sighed wearily as he surveyed it all. "In a month's time, there will be no sign that anything happened here," he said.

She shook her head and leaned against him. "A month's time... Spock, it's autumn. Somehow we've got to replace what we lost. We have no idea how long we've got until winter or now long or severe the winter is going to be. I wish we'd been able to salvage some of that meat we hauled up here. It's just rotting too fast, though."

"I wish there were some way of preserving it for you other than wind drying," he agreed.

"Preserving it for us," she retorted, looking up at him. "What do you think you're going to eat this winter? There wasn't enough plant foods for you to survive on before the fire, let alone now."

He turned a stern gaze on her. "I won't eat meat, Christine. You know that."

"You will if that's all we've got!" she responded.

"I will not eat meat," he repeated. "I cannot. It goes against every spiritual and moral fiber of my being. The idea sickens me." She glared and started to argue, but he forestalled her, changing the subject. "But that's academic right now. Come ... I believe our pond is safe to swim in once more. We are both in dire need of a bath and I think we are both deserving of what you would call a 'break'."

She couldn't help smiling at that suggestion and, arms around each other, they started down the gentle slope to their home site.

* * *

With a fortitude based on the fact that they had no choice, they started all over again. In actuality, they were in better shape than when they'd first been marooned here because now they knew their surroundings and had acquired hard won skills. They had managed to rescue quite a bit of food and materials from the stampede and the fire, but still the fact that they no longer had a summer season before them hastened their efforts.

Spock was hesitant to leave Christine, but practicality overrode his apprehensions. They simply had to work separately in order to maximize their efforts and Christine assured him that she would not hesitate to defend herself with deadly force if necessary.

Spock believed her because she had changed following the disaster. She was more serious, grimmer. He'd known she was strong but he'd never suspected how much steel was in her backbone until now.

He'd commented on it one day, quoting Nietzsche: "That which does not kill me makes me stronger."

She'd shot back without missing a beat, "That which does not kill me better run damn fast!" and brandished the bloody knife she'd been using on the hare she'd been butchering. She wasn't smiling either and he shut up and didn't say any more.

So now, while he ranged further afield hunting, she replenished their firewood, laying in as much as she could transport for the coming winter. She tanned the hide of every animal he brought in, large or small, and stockpiled them in the back of the cave. She searched out, harvested and preserved as much plant food as she could find -- grains, fruits, berries, nuts, water plants, tubers. Anything that could be eaten or used for medicines.

On rainy days, she worked at carving bowls or struggled to teach herself to weave baskets. Her obsessive behavior worried Spock, for she drove herself with an almost manic determination. Finally, one evening, he'd had enough. She had been scraping away with a flint knife at a storage bowl, her hands trembling with fatigue, and she slipped and cut her finger.

"Damn it!" she exploded and stuck the injured finger into her mouth, sucking on it, tears coming to her eyes.

It was late and Spock had already gone to bed. He'd walked several miles that day in search of game and had returned empty handed, tired and hungry. He'd eaten sparsely then lain down between the blankets.

Now, raising himself up on one elbow, he said, "Christine, come to bed!"

"I have to finish--"

"Tomorrow. You can finish it tomorrow. Right now, you need sleep and rest."

"We don't have enough--"

"We have enough. Must I incapacitate you with a nerve pinch in order to get you to rest?" He said it with a touch of humor, but he was completely serious underneath.

Christine looked around at him, realizing that he was right. She put down her tools and walked back to where he lay gazing up at her. In the flickering firelight, she undressed and lay down beside him, naked. He was bare as well. They often slept this way now, not so much with sexual intentions but because it was more comfortable than sleeping in the sometimes grimy leathers and furs they had for clothing.

Tonight, she cuddled up with her back to him and he turned on his side and pulled her to him, spoon-fashion. He still found it somewhat unbelievable that this incredible woman was his, loving him, carrying his child. Never in his life would he have imagined such a thing and the circumstances that had brought them here would have been deemed a catastrophe by anyone. Now, after seven months, he had to admit that, despite the hardships and uncertainties they faced daily, he was happier than at any time in his life. There were no pressures of maintaining the facade of the Invincible Vulcan, no need at the pretense of complete stoicism -- indeed, when he was alone, more than once he had given vent to emotions that would have shocked Christine. Gradually, the walls he had built throughout his life were crumbling. There were only the two of them here and, through their Bonding, she already knew him more intimately than anyone else in his life.

Snuggling her closer, he slipped his hand down to her rounding abdomen and spread his broad palm and fingers across her skin. She put her hand over his, echoing back his loving touch.

"Can you feel it yet?" he asked softly.

"I feel a flutter sometimes," she answered. "I don't know if it's the baby or just morning sickness. That's almost gone, by the way. I'm going into the second trimester now." He gently moved his hand over her stomach, caressing her. She was silent for a moment then asked, "Spock, how did you know?"

"Know?"

"That I'd become pregnant. I couldn't even tell for nearly two months."

"I felt it happen," he answered.

"What?"

"Well, my body perceived the moment of conception," he went on. "When conception occurs, the instant a sperm penetrates the ovum, a chemical change takes place in the female's body to prevent any other sperm from entering."

"I know that," she responded. "I'm a nurse, remember? Are you telling me that you knew when that happened?"

"My body did. In Vulcans, once conception has occurred, the reason for the Mating is over. Pon farr ends. My body detected the chemical change in your body and the hormone levels in my body altered at once. When I came out of pon farr, I knew why."

"But what if I hadn't conceived? Would it have gone on until I did?"

"No. After a time, about five days, it would have ended. But the likelihood of your not conceiving was remote. After all, you triggered my pon farr."

She rolled over onto her back and stared at him, speechless. He went on, "You were ovulating. Subconsciously I already knew that you would be my mate when the time came and the pheromones your body began to produce set the Mating in motion. Consciously, I did not realize it or even what was happening until that night of the thunderstorm but my body did. It also knew when you were at the peak of your fertility, when it drove me to the point that I could wait no longer. And it knew when our joining was successful, when fertilization had occurred."

"This has just boggled me, Spock," she admitted. "Do you mean to tell me that every time a Vulcan woman ovulates, her husband goes into pon farr? I don't see how you people get anything done if that's the case!"

"A Vulcan female ovulates only once every seven years. It is an evolutionary response to the harshness of the Vulcan climate. Seven years gave a female time to get her child well grown and able to fend for itself. It was at that time, too, that a girl child was often bonded over to a male. Once free of that child, the woman went into estrous once again and triggered pon farr in her mate, thus starting the cycle over again. It has become inherent in our biological make up."

"But I'm not Vulcan," she reasoned. "If I could set you off by ovulating, why weren't you in pon farr every month? And for that matter, with all the women on the ship, why weren't you affected?"

"On the ship, I was not attached to any of those women. They were not my mates. Also, I was betrothed to T'Pring at the time. My mating time was tied to hers. As for here ... I believe it was because our struggle to survive overrode the urge and I was not yet as fully attached to you as I have become."

She smiled and rolled over into his arms. "I'm attached to you, too, mister," she murmured and lifted her face up to his.

He had thought himself much too tired for the sort of response he felt, but during the kiss, he found that his body still had a mind of its own when it came to Christine Chapel.

* * *

Spock came back from hunting with an oddly pleased expression on his face. At first Christine thought it was because he had bagged an especially nice buck, its feet tied together with rawhide lacing and slung over Spock's shoulder for transport. It would have taken two humans to transport the animal, but the Vulcan did it easily alone.

However, after he had unshipped the deer and laid it at their butchering site, he still wore the knowing little smirk as he approached her. "I brought you something," he said.

Christine glanced at the animal, then back at her husband, puzzled. "He's a beauty, all right--"

"No. I brought you this." He held out a little leather pouch, its sides bulging.

Christine took it almost hesitantly, again looked into Spock's face to search for any clue, then turned her attention back to pulling open the drawstring of the pouch to reveal its contents.

The pouch held a handful of rocks. Whitish, translucent, dusty, crystalline rocks.

Uncomprehending, Christine stared at them, then shifted her gaze to Spock. He was smiling broadly now, waiting for her to get the joke. For a few long seconds, she didn't understand. And then suddenly she knew!

"Salt!! You found salt!!" she cried.

"He led me to it," Spock answered, tilting his head slightly in the direction of the dead buck. "Down stream, approximately two miles, the river cuts through an escarpment, much like ours, and it exposes an outcropping of salt. From the game trails, I surmise that it is a major lick."

"Do you realize what this means?" she demanded, her eyes shining.

"Indeed. We now have the means to preserve meat other than by making jerky. This will assure you a food supply adequate to last the winter."

She hesitated, not wishing to get into another futile argument with him. Instead, she asked, "When can we get started?"

He peered at her patiently. "Do you know how to salt cure meat?"

"Um ... well, no," she admitted.

"Then I suggest the logical course of action would be to study our Romulan survival manual and learn the correct method. We have time. The salt lick will be there when we are ready to use it. Meanwhile, this animal needs to be butchered and prepared and the hide started soaking in a tanning solution. Perhaps in a few days I can begin to bring back quantities of rock salt."

"I want to go with you," she said a little petulantly. "Two miles isn't that far to walk and I really do want to explore down river. I want to check out the plant life there and see if I can find something we can use."

"Logical. Provided you do not unduly tire yourself," he admonished her. "The child is becoming large now and you tend to overestimate your endurance."

Christine looked down at her belly. "Oh, Spock, I'm hardly showing! I'm only about five months. I feel great and I really do want to see what you found there. If I get tired walking, I'll rest. I promise."

He lifted a skeptical eyebrow at her. "That is not your habit," he answered. "You drive yourself much too hard and you know it."

She saw another argument coming and once more decided to avoid it. "All right, I'm a workaholic. I admit it. Come on, you get that buck hung up and I'll find the knives and whetstone. Then you can go down and have a swim while I do the dirty work. Honestly, if I'd known you were squeamish--"

"I am not squeamish, Christine. I simply find the task of butchering an animal violates every cultural taboo I have ever known--"

"Yeah. Sure. Right. Go take your swim, Mr. I-Can't-Stand-the-Sight-of-Guts--"

"In any case, I do not intend to swim. The water is too cold now--"

They walked away, hand in hand, their good-natured quarrel continuing the entire way.

* * *

Christine went with Spock back to the salt lick but, true to his prediction, she found that the walk was longer than she anticipated. By the time they arrived, she was already tired and he made her rest while he hacked out chunks of rock salt with an antler pick. The trip back seemed even longer and she was exhausted and short of breath by the time they reached their home. Thereafter, he was quite adamant that she would not make the trip again while pregnant. He absolutely would not allow her to risk losing the baby. She backed down, knowing he was right.

So she stayed at the cave and poured over the Romulan manual, painstakingly piecing together the bits of language she knew and trying to figure out exactly how to salt cure meat. Spock hiked back and forth every day for a week, lugging back as much rock salt as he could carry in the hide pouches he adapted for the purpose.

Christine found a hollow tree that would be suitable as a brine barrel and Spock spent an afternoon chopping it down with his crude flint-bladed axe, now fitted with a proper handle, and then dragging it back to the campsite. It was almost dark by the time he reached the cave.

Christine had supper waiting for him -- flatbread cooked on a stone, a thick soup of lentils and tubers, and a selection of ripe fruits and nutmeats. She'd been gathering them diligently as the autumn progressed, trying to get as many as she could before the animals ate them all, but pickings were slim now. What the grass fire hadn't destroyed was rapidly being taken by the wildlife in the area. The animals were feeding ravenously, piling on fat for the lean winter months.

Chapel wished they could do the same. She was eating adequately to keep herself nourished but Spock was not. He had pulled his shirt off as he worked and had not put it back on once he was home. As he sat cross-legged by the fire and ate, Christine couldn't help but notice that he was no longer just slender. His tall framework was bordering on lean and she could see the bare hint of his ribcage showing underneath his bronzed skin.

The nurse in her began to count over the various nutrients and vitamins he must be missing and she wondered if she might be able to slip meat into his diet somehow to supplement his protein intake...

Spock finished his meal and got to his feet, walking over to the doorway to peer out into the night. He stood pensively for a few moments, then commented, "The wind is up. I think we may be in for a change in the weather."

She joined him, watching the trees toss about in the blustery gusts and low clouds scud south, obscuring the moons. There was a chill in the air that made her shiver.

Spock noticed it and smiled at her. "Why don't you go to bed? I must bathe then I will join you."

"Oh, surely you're not going out now to take a bath!"

"I do not propose to go to the pond," he assured her. "I am simply going to heat some water and wash myself here." He gestured to his torso, still powdered with tiny wood chips and grime. "I doubt that you would welcome to bed if I came like this."

She laughed softly. "All right. There should be enough water in the water bags. We'll refill them in the morning."

She went back to their sleeping place, undressed, and snuggled beneath the furs that had begun to supplement their worn blankets. The nights were getting cold enough that extra coverings were needed. He set their gate into place and then draped a large hide over it, blocking the wind from entering.

From her vantage point in the shadows, Christine lay watching Spock go about preparing for his bath. He poured water into a stone bowl and set it near the fire, testing often to make sure that it didn't get too hot for comfort. When the temperature suited him, he pulled it away from the flames and stripped off his remaining clothing.

Christine's heart thudded a little harder at the sight of him. Gilded by the red-gold firelight, he squatted down and dipped a ragged square of blue cloth into the water, squeezing it out and then washing his face. It was part of what was left of her uniform. They had salvaged every bit of cloth they could but even the sturdy Starfleet issue clothing had eventually been reduced to tatters.

He bathed his arms and chest, his legs and his shoulders. She almost got up to help him with the awkward sections of his back that he couldn't reach, but he managed, dribbling water over his shoulders and letting it run down the corded muscles of his back. The rivulets glinted in the firelight as they cascaded down his spine and found their way into the intriguing valleys and crevasses of his buttocks.

Again her heart pounded and she found her gaze glued on the shapes and shadows of his body as he moved.

He dropped one knee to the ground as he leaned forward to wet the cloth once more and this action brought into view the taut, heavy flesh suspended at the base of his abdomen. Even when at rest, he was impressive, full and well-formed, and she closed her eyes for a moment as the memory of him -- the feel and smell and taste of him -- jolted to the forefront of her mind.

He glanced in her direction, one eyebrow twitching upward, then returned to his bath, this time running the cloth over and around his manhood, deliberately casual in his actions, knowing she was watching him. He could sense her arousal through their mind link and it generated an answering pulse that throbbed through him. It centered in his groin and he felt the incipient excitement begin to build as the first tingling surge twitched beneath his fingers.

Nonchalantly, he finished his bath and thoroughly rinsed out the washcloth, hanging it to dry, and then he rose to his feet with a sinewy grace, panther-like, and walked toward her, the flickering firelight behind him rimming his figure with shining golden light. The sexual power he radiated was almost palpable and desire sang back and forth between them like the hum of electricity.

She pulled back the fur wrap for him and he stretched out beside her, turning so that he faced her and propped up on one elbow. Leaning over her, he brought his lips down onto hers, the kiss long and languorous, unhurried as his tongue explored her mouth and flicked delicately at the tip of hers. She ached to pulled him into a deeper kiss, but he resisted, acutely aware of what he was doing.

As he nuzzled and nibbled at her throat and ears, his hand moved down to softly caress one of her breasts. Pregnancy had swollen them even larger and caused her nipples to stay prominently erect all the time now. They were dark pink and the areolae around them raised slightly, tipping her exquisite breasts with the evidence of extreme sexual stimulation. It was only half an illusion, for her hormones in this stage of pregnancy had caused her breasts and genitals to engorge, so that she felt aroused a good deal of the time.

Softly, aware of its tenderness, he ran a fingertip over the turgid nipple, awakening to an even greater extent the nerve endings. He stroked the hot flesh lightly, trailing his fingers up the sides again and again to end with a little swirl at the tip before starting again.

Christine arched her back up and moaned, already so hungry for him that she wondered if she could stand it much longer. But he drew the delicious torture out, then bent over her breasts and exchanged his fingers for his tongue, tickling and licking and finally gently sucking at the swollen flesh.

Christine cried out involuntarily, but it was a cry of ecstasy, not pain. He was very, very careful not to hurt her as he worked for a long time over first one breast and then the other. Finally, almost writhing beneath him, she gasped, "Spock, get in me now! I'm going to start screaming in a minute if you don't fuck me!!"

He lifted his head, his eyebrows up. "'Fuck me'?" he echoed in an incredulous tone. "I'm shocked at such crude language! I had no idea you knew such words!" But he said it teasingly. In truth, it excited him on a primitive level to hear her speak so vulgarly. Still, he wasn't ready yet.

"I mean it! I can't stand it anymore!" She lifted her arms back over her head, tangling them in the spread of blonde-streaked hair arrayed around her. Her eyes closed, she was quivering.

He allowed his hand to leave her breast and travel down over the curve of her stomach. She was getting large now, her abdomen distended. For a moment, he stroked her then his fingers continued on to the brush of hair at the junction of her thighs and lightly touched the soft lips below.

She was extremely wet, her engorged labia hot to the touch, and his fingertips sank into the alluring cleft between them until they found her tumescent womanhood.

At his touch, she cried out again and lifted her hips off the blanket, instinctively seeking to guide him to the entry she sought. Again, he held back, softly running his fingers up and down her slit, driving her to a near convulsion of rapture. Then, when he judged that she was teetering on the very edge, he plunged a finger abruptly into her passageway, as far as it would go, and pumped it in and out with shallow, forceful thrusts.

Christine screamed and clutched at the blanket beneath her as her orgasm exploded within her, hips again elevated to give him maximum penetration.

He was achingly hard now himself, her climax nearly triggering his own. But his control proved the victor and, as she panted and then came down from her peak, he withdrew his finger and resumed the soft, maddening stroking of her pulsing sex. She shuddered beneath him, still half lost in the aftermath of her orgasm.

As she relaxed a little more, he shifted his position and moved down between her legs, spreading them apart. For a second, she thought he was about to mount her, but then he bent his head and turned his attention to the hot, musky delights of her feminine center. Barely recovered from her first climax, she quickly soared up again as his lips and tongue did their work, probing and teasing into her luscious folds, lapping at her flowing nectar, sucking and pulling at her throbbing clitoris again and again.

It didn't take long before she had her fingers tangled in his dark hair and was experiencing yet another shattering climax, as he worked diligently between her bucking thighs.

Finally, he pulled away from her, no longer able to deny himself the release his body demanded. He was close to losing his ability to hold back his own climax. Rising up onto his knees between her wide-spread legs, he paused for a moment to catch his breath and his dark gaze locked with the fevered blue eyes of his wife.

Her whole body was flushed, her expression feral and hungry, and her swollen, red opening beckoned him with its salacious promise of ultimate physical pleasure. Still he hesitated, even though he felt that he would explode if he didn't get inside her at once. The soft rounded line of her stomach stopped him; she was in no condition now for him to lie atop her, with her bearing his weight.

Then he said hoarsely, "Turn over. On your hands and knees."

She understood at once and quickly arranged herself before him, presenting her smooth buttocks. Moving into place behind her, he steadied her hips with his hands and set himself into position, then took a deep breath to help him regain the control he needed. He did not want to hurt her or bring about too quick an end. He wanted this to be slow and deliberate, drawing her pleasure out as long as he could manage it.

With a quick thrust of his hips, he entered her but stopped short with just the head inside the mouth of her opening. She gasped and instinctively pushed back, wanting him deeper. His hands on her hips held her in place and he didn't move for a long moment. Then he began to thrust shallowly, teasingly, until she was nearly sobbing from the incredible stimulation.

Her upper torso sank down onto her elbows, causing her buttocks to open a little wider, encouraging him to sink deeper into her. Sensing that she was ready for the next step, he complied, readjusting his position slightly. Gripping her more firmly, he abruptly lunged forward and his entire length slammed into her, hilt deep.

She cried out and clenched around him as an immediate orgasm took her. It was too much for him to stand. Losing his last strand of control, he pumped frantically into her tight, burning depths and exploded uncontrollably within her, unable to stifle his own involuntary cry, his come erupting like gushing lava.

It was the most intense sexual encounter they had ever experienced and both of them were completely drained as the climax began to languish. Spock leaned over her back and slipped his hands up around her torso, hugging her lightly, then, as his fading erection slid from her body, he gently tilted them both over onto their sides.

Nestling there, curled together in the furs, Christine entwined the fingers of one hand with his and brought his hand up to her lips. She kissed their joined fingers tenderly and whispered, "I love you, Spock. I could never have imagined being so in love with anyone or being so happy in a place I thought I would hate."

He nuzzled his face into her hair and answered, "Nor I. A relationship like this one was beyond my comprehension. I have never known another woman such as you."

He kissed her shoulder softly and brought his hand down to cup her breast. It was simply a loving, intimate gesture, the possessive liberties a husband might take with a wife in the privacy of their bed, and she snuggled back against him in contentment. They were drifting off to sleep when Christine suddenly flinched and said, "Ooof!"

"What?!" Spock demanded, instantly alert.

But she laughed quietly and answered, "I think we woke someone up!"

She took his hand and guided it down to her belly, pressing his broad palm across a particular point. For a moment nothing happened, then he felt a hard little something nudge underneath his hand. Spock's eyebrows went up in surprise and amazement.

"He kicked!" he said.

"Oh, boy, did he kick!" Christine laughed in delight. "Or she did."

The emotion that tore through Spock's soul caught him by surprise as the reality of his wife's pregnancy gripped him. It was the first time he had felt her baby move within her and suddenly it wasn't an abstract concept anymore. He felt a surge of joy and wonder such as he'd never known begin to fill him and he pulled her back into his arms in an embrace of fierce tenderness. Then he said what he had been conditioned all his life not to say: "I love you, Christine. I love you."

* * *

Christine woke hunched back into the warmth of Spock's body. He, too, seemed to be clutching her unusually tight and she became aware that he was shivering slightly. As she raised her head, she noted that there was a pattering like rain against the hide covering over the doorway and then she noticed that, when she exhaled, her breath formed a little plume of fog.

No wonder Spock was shivering, she thought. It was cold in here! She extracted herself from his embrace and snatched up another fur to wrap herself in, then she eased out of bed and went to stoke up the fire. While it blazed back up again, she went to the doorway and pulled back the hide a little to look out.

The blast of cold air and precipitation that met her caused her to jump back with a little squeak of surprise. Spock vaulted upright. "Christine! What is it?!"

"Brrrrrr!" she answered, hugging her fur tighter around her naked body and hurrying back to the warmth of their bed. "It's sleeting out there! I think winter just arrived! Move over -- I'm freezing!"

She tossed her fur on top of their bed covers and then quickly slipped back in beside him. He took her in his arms and held her against him, rubbing her back and arms and draping one leg over hers to provide as much body heat as he could. Snuggling under his chin, she relished the attention.

"Mmmm ... that feels good," she smiled. Then she chuckled, "You're generating more heat than you think, you know."

"I know precisely how much heat I am generating," he murmured, his deep baritone a sensuous rumble that made her whole body prickle with anticipation. "After last night, I believe that the temperature between us has increased significantly."

She made a contented sound in agreement. Then she said, "Do you remember what you said following your pon farr? That the Mating had not been our wedding night? Well, I think we had it last night."

"Indeed. Although it has been approximately five months since the time of our Bonding, I believe that we truly consummated our marriage last night. Now, as never before, I truly feel that you are my wife, my t'hy'la ... my beloved." He kissed her lips softly.

"Me, too," she whispered, gazing up at him with adoration in her soft blue eyes, reaching up to stroke his face and trail her fingertips down the curve of his ear. "I've loved you ever since I've known you, but I never knew everything that meant until now. I feel like we've become two halves of the same person."

He twitched up an eyebrow in amusement. "What is it that one of your religious books says? 'A man shall leave his mother and the two shall become as one'?"

"Something like that. It's from the Bible, but I don't remember the exact wording."

"For an unmarried man, your St. Paul was quite insightful regarding the relationship between men and women." Spock smiled wryly. "Almost Vulcan in some ways. The Teacher Tarak, in his writings, said, 'The woman you take as your wife must became as your hand or your eye, a part of you that you cherish and protect as you would a part of yourself.'"

Christine laughed. "You don't suppose he was quoting Paul, do you?"

"Hardly. He predated St. Paul by nearly 3,000years. I should say that it was the other way around," Spock smiled back.

Christine had decided that they'd had enough philosophy for the time being and pulled him closer, bringing his lips back to hers. He complied without argument, his tongue slipping between her parted lips and his hands sliding down to caress her firm, smooth hips. By the time he rolled over onto his back and she moved atop him, they had forgotten all about the sleet and wind and cold outside their snug haven.

* * *

Winter arrived with a vengeance and with it the beginnings of times harder than any they'd known since their arrival on the planet. The sleet turned into snow and that became a blizzard that trapped them in their little cave for four days. They had food and water and wood stored within easy reach, and they had anticipated the need for sanitary facilities by digging a latrine earlier that year in a branch of the cave that angled far back to one side. Powdered lime that they had laboriously ground down from limestone served to keep the odor down but they only used their "indoor plumbing" when absolutely necessary. The blizzard made it necessary.

The storm passed, leaving behind it a cloudless blue sky, intense cold, and a drastically altered landscape. Their world had been transformed in more ways than one. The herds that had grazed on the plains around them all summer and fall had sensed the changing of the seasons and already migrated south to warmer areas. Most of the ones that were left had either sought out burrows and other sanctuaries for hibernation or only showed themselves occasionally.

Spock's hunting forays over the next weeks became longer and more difficult and, more often than not, he came back empty-handed. The game he found was small and elusive but he brought back enough for Christine, although just barely.

As the child within her continued to grow, Spock made sure that Christine had adequate nourishment, even if it meant giving up his own ration for her. She protested loudly when he began to skip meals, knowing that he could ill afford it, but he consistently won the day by pointing out that she must look to the welfare of their baby. Reluctantly, she would accept the food and eat, all the while training a worried eye on her husband.

He was more than thin now. He was gaunt. And still he absolutely refused to eat the dried or salted meat that she pressed him to take. His Vulcan strength and fortitude kept him going.

There came a day, a month or more after the blizzard, when even their stores of preserved meat began to run low and Spock determined that he must find and kill an animal large enough to give Christine an adequate supply of food for at least a month. The game he had hunted out on the plains was gone but he had noticed during his hunting trips that deep in the forest the elk were still here.

They weren't elk, of course, but Christine called them that because they resembled the magnificent wapiti of Earth's Alaskan and Canadian forests. A bull stood about six feet high at the shoulder and was crowned with a wicked set of antlers that he used to good advantage against rival bulls during the fall rut. Spock and Christine had heard their bugling challenges and once had witnessed a battle between two huge males. It had impressed on them just how formidable and dangerous these animals could be.

But now Spock prepared his gear and food enough for two days, determined that he would bag and bring home one of the big deer-like animals.

"I wish you wouldn't go," Christine said, afraid for both him and herself.

He checked again the full quiver of arrows and longbow, his knife and hunting spear and then pulled on the hooded knee-length fur tunic that Christine had made for him during the autumn months. Worn over warm breeches and tall fur lined leather mukluks, he felt able to withstand the snowy landscape.

"I promise you that I will not stay out more then one night. If I do not find game within that time, I will come back and try again in a few days. But you must have the meat an elk will provide, Christine. This is something I must do."

He donned his hunting equipment and pack, pulled on his fur mittens and picked up the spear, ready to set out. Then he paused at the expression she was attempting to keep from letting him see and he felt the warmth of his love for her wash over him.

Leaning down, he kissed her soundly and opened the mindlink between them a bit more. As he lifted his lips from hers, he touched her face and said softly, "I will be with you, t'hy'la. Do you not feel my mind within yours?"

"Yes," she answered shakily.

"This is what it means ... 'parted from me and never parted'," he whispered. "You will know that I am safe and well. There is no need to worry."

She smiled with trembling lips. "Just be careful," she said.

He kissed her again then turned to go. Fitting on his snowshoes, Spock started off toward the thick line of trees that lay to the north.

Christine watched him go, finally allowing the tears to roll down her face. "And what if we are parted?" she whispered aloud as she watched his figure grow smaller in the distance. "What if I stop feeling you there in my mind? What then?"

* * *

The bull elk snorted and stamped one front foot in warning, staring hard and unblinking straight at where Spock lay. The Vulcan didn't move, hoping that the animal would eventually decide he was simply a rock or some other harmless object. But the elk was having no part of it. He could smell Spock and knew he was there, although the scent was unfamiliar and in the processes of his animal mind, he could not identify and categorize this new scent. But instinct told him that there was danger involved with it.

Behind him, the cows and calves of the small elk herd moved restlessly, waiting for their leader to give them the signal to either flee or return to scraping snow off grassy patches.

Spock wasn't after the bull or one of the cows. His target was a half-grown calf, an animal still as big as a pony but considerably more manageable than one of the adult animals. He had been stalking the herd for most of the afternoon and this was as close as he had managed to get. But he needed to be closer and downwind. It was going to take more time to maneuver, especially now that the bull had picked up his scent.

The cold breeze ruffled the fur of Spock's clothing and the elk's nostrils flared even wider. He snorted again and lowered his head in a threat display, shaking the rack of antlers and pawing the snow-covered ground restlessly.

*I'm dead*, Spock thought in his direction. *I am a harmless carcass. Safety... Peace... Threat gone...* They weren't really coherent thoughts but impressions that he hoped the animal would pick up on.

Finally it seemed to be working for the bull slowly raised his head and there wasn't such a hard, dangerous look in his eyes as before. He still stood for a very long time, staring at Spock's immobile figure sprawled in the snow, then finally he threw up his head and uttered a deep grunting noise. The cows and calves relaxed and the bull turned away, too, ushering his band a bit deeper into the woods.

Spock blew out his breath and closed his eyes. It had been a close thing. The bull could either have attacked him or could have sent the herd running. As the animals went back to their search for food in the frozen forest, Spock moved cautiously, sidling carefully with as little motion and sound as possible. Once or twice the bull looked back in Spock's direction, but the man halted instantly and continued to send soothing thoughts.

He'd come farther than he intended but, once he picked up the trail, he felt that he must pursue it. He couldn't afford to pass up the opportunity. Now it was mid-afternoon and he knew he might only have about two more hours of daylight. He felt the need to hurry, but this was countered by the equally strong need to be cautious and not spook the herd. He continued his stalk.

At last he had worked his way around to the down wind side of the herd and the breeze brought their musky scent to him. The cows and calves were nibbling at grass uncovered by their scraping hooves or were tearing at bark on the trees, trying to get at the more succulent wood underneath.

The calf Spock had targeted moved into range and quietly the Vulcan nocked an arrow onto his bowstring. The flint-tipped shaft was crude but as straight and smooth as he could make it, fletched with the gray-brown feathers of a predatory bird of the woods. As he drew, the braided sinews of the bowstring protested slightly, stiff with the cold, but held their tensile strength as he paused, waiting for the right moment, the right second.

Abruptly he released and the arrow sped with a singing zip and thunked solidly into the calf's ribcage. The calf gave a compulsive leap and bawl of terror and the entire herd took flight, stampeding deeper into the woods.

Spock leapt up and ran after them, not needing the cumbersome snowshoes here in the lighter snow cover on the forest floor. He followed them for nearly a mile before the trail of blood on the snow began to show that the calf was weakening. He slowed to a trot, becoming winded, his breath puffing out in white plumes each time he exhaled.

Then, in a clearing ahead, he saw them -- the calf lying crumpled and its anxious mother standing over it. The rest of the elk were nowhere to be seen.

Cautiously he approached, spear in hand, and was ready when the cow charged him, huffing in alarm and fury. She was not as large as a bull but still stood a good five feet at the shoulder and was solid muscle. Thankfully she didn't sport a rack or he would have been in serious trouble. As it was, he had to contend with her slashing front hooves and the sheer bulk of outraged motherhood.

He faced her with the desperation of a hunter who had no intention of surrendering his kill and finally his ferocity overwhelmed her own. The cow, torn between defending her fallen calf and heeding her own "flight" instinct, chose the latter and turned with a whining grunt and trotted off into the trees, her distress obvious.

Spock leaned on his spear and spent the next few moments catching his breath and regaining his strength. It had been a far tougher hunt than he had anticipated, but now he went to examine the calf. It was dead, the stump of his arrow still protruding from its side, the main shaft having broken off sometime during its unsuccessful escape.

Quickly, Spock drew his knife, the steel hunting blade he'd gotten from the Romulans, and gutted the animal with grim efficiency. Hot blood gushed out onto his hands and steamed in the cold air as he removed the viscera and entrails. Ordinarily, he would have saved all he could, but he had nearly 400 pounds of meat to transport and he only intended to take what he could handle.

The sun was beginning to set by the time he had the calf's body trussed and loaded onto a crude travois that he had constructed. He would have to pull it himself but it was the only way to get a kill this size back to the cave. He wanted out of the woods before dark, too, and planned to camp out in the open where he could build a large fire and protect both himself and his kill.

He'd almost made it out onto the plain when there came a mournful howl drifting from the forest behind him. He hurried to get his prize out into the open and finally reached the smooth white expanse of the snow-covered prairie and a place where he had cached enough wood for a fire.

His hands were trembling from cold and exhaustion as he pulled one of the Romulan firestarters from his pack and set his kindling alight. The blaze was small and feeble, the wood just a bit too damp to catch well.

Another, closer howl made Spock jerk his head up in the direction he had come. A dozen low gray shapes were emerging from the forest and, with a sick feeling, Spock knew that the hunter had become the hunted.

Hurriedly Spock fed more tinder to the small fire and his heart leaped as the blaze did likewise. Keeping a constant check on the shapes advancing across the snow, he piled more wood on the flames until it was roaring at his back. Then he turned and quickly caught up his bow and faced the animals bounding toward him.

He'd seen them before, fighting over kills or carcasses out on the plains, but neither he nor Christine had a convenient name to give them. They looked like nothing from either his planet or hers. Long-legged, deep-chested and sleek in the summer, they now sported thick coats of gray fur and were vaguely canid in conformation, if one gave them a quick glimpse. A closer examination dispelled that impression.

They looked like some vastly ancient ancestor of mammalian carnivores ... something like a bear, something like a hyena, something like a wolf, but not really resembling any of them. Long slim heads sported a muzzle with not canine teeth but razor-sharp cutting blades along the jaws and large triangular incisors in the front of the mouth, as if a rodent had filed its big front teeth to points. The feet were large and padded, ideal for either running on snow or loping across endless miles of prairie, with retractable claws like a cat and an especially wicked grasping thumb claw that was pulled up out of the way until put into use. Small hard eyes burned in deep sockets, glowing now in the moonlight that flooded the scene.

They were utterly nightmarish and something in Spock's mind dubbed them werewolves. It was not a logical decision but somehow the name fit these creatures. As they got closer, he was able to count them. There were eleven in the pack and they were unerringly following the blood trail in the snow straight for him.

As they neared him and the fire, the wolves spread out to trot around the perimeter of the firelight, looking him over. He could hear their deep huffing and see the plumes of fog that they exhaled on every breath. Here in the darkness, they now resembled stocky, oversized timber wolves and it was only when they got closer that he could see their hideous faces and heads.

Spock swivelled and tried to keep all of them in sight at once, holding his bow ready with an arrow nocked. One of the animals suddenly made a lunge toward him and Spock countered with lightning speed, pulling and releasing the arrow almost before he had consciously realized what he was doing. He was already setting another arrow in place as the first one sank with a sharp thwack! into the wolf's shoulder, knocking the animal backwards into the snow.

The wolf screeched and thrashed, twisting and snapping at the alien thing biting it so deeply. Still yelping, it limped away from the main pack. Two pack members followed it, curious, and the injured wolf reflexively sank its teeth into the nose of one that had bent to sniff it. The second wolf shrieked and then attacked, the two animals suddenly in a maelstrom of slashing teeth and flying blood, punctuated by screams and growls.

The commotion gave Spock a few minutes respite because it distracted the rest of the pack, some of them attempting to join in the punishment of the injured wolf and others simply circling and giving voice to unearthly yips and cries.

It didn't take long before the injured wolf was lying dead between the front legs of the second. The victor stood over it for a long minute, hair bristling all along its spine, before it gradually calmed down and then moved off to lick its own wounds. The rest of the pack converged on the mutilated body of the first, sniffing, licking blood and quarreling. Then one of them seized the carcass and started dragging it away. That generated another fight as the hungry animals pounced and battled over the corpse of their dead brother.

It was sickening and made the hair rise on the back of Spock's neck, but he was grateful for it all the same. Maybe, just maybe, they would go away and leave him alone.

It was a forlorn hope, however. While a few of the pack members did indeed occupy themselves over ripping chunks of meat from the corpse, the rest resumed circling Spock's campfire, eyeing both him and the elk carcass lying still trussed on the travois.

And so it went as the long, cold night dragged on. Spock killed four of them before they became wise to the weapon he was using and would quickly fade back into the darkness just outside of the firelight. He could see their eyes glowing and blinking at him, but it didn't give him enough of a target to shoot at and he could not afford to waste his dwindling supply of arrows. The starlight reflecting off the snow would occasionally show him a slinking shadow but he held off firing.

He didn't dare sleep or even let down his guard. They could be on him in seconds and thus he spent the night on his feet, ever vigilant, keeping his fire burning. Fatigue nearly overcame him not long before dawn and he dared to sink down onto one knee, warily watching the eyes that ringed his campfire. They were waiting out there, waiting for an opportunity, watchful and alert.

The stress of being constantly on guard was wearing him down, his innate Vulcan strength eroded from the lack of nourishment he had been subjected to and the long walk and hunt. He wished he could sleep. Just for a few minutes. That's all it would take to refresh him. Just a few minutes...

He jerked his head up to find one pair of the eyes much closer, the vague form of their owner nearly within the ring of firelight. At the same instant Spock yanked the bow into position, the beast pounced, bowling him over backwards and knocking the bow from his hand. The Vulcan scrambled away from the creature with a speed born of utter terror, groping desperately for the handle of his hunting spear.

His hand encountered the heavy, smoothed shaft and he brought it up one-handed, awkwardly smashing the spear handle against the side of the animal's face. The wolf yipped and jerked back, giving Spock just enough time to get the other hand on the spear shaft and swing another crashing blow against the wolf's jaw.

It fell back, growling in pain, and rejoined the circle of forms that were even closer now. For a moment, Spock lay panting, trying to get his heart slowed, then got to his feet, clutching the spear, keeping the flint tip ready. Carefully retrieving his bow, he saw that the arrow was broken, leaving him with only three more in his quiver. There were still six wolves pacing back and forth at the edge of his firelight.

Intensely alert from the surge of adrenalin that had flashed through his system, Spock made a decision and drew one of his arrows from the quiver, setting it into place on the bowstring. He had to make every shot a killing one now. He had to even the odds.

With cold efficiency, he picked his target and raised his bow, pulling the sinew bowstring back against his cheek.

The seconds ticked by and became a minute, then another as man and beasts stared at one another with steel-edged appraisal. Finally, the one that had attacked Spock grew bolder and took a step into the pale circle of light, head lowered in menace.

Spock shot him right between the eyes, the arrow smashing through the skull with such force that only the fletching remained visible, protruding like some weird horn out of his forehead. The wolf was dead before his body hit the ground.

The other five vanished into the darkness instantly while Spock nocked his next to last arrow and took up his stance once more, ready to loose the bowstring at the proper instant. Nothing moved except the body of the big wolf which lay twitching in the snow as its body's autonomic nerve functions played out their dying shudders.

Then Spock began to see the eyes again, very faint. The five remaining wolves were staying well out of the light. Spock wondered briefly if there might be some intelligence present in these beasts but dismissed the thought to ponder another time.

Nearly an hour went by before the wolves moved cautiously closer, their hunger driving them forward. A step here, a step there. They spread out, forcing Spock to keep turning. Finally, one ventured in too close and was rewarded with an arrow slamming into its ribcage.

The beast screamed and rolled in agony, snapping the arrow's shaft off as it thrashed. As before, its screeches seemed to trigger an instinctive killing urge in the others, for they pounced on their comrade and tore him to pieces. One of the others was seriously wounded in the fray but managed to get away, trailing a hind leg.

That left three wolves and one arrow. The faint gray light of dawn was beginning to lift the utter darkness, just enough so that Spock could see the animals as dark slinking shapes against the faint luminescence of the snow. His fire was dying down once more but he couldn't break his concentration to stoke it up again. The wolves, agitated into a killing frenzy by the commotion, were pacing back and forth, their eyes gleaming coldly. He could hear their harsh panting and see the plumes of breath now in the dim light.

He nocked his last arrow, grimly aware that his long battle had most likely proven futile. As he drew back, ready, his mind flashed to Christine -- soft and hot and eager in his arms, strong and determined, working along side him, laughing, blue eyes twinkling, surfacing from the pool like a mermaid from the depths -- and to the child she carried, the son or daughter he would never see, never cradle in his arms and caress in wonder, never see at his mother's breast.

All this was but an instant's flash, a lightning burst, seared like an afterimage on his mind's eye -- and them there was no more time left. All three wolves were upon him with a roar.

* * *

In the faint gray light that presaged the dawn, Christine screamed and vaulted awake with such a powerful jerk that the child inside her thrashed in protest. The woman ignored the pain that its tiny flailing limbs caused her, knowing only that something was terribly, terribly wrong. Quickly she rose from the pile of furs and pulled one around her shoulders as she hurried past the meager doorway blocking her home and stared in fear around the little valley.

All was still and blanketed in the preternatural silence of a winter dawn. The only sounds were the faint click of tree branches moving in the wind, the soft creak of snow settling under its own weight, the almost inaudible burble of the creek beneath its covering of ice. It was a brittle silence, though, and the cold bit sharply at her lungs as she gulped in the frosty air.

"Spock!" she whispered, afraid to speak louder lest she shatter the silence. "Where are you?! What's wrong?" She began to shiver in fear and cold, the icy hand of premonition gripping her in its talons.

* * *

The final arrow had smashed completely through the chest of middle wolf as it hurtled toward Spock, ripping its heart apart in the process. Its momentum carried it onward, however, and its body crashed into his, sending him flying. Man and beast thudded into the snow and earth, skidding to a halt in the very midst of the bonfire.

The other two wolves had both executed awkward but successful twists that saved them from landing there as well. Spock had scarcely hit the ground before he reflexively shoved the dead wolf off him and rolled frantically away from the fire, dousing in the snow any sparks that might have caught on his clothing. He could smell scorching hair, but he didn't know if it was from his fur tunic or the wolf's pelt.

He didn't have time to find out. The other two were whirling back his way. He did a lightning fast visual search for his spear, found it, but too far away to reach in time. Instead, he snatched a burning branch from the fire and thrust it into the faces of the creatures leaping toward him again. Both yelped and scuttled backwards, snapping and roaring in fury.

He forced them back a bit more, then snatched up his sturdy hunting spear with one hand while brandishing the burning branch with the other.

One wolf lunged at him and Spock hit it full in the face with the fire. Flames seared its eyes, filled its nostrils and mouth, and the wolf fell back with a scream, yanking the branch out of Spock's hand. The wounded creature rolled and leaped, rubbing its face in the snow, clawing at its mouth, in a frenzy to stop the pain. It ran blindly, trying to escape, its screeching audible long after it had disappeared.

Spock didn't hear it. The final wolf had leaped on him even as its companion was ripping the burning branch from the man's grasp. Spock tried to meet the charge with his spear, but the awkward grip he had on the shaft was jarred loose with the impact of the big, solid body hitting his.

The wolf slammed him into the ground and Spock barely was able to break its downward lunge by jamming his forearm against its throat. The deadly jaws were only inches away, however, its foul breath blasting into his face. Only his Vulcan strength kept the animal from locking its teeth into his throat in a death grip. They rolled over and over in the snow, Spock simultaneously attempting to reach his knife and hold the animal at bay, the werewolf straining to sink its teeth into the man and clawing through the Vulcan's thick layer of protective clothing.

It was a battle the man could not win. The animal was too strong, too utterly vicious, too determined. One of the huge slashing thumb claws ripped across Spock's cheek and, as Spock screamed and jerked away, the wolf lunged free of the blocking forearm and clamped its teeth on that same limb. Only the thick furs prevented its being shorn clean away but Spock nevertheless both heard and felt the bone pop as the wolf's jaws snapped shut.

Through the blinding white blast of pain, Spock was scarcely aware that the fingers of his other hand were gripping the hilt of the Romulan hunting knife. His world had shrunk to a hell of pain and blood and coming death. Dimly he was aware that the wolf was shaking him as if he were a newborn antelope fawn and that it would only be seconds before the mighty jaws ripped him apart.

With his last remaining lucid thought and strength, Spock slammed the long steel blade into the wolf's belly and pulled with all his might. There was a tearing sound and the wolf let go of his arm because it was screaming in surprise and pain. Spock felt something hot and wet and heavy fall on his knife hand and the weight of it bore the hand to the ground, pinning it there.

The weight of the wolf collapsed on him, convulsed and then was still. Then Spock knew no more.

* * *

Christine shaded her eyes against the glare on the snow and scanned the horizon once more. She had dressed in her warmest clothing and had climbed to the bluff above their camp as soon as it was light enough to see. She could make out the line of tracks he had made the day before as he set off for the woods to the north but the wind had blurred their outline, blowing powdered snow across and into them.

Spock was alive and in pain -- she could feel that much through their mindbond, but it did not give her a direction in which to search.

Nothing moved in that vast wilderness save for the trees bending against the north wind and a few birds.

Birds... Sometimes was moving. Far away at the edge of the woodlands. Birds circling in a pattern that was dreadfully familiar. Birds circling above something dead ... or dying...

* * *

It was the stench that finally brought Spock back to consciousness. That and the weight of something large lying across his chest, preventing him from drawing a full breath. And the pain... He hurt everywhere in varying degrees of torment, but it seemed to be his right arm where the worst of it was located. The weight was lying across his arm and that's why it hurt so much, he decided.

He made an experimental attempt at pulling his right arm out from under the weight and was immediately blasted with a lightning burst of agony that nearly spun him back into unconsciousness once more. He lay very still for a while, slowly bringing himself back awake. As his mind cleared, he remembered what had happened and sorted things out in more detail.

The weight lying atop him was the last werewolf. The stench was its ruptured entrails that had spilled out when Spock had ripped its belly open with his knife. The pain in his arm was because it was badly broken. The pain in his face was where a talon had sliced across his cheek. The various other pains were where claws had pierced through his clothing or from the battering his body had taken in the fight.

His first priority was to gain control of the pain and with the iron discipline of a lifetime of training, he sank into meditation, localizing the pain, sealing it off, doing away with it. "Pain is of the mind," he murmured to himself. "The mind can be controlled. I am a Vulcan. There is no pain. There ... is ... no ... pain..."

It was a mantra he had used before, on Deneva, when the agony he had undergone following the attack of the brain parasites was even worse than what he endured now. This time he didn't have an outside force battling his every effort to banish the suffering. Here he accomplished his task after a short time, allowing him to concentrate on the rest of his predicament.

The pain was still there, writhing like a live wire, but it was controlled now. He could think past it.

With his left hand, Spock grasped the rough fur of the wolf and managed to get it off his chest and broken arm. Then he wriggled out from under it and slowly sat up, cradling his useless right arm with his left one.

The scene around him was like a scene out of hell. The snow was packed with a myriad of footprints, splattered with blood, both red and green, the bodies of several dead wolves lying in pools of frozen gore. Already carrion birds were on them, pulling shreds of flesh from the carcasses. A squawk behind him made him turn to find two more pecking at the body of the elk calf.

Spock saw his spear lying nearby and he reached out with his good hand and managed to get hold of it. Swinging it around, he shouted harshly at the birds, driving them away from the elk. They flapped off with loud protestations, causing their fellows to take flight as well at the commotion. They all circled up overhead, waiting for a chance to return to their meals.

Spock's knife was still buried in the belly of the wolf and he managed to reach this as well. Working awkwardly, he cut the hem off his long fur tunic and managed to get the end tied in a knot, using his teeth to pull it tight. This he slipped over his head and used as a sling to support his broken arm. Then, employing the hefty spear as an anchor, Spock shakily got to his knees and pulled himself to his feet.

The world spun and he nearly blacked out again, but then finally things stopped whirling and his equilibrium came back. Retrieving his undamaged bow and empty quiver, Spock limped over to where the elk lay still lashed to the travois, the carcass now frozen solid. He still had to get it back to camp, back to Christine... It was what he had come for.

He worked his upper torso into the rawhide harness he had fashioned the day before that would allow him to pull the travois, got his bearings, and leaned into the rig.

He was down on his knees in the snow before he knew what had hit him. The travois and its cargo had frozen solid during the night and it refused to budge. In addition, the sudden jerk on his body had shattered his control over the pain as every contusion and injury, every laceration and bruise, every broken or cracked bone abruptly screamed in protest.

More carefully this time, Spock got back to his feet and spent a moment reining in the pain. Then he moved off to the left until he heard the ice around the travois' runners crack. Stopping, he moved back an equal distance to the right. The travois came free.

Spock rested for a moment, then gathered himself and dug the butt of the spear into the ground as leverage, leaning into the harness again. The travois moved forward.

Step by torturous step, Spock began the long journey home.

* * *

This is totally illogical, Spock thought as he stared up at the angel. Such creatures are mythical. They do not exist.

He closed his eyes for a moment then ventured to open them again just a bit. The angel was still there. The corona of golden light surrounding her was so bright it hurt to look at it and he shut his eyes once more. Then he felt her soft touch on his face, the side that was uninjured, and a feeling of joy and calmness washed over him, filling him with warmth.

"Spock?" He heard her voice as she spoke but, more amazing, he heard her inside his mind as well. "You're almost home now, Spock."

Home? That confused him even further. This place didn't feel like Vulcan. It was too cold. He was too cold. The only place this cold on Vulcan was the peak of Mt. Seleya. Ahhhh.... he thought. That was it. He was lying in Seleya's snows, waiting to ascend to the Ancestors. Then this wasn't an angel, but an ancestor come to guide him. He wondered which one...

"Spock?" she said again, just a bit more forceful this time. "I need for you to get up. I can't carry you."

No, of course not. One must enter the Realms on one's own. But he was so tired right now. "Rest..." he murmured aloud. "Need to rest..."

"No, you can't rest yet," the Ancestor informed him. "Soon, but not yet. Get up, Spock."

"Just a little..." he murmured.

Something hit his cheek sharply, leaving it stinging. "Spock, get up!" the Ancestor commanded. "You've got to get on your feet again! I can't carry you!"

He blinked and looked up at the Ancestor again. She had Christine's face and her expression was growing fierce.

And then it came back to him in a rush ... the pain, the journey, the fact that he would die here in the snow if he could not make it just a little further.

He struggled up into a sitting position and she supported him, then her arms went around him hard and she bent her face into his shoulder, bursting into tears of relief. He couldn't comfort her, his head still muddled as he worked at getting things sorted out. After a few minutes, she lifted her face and kissed him fervently, then pulled away, getting to her feet.

"We're almost there," she said as she helped him stand. "Just a little farther, darling, and then you can rest."

He was still harnessed to the travois and, looking behind him, he could see a long trail in the snow, the drag marks of the travois and two sets of footsteps, leading back as far as he could see. He looked around at his wife, puzzled.

"I found you two miles back there," she said in answer. "I don't know how you made it as far as you did alone. You're badly hurt, Spock, but I can't treat your injuries until we can get back to the cave. I've been helping you pull this thing."

He shook his head. "You can't pull," he answered in a voice rough from his ordeal. "Not in your condition."

"You can't pull in your condition either," she replied. "But together we can make it." She slipped an arm around him and took up her position at his side. "Let's go. It'll be dark soon and I think it's going to snow again."

Her solid presence and support sent new strength flowing through him and Spock clenched his teeth together and set out again, their valley just ahead.

* * *

Christine sat by the fire and slowly sipped the cup of herb tea in her hands. She was more tired than she'd ever been, but it was a satisfied kind of tired. Spock was sleeping quietly now, his fever broken, and his injuries were healing. It had been a very hard few days, however.

Together, somehow, they had managed to drag the elk carcass near to their butchering site. It was nearly dark by then and Spock was plainly in the final stages of total collapse. Only his innate strength and determination allowed him to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

He stumbled and fell as they hauled the travois down into the valley, got up and made it a few more feet before propping himself against a tree to support his shaking legs. "I ... I can't go any farther..." he wheezed, clutching the tree to keep him upright.

"You don't have to, love," Christine told him. "We're here. We're home."

Quickly, she drew her knife and cut the rawhide traces that harnessed Spock to the travois, then she slid underneath his good arm and wrapped her arms around him. "Just a tiny bit farther, to the cave, and you can sleep."

He staggered, not wanting to lean on her, but unable to walk any more under his own power. His head was spinning and his vision shrinking down to a long tunnel with the doorway to their home as its focus. Then he felt the earthen floor beneath his feet and the warmth of the embers on the hearth and then all he could see was the pile of furs.

He collapsed face down as the remainder of his strength fled. Christine knelt beside him and turned him over onto his back, afraid he would injure his arm even more. His eyes were rolling back in his head as he managed to whisper, "...must ... healing ... three ... days..." Then he slipped into unconsciousness.

She covered him with furs and stoked the fire up high, then she plunged back out into the twilight on a quick errand. The heavy damp cold of the day had settled in even closer as the sun had set and she could see snowflakes beginning to drift down. That suited her just fine because she wanted it as cold as possible right now.

The elk lay against a little overhang and a quick check showed her that the carcass was frozen stiff. Quickly, for the snow was falling heavier now, she raked the existing snow over it, packing it down a little. The new snow would cover it well and keep it frozen. It would keep in this natural deep freeze until she could get back to process it.

Her first priority now, though, was Spock. As she came back into the cave, she saw that he hadn't moved and she secured the hide-covered gateway, shutting out the cold. It was already much warmer inside and she took a few minutes to bask by the fire and get the chill out of her hands and body. Then she took several of the little oil lamps they had carved and lit the wicks of twisted grass, setting them around Spock's bed so that she would have light to work by. The rendered animal fat was rank and smoky, but it was all she had.

The cave was very warm now and she uncovered her husband, the nurse in her taking charge. She managed to get the heavy fur mukluks off his feet and examined them for frostbite, looking for any sign of blackened flesh. His feet and toes, however, had withstood the cold very well and she then turned to his other clothing.

Taking her knife, she gently but quickly cut through the lacings on the tunic and breeches, separating the clothes back into their component parts, easing them off his body. What she found made her bite her lip and struggle to keep tears from welling up.

He was in worse shape than she'd thought. The broken right arm was by far the gravest injury, the cracked end of the bone protruding up in a grotesque lump, nearly breaking through the flesh. Transverse fracture of the lower humerus Vulcanis, her inner voice commented dispassionately. She did a head to toe examination, checking off his wounds. Severe laceration to the right cheekbone; need to suture that. Multiple puncture wounds on shoulders and chest. Long tear in rectus femoris muscle. That needs sutures, too. Numerous contusions of varying size and severity.

Her professional training automatically prioritized which injury needed attention first. Before she could set his arm, she had to stop the bleeding from the long rip down his right thigh, the rectus femoris. Whatever had attacked him must have gotten a claw into his leg and sliced downward. The leather of his breeches had stuck to it and acted as a makeshift tourniquet but now it was open and bleeding again. Taking a long strip of leather, Christine bound up the wound, putting pressure on it and closing it until she could tend to it properly. Then she turned to his arm.

"Oh, Spock," she whispered to him. "I'm so glad you're not awake. I don't think even you could stand what I'm going to have to do to you."

It took all night. Carefully she set the broken arm, splinting it and wrapping it in strips of leather, the only kind of bandages she had. Then she turned back to his leg, cleaning it, evaluating the depth and severity of the cut, and finally dipping into the tiny store of drugs from the Romulan first aid kit. She injected him with one of the three disposable hypos containing antibiotic and then checked to see if there was suture material. There was, but not enough to do this big a job.

Christine sat back and thought for a moment, then turned to her sewing supplies ... the sinew and bone needles she used on their clothing. Filling a bowl with water, she set it into the fire and dropped in the materials. After the water had boiled and then cooled, she set about the laborious task of stitching the muscle and skin back together. It wasn't pretty and he would have a prominent scar but hopefully it would do the trick. She dusted it with antiseptic powder and wrapped it in bandages.

She did much the same thing to the long cut on his face, although here she used the much finer suture needle and thread in the medical kit. On this wound she placed one of their few gauze bandages and secured it with tape.

His other, minor wounds she cleaned and did what she could. Then she covered him and made him warm and lay down beside him, exhausted, wrapped in a fur of her own.

He lay like one dead for three days, his injuries swelling and beginning to fester, though not as much as she would have feared. Inside his mind, he was fighting fiercely to heal his body and control the infection, fighting on an almost molecular level with the Vulcan conviction that the mind could and would rule the physical.

On the third day, he began to stir restlessly and she did her best to wake him. "Hit me!" he commanded her tightly although he was still deeply asleep. It was unnerving to know that it was some part of his subconscious that spoke to her, but he was so sunk into the healing trance that nothing she did could get him past that portal between sleep and consciousness.

Finally, in desperation, she soundly whacked the side of his injured leg and the pain snapped him awake with a cry. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she immediately soothed him. "Oh, Spock, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry, darling! Don't try to get up. You're still very badly injured."

He lay back, closing his eyes, but it was out of weakness and pain. "Tell me," he said.

She related the extent of his injuries and how they were healing. He had avoided major infection, whether through the healing trance or the Romulan antibiotics or both, but he was very far from well. "Do you think you could eat something?" she asked him.

"A bit," he answered tiredly.

She brought him soup with vegetables and some bread that she dipped in the broth to soften it. "Not too much now," she cautioned him. "You can have more later, but not too much at first." She fed him the thin soup and was satisfied when he got down a half a dozen spoonfuls and a few bites of bread.

"You sleep now," she smiled at him. "It's the best possible thing you can do."

"I need the latrine," he answered and tried to lift his upper body off the furs.

She was pushing him back down immediately. "Nope," she replied. "You're not going anywhere. You forget that I'm a nurse. One of the unglamourous parts of being a nurse is toting bedpans." She retrieved a large bowl and helped him relieve himself, then cleaned him and covered him once more. She could tell it embarrassed him to be forced to allow even her such terrible intimacies but she smiled and said, "Look at it this way. In a few months, you're going to have to help me this way." Then laughing softly, she said, "If we're not really and truly married after all this, then we never will be!"

And so it went for the next few days. Despite the effects of the healing trance and using all their tiny store of medicine to prevent infection, the wounds festered and swelled painfully. Spock developed a raging fever and it took all of Christine's skills at nursing to see him through it. Vulcans did not sweat the way humans did but Spock was often drenched as his fever burned higher than a human could survive. Then he would be overcome with chills and shake so hard his teeth would chatter, moaning as his muscles and bones ached unbearably.

Christine alternately mopped him down and bundled him as warmly as possible, forcing him to take as much liquid as she could get down him. Unable to eat more than a few bites of soup a day, his gauntness became skeletal thinness and Christine made a decision regarding this. She began to mix meat broth and grated, dried meat into the soup, determined to get enough nourishment into him that he could survive this ordeal.

He was too sick to notice the difference as she spooned the thickened soup into him several times a day, supplementing it with softened bread, boiled grain, and baked, mashed fruits and vegetables. She didn't tell him what she was doing, simply happy that he didn't appear to detect the change in taste and consistency. Slowly, she began to see an almost imperceptible response in his appearance. His color was a little better and he no longer seemed at death's door.

On the eight day, the fever broke and his injuries had scabbed over, only the wound in his thigh still showing signs of infection. It was an angry, seeping green but, compared to what it had been, Christine's trained eye could see that healing was underway. Best of all, Spock was now sleeping peacefully, if in utter exhaustion and weakness.

Christine caressed his beloved face and bent to kiss him softly on the forehead, pushing his matted dark hair out of the way. He still had a long way to go to recovery, but she felt this battle was won. Cupping her little bowl of fragrant tea in her hands, she settled back against the wall next to their bed and watched her husband sleep, smiling as she rested one hand on her burgeoning stomach and feeling their child moving within.

* * *

As the days passed and a new cycle of the moons began, Spock slowly recovered. Christine was grateful for the cold, snowy weather for it kept him confined to the warm cave and curtailed his inclination to do too much too soon. Instead, he realized the illogic of venturing out into the frigid wilderness with a broken arm and still painful leg. Despite his innately strong Vulcan constitution, the ordeal had severely weakened him and he found that he was prone to chills and respiratory complaints if he spent too much time outside. To fill the long days, he took up the basket making project that Christine had abandoned weeks earlier and applied his keen mind to the problem of weaving long grass stems and reeds into a pattern tight enough to hold water.

Christine was more resilient to the temperature, hailing from a colder, wetter world. When she could leave him, she tackled the job of processing the elk. Packed under the snow, it had stayed frozen solid. So solid, in fact, that she had to use Spock's axe to chop off chunks that she could handle. He was opposed at first to her doing any strenuous labor in her now advanced pregnancy, but she pointed out that one of them had to do it and soon she truly would be unable to handle an axe.

Bringing the chunks of frozen venison back into the cave, she carefully thawed the meat enough to begin slicing it. She hated to ruin the skin but thought she could salvage enough to tan into smaller items like pouches, hand coverings and such things.

Some of the meat she hung up to dry after pounding the crushed seeds of pepper-like plants into it, giving the jerky a distinctly spicy flavor. A good deal more of the meat strips went into the brine barrel for salt curing. Covered with rock salt and packed down into the below-freezing brine, the meat would keep until well into the spring. The salt kept the juices and water from turning to ice, but made it extra cold as a result. Still other meat strips were smoked over a pit they had made for that purpose. The smoked meat wasn't as tough as the jerky, plus it had a delicious, different flavor.

Christine always saved some of the meat to roast over the fire and eat. Spock had long since become used to the smell and no longer felt it necessary to go outside when she began cooking. He still did not find it particularly pleasant, but had learned to live with it.

On this particular evening, he had retired already to the sleeping furs, fatigued, as Christine made supper. She bent over the cooking pots and ladled out a bowlful of aromatic soup, chunky with vegetables, and then brought it to him with a round of their thin, cracker-like bread. Then she returned to her own meal, a small piece of venison skewered on a stake and hung over the fire to roast. It was nearly done and she turned it a little to make sure both sides cooked evenly.

She didn't see Spock start to raise a spoonful of soup to his lips and then stop in mid-action, staring fixedly at the spoon.

"Christine?" he asked in a deceptively quiet voice. "What is this?"

"Hmm? Just the same old soup," she answered, not paying attention. "You have it every night. You ought to recognize it by now."

"No. I mean, what is this?"

She turned to find him glaring at her and holding the spoon level and aimed in her direction. Suddenly she realized what he was talking about and her heart thudded. "Why?" she asked in a voice that wasn't entirely steady.

His dark brows lowered even farther over his smoldering eyes. "You know why," he snapped. Furious, he dropped the spoon back into his bowl and set it down with a little more force than necessary on the ground, as far as he could get it away from him.

He continued to pierce her with his accusing glare then stated harshly, "This is a violation! You know that it is against everything I believe in to eat the flesh of a living creature! How dare you do this!"

Christine flared back at him. "How dare I!? I'll tell you how I dare! Because it kept you alive, that's how! If I hadn't taken the medical steps to get food in you--"

"Medical!" he echoed in astonishment.

"Yes, medical!" she snapped. "Your nutrition intake was too low to sustain life, my dear puritanical Vulcan! All the sayings of Surak wouldn't have saved you if I hadn't managed to get some good hot protein in that stiff-necked body of yours!"

"There are plenty of plants--"

She made a violent gesture in the direction of the doorway. "Go find me some then! Go out there in that knee deep snow and bring me back enough legumes and leafy green vegetables and tubers and fresh fruit that I can keep you healthy and munching on carrots to your heart's content!"

"Do not be absurd, Christine," he answered angrily. "You are being illogical--"

"Logic! Oh, there's that magic word again!" she retorted loudly. "Okay, let's talk about logic! I fed you meat because it was logical, Mr. Spock the All-Knowing! I made a medical evaluation of your condition and determined that it was logical to add meat to your diet in order to raise the nutritional levels to an acceptable level. I determined logically that I am seven months pregnant with your child and it would be extraordinarily difficult to survive if you were dead of starvation! I thought it over carefully and came to the logical conclusion that two of us have a better chance of survival than a woman alone weakened by childbirth and attempting to find enough food to feed herself and nurse a newborn baby!" Tears were starting to spill down her cheeks. "And I determined logically that I love you and couldn't bear to go on if you died! I would die, too. By my own hand, if necessary."

Spock was stunned into silence by her tirade. He spoke in a softer voice. "But I cannot eat meat, Christine. As a Vulcan, I simply cannot."

"No," she interrupted him, shaking her head. "You won't eat meat. There's a distinct difference. You've been eating meat for the past month, whether you realized it or not, and you handled it just fine. The only reason that you won't eat it is because of philosophical beliefs that don't apply here."

"You should understand this, Christine," he persevered. "There are religions on your own planet that have dietary laws against certain types of foods."

"We're not on Earth, Spock, nor on Vulcan. Those laws don't apply here," she answered. "Maybe a religious person on Earth might be justified in starving himself to death in the name of a taboo he refused to violate, or a Vulcan might renounce everything in order to achieve Kohlinar, but not here! Not us! Spock, you and I are all we have. We cannot afford the luxury of picking and choosing what we will and won't eat or do. Personally, I find it utterly incredible that we've survived this long. We could be killed tomorrow. Except for one thing..."

Suddenly Christine was as fierce and predatory as Spock had ever seen her, her brows bunched together over her ice cold blue eyes as she leaned toward him. "They are not going to win!" she ground out. "Those Romulan bastards left us here to die and I will not oblige them by doing so! And I'm not going to let you die, either! I will do anything it takes to survive, Spock! Do you understand me? Anything! And that includes stuffing meat down your throat with my bare hands if I have to!"

She meant it. He could see by the half-mad light in her eyes that she was near a breaking point if he fought her on this issue. And perhaps it was ... logical. He could see a certain amount of sound reasoning in her words.

He was silent for a long moment, then answered quietly, "I will meditate on this." Slowly, he lay down on his left side and pulled the furs up over his injured arm, his back to Christine and the fire. He didn't move again for the rest of the night. And he didn't sleep either.

* * *

Spock had listened quietly as Christine had finished her supper in silence, then retrieved the bowl of now-cold soup from his bedside. She poured the soup back into the main pot, not wasting any of it, and stepped outside for a few minutes to wash the carved bowl with snow. When she came back inside, she put their few kitchen utensils away, made herself some tea, and sat for a long time by the fire. He could feel her anger with him pulsating across their bond, mixed with other emotions in a volatile combination. He had long since learned that she occasionally experienced these hypersensitive mood swings and usually just shielded against them when they occurred.

Tonight he blocked her more heavily that usual in order to think through what she had said. His cultural taboos warred with logic, both of them proclaiming themselves the Vulcan Way. He broke the problem down and studied each element. It was a fact that Vulcans did not now eat meat but that had not always been the case. Cultural vegetarianism had only become the norm during the past 500 years or so as the Tenets of Surak had been accepted and put into practice worldwide. It was rooted in the universal respect for life, in any form.

And yet, if one wanted to split hairs about it, plants were a form of life and Vulcans had no qualms about eating them. Was it because animal life was considered sentient, self-aware, while plants were not? Who could say that was definitively true? Was an Aldebaran bloodworm more sentient than the Thax vines of Canopus 4, which lived in community groups and made art and tools? If it was ethical to survive by consuming plant life in all its forms, why was it unethical to survive by consuming animal life? Did not both actions result in the taking of life?

What then constituted 'ethics'? Was it ethical to end a life to prevent that life from dying in pain? Was it ethical to end an animal's life that way but not a person's? Why should there be a difference? Were not both living beings and subject to the same amount of pain? Was an animal any less dead if it were euthanized instead of being killed for food? Why was one acceptable but the other not? The killing for food sustained other life and, therefore, could be considered ethical in its own way.

Spock frowned, realizing that he was arguing in circles. He made his thoughts turn back to the problem at hand. Conclusion: given the circumstances, it was logical to kill and consume animal life in order to survive. Note: Christine had made a valid evaluation of his medical condition and was justified in adding meat to his diet, although he was still disturbed that she had not told him and had deceived him into eating it.

Second problem: His deeply embedded cultural taboos against the eating of meat would be difficult to overcome. The very idea was repulsive to him and made his stomach lurch uncomfortably at the prospect. However, this was a learned and not a physiological response and what was learned could be unlearned. Conclusion: he must begin to condition himself to ingest meat without his stomach rejecting it. Note: It was not his stomach rejecting it; it was his mind. The mind could be controlled. If he had done it with his pain, he could do it with a change in his diet.

As he argued back and forth with himself, he saw Christine bank the fire and come to bed. Undressing, she lay down beside him, her back to him. He did not touch her or speak to her, sensing that she was still in no mood to have him do so. Her back was stiff for a while but then gradually relaxed and he could tell by her even breathing that she had fallen asleep.

He closed his eyes and returned to his meditation. Perhaps tomorrow he would try the soup again. Just a few bites at first, but he would try.

* * *

Christine woke to a delicious sensation of warmth at her back and the light touch of Spock's fingers stroking her thigh. He was spooned against her, his entire length pressed against hers, and she could also feel the solidity of his arousal snugged against her buttocks. It sent a surge of answering energy shooting through her, echoing out through their bond and into him. He moved his hand up a little higher, closer to the dark triangle of hair at the juncture of her thighs.

She shuddered and wriggled into him. It was the first time he had touched her like this since he had been hurt, nearly two months before. His right arm was still bound to strengthen the yet mending bone, but his other injuries had closed and healed well. Slowly he had regained his energy and put on weight but had not shown any interest in sex until now.

She hadn't minded too much. She was now heavily pregnant and too uncomfortable and chronically exhausted to engage in sex play. But now, as she neared the time when she would give birth, the baby had dropped a little, lower into her abdomen, and taken the pressure off her lungs. She could breathe easily again and had more energy.

Winter had begun to lose its grip and the temperature had begun to move upward. Rains had washed the last of the snow away, leaving the earth muddy and wet, but also sending the first, early opening bulbs and leaves bursting open. It was still cold at night and cool during the day, but the blush of new growth was appearing as spring approached. It was perhaps reflecting this burgeoning renewal of life across the land that had brought a like awakening of sexual renewal to the man and woman cuddled together in the warmth of their home.

As she sighed and moved lazily against him, Spock slid his fingers down the inside of her thigh and softly stroked her soft lips. She wriggled again, chuckling a little at the tickling sensation it caused, and he again ran his fingertips over her sensitive skin, enjoying her reaction. A third time, and then on the fourth, his touch went deeper, slipping into the moist cleft and up to brush the swollen nub hidden there.

She gasped and jerked reflexively and he did it again. Dipping his fingertips into her slick wetness, he gently rolled and massaged her hot womanhood until finally she reached down and laid her hand on top of his, stilling his movements as she gripped both their hands between her thighs and shuddered with a long exhalation.

As he felt her hold slacken a bit, he resumed his movements for a moment, then he moved his hand up to cup the inside of her thigh and lift her leg, opening her. As he shifted his hips forward, she felt the firm, smooth head of his penis slide into place. The touch of his manhood against her feminine center inflamed her and she reached down between her legs to grasp his hard shaft, pumping her fist up and down his length until finally he seized her wrist and stopped her.

"Christine, I am finding it difficult enough to restrain myself," he said in a low voice.

"Then stop playing around and get in me!" she whispered back fiercely.

He paused for a second then abruptly released her and shifted their positions. Rolling her onto her back, he knelt between her spread thighs and slid his hands beneath her buttocks, lifting her up astraddle his lap. It was a little awkward but allowed him full penetration without lying across her swollen belly. And, looking down at her engorged breasts and nipples and into her hungry, fevered eyes, he could hold himself back no longer.

Pressing the head of his hard, pulsing organ into her eager opening, he gave a thrust with his hips and felt his length sink into her welcoming depths. Another thrust and he was hilt deep. Christine arched her back and cried out at the sensation of it and he could barely stop himself from pounding into her with all the fire that had been building in him. But he gripped her hips and moved with deliberation and restraint until she finally grabbled his wrists and bucked up against him, throwing her head back as she went over the edge.

Her orgasm jolted through the link into him and triggered his own. With a tremendous groan, he pounded hard into her straining body and felt his gut abruptly twist as his eruption blasted into her. For a long moment, he bent over her, emptying into her, and then it was over. She slumped back limply into the furs and he gently withdrew from her, feeling spent from the outpouring of energy.

Lying back down beside her and pulling the furs over them, Spock turned on his side facing his wife and slipped an arm across her chest, drawing her close. She nuzzled her forehead against his and smiled adoringly at him. "Good morning," she whispered dreamily. "What would you like for breakfast?"

"I believe I just had it," he murmured back, kissing her lightly. "If you are agreeable, I believe I will sleep for a bit longer and then try a second course."

She chuckled quietly and answered softly, "Would you like coffee or tea with that?"

* * *

Christine put both hands against her aching lower back and tried to get the soreness out, but to no avail. She wanted to enjoy the day, warm and sunny, flush with the sweet scent of spring, but she couldn't get comfortable. They had been on the planet for nearly a year now but had missed this season. The bursting floral displays and explosion of green that had swept across the land was like nothing she had ever known. The plains for miles around were painted with a veritable palette of colors -- blues, yellows, reds, pinks, oranges, purples. The trees and bushes were in bloom with pink and white flowers and beginning to buzz with the local equivalent of honeybees. The herds of animals hadn't returned yet, but birds were coming back in and it wouldn't be long before they would be nesting and raising their new broods of chicks.

The thought made Christine look down at her huge belly. By her calculation, the baby was due any time now. It had dropped low into her pelvis and she had begun to experience an increase in the Braxton-Hicks contractions that had been rippling her abdomen for the past few months. As a nurse, she recognized them for what they were and also knew that her body was preparing itself for labor. The imminent birth worried her a lot because she would have to talk Spock through the delivery and because there would be no medical help if anything should go wrong.

Of course, he had had the requisite emergency medical training required of every Starfleet officer and knew all the mechanics of delivering a baby, but that was a lot different from actual experience, particularly when it was your wife you were delivering and it was taking place in a cave on a distant planet!

And she was in her late 30's, a little late for giving birth to one's first child ... and a part-alien child at that. Countless things could happen. Still, something deep inside Christine felt right. She rubbed both hands over her belly, murmuring softly, "It'll be okay, little one..."

Two arms slipped around her from the back and two large hands covered her smaller ones. "Have you any idea how incredibly beautiful you are to me?" Spock's soft, deep voice whispered in her ear.

Christine smiled. "What -- you like your women bloated, tired and cranky?"

"You are not 'bloated, tired and cranky'," he answered in an amused voice. "You are heavy with our child, fatigued from the long burden you have carried, and justifiably looking forward to the end." He nuzzled her hair. "And I do find you the most unbelievably beautiful woman I have ever known."

He slipped one hand up under her tunic so that he could lay his palm against her tight abdomen. "I still find myself speechless when I think of you carrying my child inside you," he said softly. "A year ago, I would never have believed it possible... the ... the depth of emotion I would feel for you and ... how much I desire this child of ours..."

She closed her eyes and leaned back against him, suddenly overwhelmed with love for this man. She wanted to say something but couldn't because her throat was so tight. Instead, she turned in his arms and put her arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely, projecting all that she felt through their mindbond. He returned the embrace, enfolding her in his own emotional blanket.

After a moment, though, she squirmed and pulled away, frowning a little as she rubbed her abdomen. Instantly, he was alert, concerned. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Are you in pain?"

"No," she answered. "Just another Braxton-Hicks. This one was a little stronger than usual, but that's normal. And my lower back hurts. Would you rub it a little for me?"

"Of course," he answered. "Do you want to stay here or shall we go back down to the cave?"

Christine looked out over the sun drenched plains and part of her wanted to stay on the bluff, enjoying the spring weather. But she was suddenly feeling very tired.

"Let's go back home," she said. "I think I need to lie down for a little while and take a nap. It was a longer walk up here than I thought."

Spock slipped a supportive arm around his wife and they started back down to their valley.

* * *

At dawn, Spock awoke to find Christine curled in on herself, holding her distended belly and rocking slightly to some internal rhythm only she could hear. Alarmed, he raised himself on one elbow and gently laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Christine?" he asked quietly, apprehension apparent in his voice. "Has it begun?"

"Yes," she answered.

"How long?"

"About two hours," she replied. "It comes and goes."

He sat up, leaning over her in concern. "What should I do?"

"Nothing, right now." She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. "Although you could help me get up. I need to hit the necessary."

Spock quickly got to his feet and assisted his wife in rising. "Brrr, it's cold in here," Christine said. "Could you hand me my long tunic and then help me get my mocs on?" He gave her the requested garment and then knelt at her feet, slipping her high moccasins on her feet and lacing them for her.

"Thank you, sweetheart," she smiled down at him, then turned and started awkwardly in the direction of the latrine.

"Do you need any help?" he asked, getting up.

"No, I think I can manage. I'll call you if I do. Why don't you get the fire going and start breakfast?" she answered back.

Spock quirked an eyebrow at her casualness, something he was definitely not feeling at the moment, and hurriedly pulled on his own clothing. He built up the fire and set a pot of water next to it to boil some of the rice-like grain they'd found late in the autumn, then went to see if Christine was all right.

He found her leaning against one of the cavern walls, bent over somewhat and holding her belly with one hand. Quickly, he went to her and put his arm around her shoulders in support.

She was breathing rhythmically then straightened slowly. "It's okay. The pains aren't bad yet. They're about 20 minutes apart right now." She smiled at his anxious expression. "Spock, relax! This stage of labor can go on for hours! The main thing is just to take it easy right now. Believe me, the calmer and more relaxed I am, the easier this part is going to be. But I still have to go to the bathroom, so beat it! I don't need an audience yet!" Laughing, she shooed him back to their main living area.

Spock went, wondering just how long this day was going to be. It looked like a long one.

* * *

Christine ate a light breakfast, then prepared their sleeping area for the birth. Removing their sleeping furs, she laid down a large, soft-tanned hide, well-worked so that it would be both comfortable and absorbent. Working between contractions, she set out the things that she had determined they would need and had prepared long before. She was still feeling fairly active and decided she wanted to take a short walk. Spock was skeptical that this was a good idea, but she insisted that the exercise would help the labor along and that simply lying on the bed and waiting for hours would only make her miserable.

They walked down to the pond and back, stopping whenever a contraction came on, then resuming after it had passed. By the time they got back, Christine was ready for a rest as the pains had crept to about fifteen minutes apart now and were slightly stronger. Lying down for a while, she couldn't seem to find a comfortable position and finally asked Spock to help her to the latrine again. This time she leaned on him, not trusting her legs to support her alone.

Just as she finished her business in their makeshift restroom, she groaned and clutched her belly, and a gush of liquid poured down her legs.

"Christine!" he exclaimed. "The baby!"

"No, it's all right," she answered, eyes clenched shut. "My water just broke. Don't worry." The contraction eased up and she managed to straighten. "Help me back to bed, Spock. You'll need to clean me up and get these wet things off me." She smiled. "Think you'll survive this, Dad?"

He sighed and gave her a wan little smile in return. "I am beginning to understand why Vulcan women generally handle these matters and exclude men entirely," he answered. "I do not believe men are inherently strong enough to undergo this on a regular basis!"

She laughed and let him guide her back to bed.

* * *

Christine wasn't laughing anymore. She also wasn't trying to reassure Spock about anything. The whole of her world had narrowed down to the globe of pain that surrounded her lower body and was shrinking smaller and smaller, threatening to squeeze her to death. She had been in labor for ten hours now and the last two had been the worst.

Early on, as the day passed, she had paced, lain down, gotten up and paced again. Finally she couldn't get to her feet anymore and Spock had lain down behind her, using his body heat to ease the ache in her back, and initiating a low level meld with her to mask the worst of the pain while still allowing her to feel and focus on what her body was doing.

This helped for a couple of hours until the contractions grew so close together and hard that she shoved his hands away from her face and made it plain that she didn't want him touching her. "Get me some water," she said crossly. "I'm hot."

He came back with a bowl of water but it had a sponge plant lying in it. They had discovered this growing at the edges of their pond. It had proved to be a natural holder of water, its fibers as absorbent as a sponge, and could be dried and stored. It was also sweet and delicious and a rare treat for them.

Spock knelt down beside her and said softly, "You can't have any water to drink but you can suck on pieces of this."

Christine's brows lowered in anger. "You can suck your head, Spock! I'm thirsty! I want a drink!"

"I am following your own instructions, Christine," he said calmly. "Do you want a piece of this?"

"Yes," she admitted, shutting her eyes tiredly. "I'm sorry."

"There is no need to be sorry," he answered, breaking off a piece of the juicy plant and offering it to her. She opened her mouth and he placed the fruit on her tongue. She was silent for a while, sucking the juice and letting the taste soothe her.

As she felt another hard contraction beginning, she hastily swallowed the fruit and began to pant her way through the pain. Groping, she caught Spock's hand and held on tight.

Night had fallen outside and Spock had started to light their oil lamps, but Christine snapped, "No! I can't stand the smell of those things! Just keep the fire burning. That's all I want!"

He had complied and now sat beside her as her labor intensified. After a particularly hard contraction, as he bathed her sweaty face, she said, "Talk to me, Spock. Just talk to me for a while."

"About what?"

"I don't care. Tell me about something nice that happened to you as a boy. I just want to hear you talk."

"Hmmm ... I am not sure that I can think of anything in particular I would call 'nice' but I do have some pleasant memories. I recall a holiday that we took on the shores of the Charis Sea, which I thought very strange at first. Vulcans do not swim recreationally, you see, and find it illogical to lie in the sun. But my mother had a burning urge to go to the beach and so my father finally relented. He stayed in our rented cottage and worked most of the time, as I recall, but my mother and I had wonderful walks along the shore in the morning and late afternoon. I can remember being barefoot on the wet sand and finding shells that had washed ashore and being fascinated by the endless waves that rolled in."

Christine groaned and rolled away from him onto her other side. "Go on," she said in a strained voice. "I'm listening."

Spock pulled her hair away from her neck and gently bathed her neck, shoulders and upper back. "One evening she and I built a small fire on the beach at dusk and roasted tarn pods and bik roots in the coals while we watched the sun set, then ate them with our fingers. Sarek thought we were both disgraceful but Mother had a marvelous time and I must admit that I did, too."

Christine rolled back over and gasped in pain, clutching at his hand again. Quickly, he steadied her. "Breathe through it, Christine."

"I can't! It hurts too much!" she wailed.

"Yes, you can. Breathe, t'hy'la, breathe!"

She managed to pant a little then whimpered, "I can't make it, Spock. I don't have the strength anymore."

"It won't be much longer now, love," he said softly, again wiping her face with the damp scrap of cloth. "You are in transition now, I think."

"Do something," she moaned. "Call sick bay and have them send someone up here! I need help!"

His heart constricted and he fought down a note of panic. "Just a little longer, Christine. It won't be much longer."

Her answer was a long, drawn out moan of utter misery as her belly cramped into another intense contraction.

For the next half hour, Spock wasn't sure that Christine was going to survive. Tears rolled down her cheeks as the torment became nearly unbearable. He tried to initiate a meld once more but she slapped his hand away from her face. "Don't touch me!" she shouted, nearly irrational with the almost constant pain. "I can't stand you touching me!" She rolled and held her belly. "Oh, God, do something!!"

For a moment he was at a loss, then he reached out and forcibly took her face in his hands, his fingers moving into meld position. Almost immediately, he had formed a link with her and seized control of her pain. *There is no pain, Christine,* he told her. *I will control it for you. I will help you with this. It is almost over, my beloved. The baby is almost ready to come.*

His immense strength and love for her pulled her over the barrier of the final stage of birth. She relaxed and managed to find herself again. "Get me up, Spock," she said in a breathless voice. "Get me into a squatting position. I've got to push!"

He took his hands away from her face and helped her upright, his mental bond with her strongly in place. She squatted, bracing herself with her hands on his shoulders, clenched her teeth and bore down. He could see her vagina bulge apart with the dark crown of the baby's head.

"Again, Christine! Push hard again!" he ordered her.

She took another deep breath and strained, her face red with effort, her fingers biting into the flesh of his shoulders. He didn't feel it. "Now, Christine! Take another breath and push!"

She screamed and pushed with all her might, felt her body tear, and then, with a gush of birth fluids and blood, the baby was out and Spock had his hands full with his slippery, outraged, loudly protesting son.

* * *

His thoughts turning back to the present, Spock looked over at the boy walking on the other side of the little mesohippus they had caught. David Sapel cha'Spock hei-Kh'da'Ni'ikhirch had grown tall and strong in his ten years, self-assured and bright. Though he had Spock's Vulcan characteristics and coloring, he took after his mother in facial features and temperament. His predominantly human blood made him a cheerful boy who was quick to laugh and get into mischief and Spock had to admit to himself that, without his own rigid Vulcan upbringing, he might have been much like Sapel at this age.

The boy noticed his father's eye on him and turned curiously. "What's wrong, Papa?" he asked.

Spock shook his head, guilty as getting caught. "Nothing, Sapel. I was just thinking back to when you were born."

"It was just you and Mama then, wasn't it?"

"Yes. Just us two."

"Must've been pretty lonesome, huh?"

"Well, it was a good deal quieter," Spock replied but the fond twinkle in his eye led Sapel to believe that he wasn't entirely serious.

The boy was silent for a few minutes than asked pensively, "Are we really the only ones here? There's no other people?"

"As far as we know, we are alone here."

Sapel turned back to his thoughts as they walked. The boy's eyes moved across the yellow fields of grass undulating to the horizon, dotted here and there with little stands of trees. Overhead, long V's of black geese and other water fowl winged their way south, their faint raucous cries clear in the quiet afternoon. In the knee-high grass, leafspringers and other insects hopped or flew out of their way, only to light once more on the heavy grassheads not far away.

Ahead he spotted the little valley that was their home with the waterfall trickling its endless stream into the pond and the willows bending over it, shedding their yellowing leaves on the water like a golden carpet. The smell of wood smoke and food cooking drifted up from the outdoor hearth, where he could now see his mother bent over a pot, stirring something, while his two little sisters played nearby.

Sapel looked up at his tall, regal father striding with self-assurance and strength through the grass, his long black hair tied with a thong and falling down his back, his hunting knife at his waist and spear in his hand, long legs clad in fringed buckskin, bronzed chest bare in the hot afternoon sun.

"Papa..." the boy asked hesitantly. "Do you ever wish you could go home again?"

Spock turned to look down at his son and a reassuring smile lifted the corners of his lips. "We are home, Sapel," he said and turned back to his valley.

END OF PART ONE