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 TWO

"TERRA TWO"

The morning sun was well above the horizon as Spock dogged down the last rope holding their possessions to the travois frame. There was a decided chill in the air and he knew they were not setting out a moment too soon. It had taken them about two weeks to prepare for their journey south and now he looked around their summer homesite one last time.

"Is everyone ready?" he asked the members of his family.

"All set," Christine responded, settling the baby's carrier onto her back and taking up her walking stick, then seeing to her middle child. Four-year-old T'Jenn was too small to carry a pack but she insisted on being given charge of little T'Kai's bedding. The baby's sleeping wrap enclosed her few items of clothing and Christine had permitted T'Jenn to carry that across her back.

Sapel, at ten already nearly grown, hefted his own pack into place and went to stand beside his father. "I double checked, Papa," he said. "We've got everything."

"Very good," Spock acknowledged with a hint of amusement. "In that case, Sapel, lead us out."

The boy grinned and took up the lead rein of the little horse-like creature that was harnessed to the travois. Dubbed "Mezzie", for her species resembled more than anything the Terran proto-equine mesohippus, the little animal balked for a second then started forward, pulling the loaded travois behind her. T'Jenn scampered up to walk beside her brother and Spock and Christine took up the rear.

"I always feel so sad when we leave in the fall," Christine smiled up at her tall husband. "I love this valley so much."

"It is an ideal home for most of the year," Spock agreed. "However, you know very well that it is logical to move to a more temperate climate during cold weather."

"Of course," the woman agreed patiently. "I haven't forgotten how hard that first winter was here. It only makes sense to follow the herds south."

They were silent for a while as their little party left behind the valley where they had lived since being marooned here eleven years before. The creek that flowed past their campsite continued on until emptying into a small river about a mile downstream. The river was their guide south for it meandered about 200 miles before emptying into an ocean.

That was their destination -- the wide warm gulf that regulated the climate into a snow-free winter was home to the flocks of waterfowl and shore birds that migrated from the northern regions, and it also provided abundant seafood in their nets.

The herds of horses, antelope and bison moved there as well, lured by the endless grass that grew on the coastal plains that stretched for miles from the higher prairies down to the sea. There were other animals that lived there year-round. The region was far from a tropical paradise, but it provided abundant food during the months when hunger stalked the land farther north.

Sapel, leading the way, turned them south before reaching the river itself. The trail followed the bluffs overlooking the waterway and the boy was well acquainted with the path.

As they moved beyond sight of their valley, Christine turned to catch one last glimpse of it and could just make out the escarpment and the waterfall that winked silver in the distance. She couldn't help thinking of the first time they had made this journey, so long ago. She had felt that she was leaving behind all that she had known and was stepping off into the blackness of the unknown future...

* * *

Christine shifted the baby into a more comfortable position and tucked his fur covering closer around his body. Then she faced back into the wind and squinted at the figure of her husband approaching. He had been gone for two days and she could already see that he was returning empty-handed. She went to meet him, feeling his dejection and fatigue through their bondlink.

Spock's face brightened a bit at the sight of his wife and son but nothing could lift the gloom of his mood. As they came together, he bent down and embraced Christine warmly, then exchanged a long welcoming kiss with her. Sapel squirmed between them and protested, and Spock ran the back of one finger lightly down the baby's cheek, smiling affectionately.

"No luck at all?" Christine asked, her blue eyes reflecting her worry.

Spock shook his head and guided her in the direction of their home. "I only found small game and not much of that," he answered wearily. "I suppose I could try for elk again."

"No!" Christine responded at once. "After last year I don't ever want you hunting big game alone again."

"It did provide us with enough meat to last the winter," he pointed out.

"And nearly got you killed! No, something will turn up. We can try farther down the river or range farther afield..."

"Christine, I have been twenty miles in every direction," Spock sighed in exasperation. "There is no game. The drought has forced everything out of the area."

"The fishing is still good in the river," she answered hopefully, grasping at straws. "We can catch and salt enough fish--"

He grimaced. "We can't live the winter on salted fish. I can barely get it down in any case." He shuddered.

"Well ... I don't see much alternative," she replied, frustrated.

Sapel picked up his parents' agitated moods through their telepathic link and began to fuss. Christine tried to soothe her six-month-old son but felt close to crying herself.

In truth, she didn't know what they were going to do. It had been a brutal summer, the temperatures soaring far over 100 degrees for weeks and no rain to speak of. The previous summer, their first one here, had been idyllic in comparison and they had fared well. But this year, after early spring showers, the skies had remained an unrelenting blue, darkened only occasionally by brief storms that dropped heavy rain for a half hour or so and then moved on without leaving behind enough moisture to do any good.

The plains had turned yellow early on, then brown and dusty. Often the landscape seemed to be smoldering, on the verge of bursting into flame, as the hungry animals scratched the fine dust into a low-lying fog that hovered over the parched land until blown away by the unending winds. Slowly the herds began to dwindle and vanish as they moved on in search of better pasture.

For a while hunting was easy because Spock could simply lie in wait near their pond, one of the few sources of water in the area that never ran dry. But even it began to drop and the animals that came down to drink began to be wary of the new danger there, avoiding it as much as they could.

Spock and Christine began to turn to food sources that they normally wouldn't have bothered with. The game he began bringing home just barely qualified as edible and she spent long hours searching for tubers and seed cones to supplement their meager food stores. It was hard work gathering them and harder work preparing them to eat. The seed cones especially took a lot of work. They resembled pine cones with fat-rich seeds inside, but these had to be teased out of the sticky resin that coated them, then roasted on flat stones to break off the husks. These then had to be cracked and winnowed and the seeds roasted once more before being ground into a paste that could be spread out like a pancake and cooked crisp. It was delicious but it took all day to prepare a meal.

As Spock and Christine reached the little cave they called home, Spock tiredly propped his spear, bow and quiver up against the wall and went back to the sleeping furs spread at the back of the cave. The slump in his shoulders worried her. She didn't know if he was merely exhausted or on the verge of giving up.

Pulling his leather shirt off over his head, Spock negligently tossed it to one side and then stretched out on his back, sighing heavily. Putting the baby down, Christine went to kneel beside him, stroking her fingertips down his cheek.

He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. "I shall try again tomorrow," he said. "I haven't gone west yet. Perhaps the woods..."

"Just rest tonight, love," she interrupted him. "We're not destitute yet."

He quirked up an eyebrow at her and responded in a deep baritone rumble, "The eternal optimist."

"One of us has to be," she answered, smiling. Sapel had crawled over to his parents, testing out his new-found mobility. Christine picked him up and sat him on his father's chest. "Here, watch your son while I get supper."

Spock slipped a hand around either side of the baby to steady him. "You know, after six months, I would expect you to be pulling your weight around here," he told the baby conversationally.

Sapel responded by trying to get hold of Spock's chin and voicing a stream of gibberish. Then he did something Spock did not expect. The child locked his big brown eyes on his father's and held them ... and Spock was suddenly very, very hungry.

Both his eyebrows went up. "Sapel wants to eat," Spock commented to his wife.

"Sapel always wants to eat," she answered, her back to him as she heated stew.

"No, I mean he told me he wants to eat."

Christine looked around at him. "What?"

"I wasn't sure he would inherit Vulcan telepathic abilities, but he just sent me a very clear directive." Spock peered appraisingly at his little son who was now sitting with his fist stuck in his mouth and sucking on it.

"Oh, good," Christine answered with a lop-sided, skeptical smile. "So now the two of you can talk about me behind my back." She shook her head. "Come get your supper and I'll see to that one."

She arranged herself cross-legged on the sleeping furs and took the child, cradling him in the crook of her arm as she opened her shirt and put him to her breast. Sapel closed his eyes and settled down to nursing, his little face utterly contented.

Spock propped himself up on one elbow and quietly watched his wife nurse their child. Softly, he reached up and caressed her other breast. She glanced up at him, caught by the love in his eyes. She smiled. "I thought you were tired."

"I am, but I think I should be rested well enough later," he answered in a low voice. "Once Sapel is down, I believe my energy level might go up a bit."

She smiled broadly and chuckled. "Something will, anyway." She laughed again at his wry expression. "Right now, go eat your supper before it gets cold." She shook her head. "Eternal optimist, indeed!"

* * *

Christine checked one more time to make sure that the baby was asleep in his little cradle then turned back to where Spock was waiting for her in their bed. He was watching her appreciatively and, in impulse, she did a slow strip for him, removing one item of clothing after another with deliberation and as much sensuality as she could. Never taking his eyes off her, he enjoyed the show with open interest.

Finally, she tossed the last article of clothing over her shoulder and froze in a provocative post. Smiling broadly, he clapped softly. "Bravo! What do you do for an encore?"

"Oh, the proprietor of the house gets his own personal performance," she responded and slipped under the furs with him, moving into his waiting arms.

Their lips came together and she felt the tip of his tongue probe against her mouth. Eagerly, she opened her lips and responded in kind. The kiss deepened as their tongues fenced with each other and he drew her harder against him. Running one hand down the smooth line of her back, he cupped her buttocks and pulled her pelvis against his, his erection caught between them.

His lips moved from her mouth down her throat and she tipped her chin back to give him better access, her fingers burying themselves in the thick strands of his jet black hair. "Mmmmmm," she murmured. "Perhaps you should go away more often if this is how you come home."

"I thought of you constantly, t'hy'la," he answered, gently biting the flesh of her throat and then soothing it with his tongue and lips.

"Maybe that's why you didn't catch anything," she teased. "You were too busy thinking about getting me in bed."

"I can do two things at once," he answered, his deep voice filled with amusement. "For instance..."

Abruptly, he rolled her over onto her back and his lips descended to her breast while the hand he'd had on her hip moved between her legs. As he licked and sucked her distended nipples, his fingers worked their magic at the core of her femininity.

She writhed beneath his delicious touch, but warned, "You're liable to get a mouth full if you keep that up."

He replied with a noise deep in his throat and nuzzled between her breasts, kissing them. "Have I ever told you how sexually exciting it is to me when you open your clothing to nurse Sapel and your breasts are so full that they are dripping? I often find myself getting an erection at the very thought of them."

"Spock! Are you kidding me?!"

"Of course not. You are at the very pinnacle of female power. That stimulates my masculine response tremendously."

She laughed, half embarrassed and half intrigued. "Oh, so you intend to keep me barefoot and pregnant from now on, hmm? Just so you can get horny watching me breastfeed."

"You won't get pregnant right now," he answered off-handedly, returning his attention to the soft globe beneath his lips.

"What? Don't tell me you believe those old stories that a woman can't get pregnant while breastfeeding?" she chuckled.

"I can tell by your scent," he answered.

"Excuse me?"

"Your pheromones change when you are ovulating. Your skin smells different than it does now." He looked up at her, suddenly more serious. "In any case, I would not be making love to you if I thought you would conceive, Christine. I would not be so selfish as to satisfy my own sexual desires at the risk to your health and well being."

She sighed and caressed his face, her blue eyes soft with adoration. "I know that, my darling," she answered. "And I wouldn't allow you to. I know what my cycle is and it's safe right now, but I can't tell you how much I love you for that."

His voice suddenly sounded deep within her mind. *You do not have to tell me, t'hy'la... I feel it within you whenever we touch.*

Her love for him surged and she seized his face between her hands, pressing his lips to her breast. The sexual image that she sent to him nearly overwhelmed his control and he buried his face against her, kissing and sucking her hot flesh until she was moaning in ecstasy.

The heat between them built quickly and in a few moments he found that he could wait no longer. His intent radiated through their bond and she eagerly sent it back in answer, magnified. It was all he needed and he shifted purposefully into position above her, settling between her welcoming thighs. Gazing down into her hungry eyes, he pressed into her entryway and then with one strong, sure thrust he was within her. The sensation of her slick, tight passage gripping his throbbing manhood was nearly more than he could withstand and he sank into her arms, letting his hips fall into their insistent, instinctive rhythm. She moved with him, her nails biting into the muscles of his back.

They lost themselves within the combustibility of their moving bodies and the flying sparks of their melding thoughts. The fire of his urgency and the fuel of her acceptance merged together into a blaze that roared up and swept them away on the spiral of its rising heat. His thrusts became harder and deeper , the building explosion rose to an unbearable pitch. She arched her back beneath his laboring body and slipped her hands down to grasp his tight buttocks, willing his fire to fill her now ... now!! It was the final goad he needed and it sent the conflagration within him into a full firestorm. He gripped her hard and slammed into her with a breathless gasp, the full release of his climax surging into her.

They held still, shuddering hard together, until the blaze ebbed and returned to the warmth of one body against another. Still breathing hard, he moved off her and rolled onto his back, lying close to her comforting presence, eyes closed.

After a few moments, she snuggled against his shoulder and drew a soft finger along the curve of his ear. Spock moved his head away from her touch for a moment and she dropped her hand onto his collarbone. "You are tired, aren't you?" she asked quietly.

"Yes," he answered then looked at her and laid his palm atop hers. "I'm sorry, t'hy'la. In the morning ..."

Christine smiled in understanding. "You don't have to apologize to me, sweetheart. Truth be told, I'm pretty tired myself. I just thought you might want to ..."

He brought her fingers up to his lips and kissed them lightly. "Even a Vulcan has a limit to his stamina," he smiled ruefully. "I just need to sleep."

They settled into their sleep positions but Christine could feel his continued alertness through their bond and new that he was not asleep. She could also knew that he was shielding his thoughts from her and finally she said in a near whisper, "A husband should not keep his thoughts from his wife, s'hy'la."

He turned on his side and gathered her close to him. "You have come to know me too well, wife," his deep voice murmured against her hair.

"So, what's keeping you awake?"

"I was merely thinking about our situation and what we need to do," he answered.

"And?"

Spock was silent for a long moment then Christine heard him sigh. "I see no alternative for us. We must go south with the herds. We will simply not survive another winter if we stay here."

"But go where?" she responded, a thin note of fear moving through her.

"I don't know yet. We've been no farther than about 20 miles from this valley. Perhaps it is time to see what the rest of this planet looks like." He rubbed her shoulder reassuringly. "Who knows? Perhaps we have been living in a very harsh area and the rest is a veritable paradise."

"Or this may be the garden spot of this planet and the rest is a desert."

His deep chuckle was soft in the darkness. "A desert is not so bad, t'hy'la. I did not find it distressing to grow up in one." He kissed her shoulder. "Now, sleep while you can. I suspect you will be summoned in a few hours by your son there."

"Your son, you mean," Christine retorted. "I didn't know that his father had a thing for boobs, too!"

"Sleep, woman! You wear me out with your talking!"

Grinning, Christine closed her eyes and snuggled into him. "Yes, husband. I obey your commands."

"Sleep!"

* * *

Christine couldn't help it. She was shaking with fear as she and Spock walked away from the only home they had known here. Tears trembled in her eyes and she quickly dashed them away before they could fall and betray her. To hide her face, she looked down at Sapel who was strapped in his carrying sling across her chest, his weight counterbalanced by the pack on her back. It was heavy but Spock carried one that was over twice as cumbersome.

They had packed carefully, carrying all that they could manage, mostly food and bedding and whatever else might be useful. The rest they had buried at the back of their cave, hoping to preserve it should they ever return.

As they topped their bluff and started down toward the river, Christine paused and looked back once more. Below she could see the entryway to their cave, Spock's hide-covered gateway securely in place. The poles of the frame used for stretching hides had been dismantled and stored inside but she could clearly see where she had worked for such long hours, tanning leather and making their clothing. Nearby was the outdoor hearth, cold now, its ashes black inside its circle of stones. Farther away a trail led down to the shore of the little pool where she and Spock swam on hot days and frequently made love underneath the spray of the waterfall.

Looking at it objectively, the campsite wasn't much, but it had become home. It had been a miracle that they had found such a sheltered enclave after the Romulans had stranded them here. They were meant to die within a few days of starvation or predation by the carnivores that roamed the plains. Instead, they had built a comfortable life here and, suddenly faced with leaving it behind and venturing into the unknown wilderness stretching before her, Christine felt her throat choke with fear. This valley was all the security she had here and she was afraid to leave it.

Spock came up beside her, feeling the surge of her emotions through their bondlink, and put an arm around her waist, the packs they carried making the movement awkward. Still, she leaned into him and rested her head on his chest. She didn't have to say anything and he pressed her face against him, gently stroking her hair. When he felt her reach some level of comfort, he tilted her chin up and bent a little to kiss her.

"Don't look back," he said softly, his brown eyes serious and full of affection. She smiled shakily and reached up to trace her fingertips along the dark line of one eyebrow, brushing the meld point at his temple and sending reassurance to him.

"Yes, husband," she whispered, feeling the warmth of his strength and courage wash over her. Suddenly she felt safe again at his side and thought again how much Spock must resemble one of his early ancestors, the primitive Vulcans who had lived wild and free on the rolling plains in the northern reaches of his planet.

His long black hair teased around his angular features and the stubble of a two day beard that shadowed his cheeks. Despite their hardships, he had maintained a clean-shaven face, using his sharp steel Romulan knife as a straight razor. Now he'd decided not to bother while they were on the move. Christine wasn't sure she'd like it, but couldn't blame him.

She chuckled to herself, thinking of the things that had once been important to her and no longer mattered. The short uniform skirts on board the ship had required her to keep her legs smooth and hairless and, like most women, she'd had a standing appointment every three months to have them "done".

Now that seemed so silly. In the daily struggle to prepare food and care for her baby and see to everything else she had to do, having her legs waxed seemed the height of foolishness. Spock didn't care one way or another. She'd lamented over it once and received a lecture on how illogical it was to waste time over something so impermanent. He couldn't find an answer, however, when she demanded to know why he insisted on shaving every day then.

Now she looked fondly over at her rather scruffy husband and smiled at his inquiring glance. "Lord, what a pair we are!" she commented and set out beside him on the trail south.

* * *

"What is it?" Christine whispered, crouching in the tall grass beside Spock and holding Sapel close.

"I don't know," Spock answered in a like whisper. "Just be very quiet and don't attract its attention."

The two people made themselves as small as possible and watched as, up ahead, the gigantic animal tore at the carcass of a beast even larger. The prey animal was as big as an elephant but was covered with coarse brown hair, its heavy forelimbs tipped with enormous claws. The creature that was ripping its belly open resembled an enormous lion, the size of a modern horse or larger. It thrust its huge head into the evisceration and pulled it back out a moment later covered with blood and nameless bits of flesh, its teeth sunk into a dark red organ, probably the liver.

Holding the meat in its forepaws, it ripped away a thin strip and then sat back on its haunches like a dog begging and gave a low grunt. Immediately its own belly seemed to split open and something emerged, snatched the dangling meat strip and then disappeared again.

Christine reached out and gripped Spock's arm. "It's a marsupial!" she hissed in amazement. "It's got a baby in its pouch!"

"Fascinating!" was all Spock had to say, his eyes still riveted on the scene before him.

The marsupial lion went back to feeding herself, ripping out chunks of the liver and swallowing them whole. In a moment, they saw the reason for her haste.

With a roar, an even larger lion thundered up to the carcass, narrowly missing the female who snatched her prize and ran the opposite direction. The new arrival, probably a male, chased her a few feet then turned back to what was now his kill. With a grunt of satisfaction, he settled in to gorge. The female didn't go far, circling around to await her chance again at the prey.

Crushed against his mother's chest, Sapel squirmed and began to whimper fretfully.

Both lions jerked their heads up and stared in the direction of the noise.

Spock cut his eyes fearfully over to Christine, sending the mental command, *Keep him quiet!*

She was already working on it. Quickly, she pulled her blouse open and pressed a nipple to the baby's mouth. He refused it at first, then instinct took over and he latched on to his mother's breast and began to suckle. Both adults breathed a shaky sigh of relief, hoping that the lure of the meat would outweigh any other concern the lions might have. They froze motionless for several long minutes, watching as the big lion went back to his feeding and the female turned her attention back to watching him do so.

When he felt that they could move, Spock silently motioned Christine to make her way as quietly and unobtrusively as possible to one side. Using the tall yellow grass as cover, the two inched away from the carnivores, Spock with an arrow nocked in his bow and ready to fire.

When they were well away from the site of the kill, Spock straightened and Christine followed his example. "That was too close," she said.

"Nevertheless, we should have expected it. I believe a smaller version of this predator, or at least a cousin of it, inhabits the area of our valley," Spock replied. "We must be doubly cautious. And we must be even more protective and watchful of Sapel. An infant would be a very tempting target for any large predator."

"That's an understatement!" Christine agreed tightly, glad that her baby was nestled against her body in his carrying cloth, asleep now against her breast. She took a moment to refasten her tunic.

"We need to find a campsite," Spock told her, urging her toward an outcropping of rocks about a mile away. "That might prove a good spot. We can survey the land from that vantage point."

"I just hope the lions don't have the same idea," she answered. "I think I read once that lions like to make their dens in places where they can see all around them."

"Hmmm ... you may be right," Spock responded thoughtfully. "But we shall scout it nevertheless. If it is clear, we can use it. Come. We only have about two hours of daylight left and I should not like to be on these plains at night. I fear that these lions may be night hunters as well."

* * *

It took them a good hour to reach and climb into the rocky outcropping they had spotted. Unfortunately, before they had gone very far, it became abundantly clear that this particular hill was occupied. Animal odor was strong and there were pugmarks and scat in the dirt of the trail.

Spock halted and cautiously directed Christine to go back the way they had come. His senses were tingling with danger here, the hair on the back of his neck prickling in alarm. They skirted the outcropping and made their way on to higher ground beyond this outpost on the plains. The land began to slope up into a set of rolling hills and here the air was cleaner, not tainted by the musk of carnivores.

Reaching a clearing that suited him just as the sun was sinking behind the hills, Spock called a halt and shrugged his heavy pack off his shoulders. Christine dropped hers as well, grateful to be rid of the load. Awakened by the change in activity, Sapel pushed himself up against his mother's chest and looked around, blinking sleepily.

As they had done on previous evenings, the first order of business was to build a fire, both for safety's sake and warmth. Spock gathered kindling and got the fire going while Christine set Sapel down and began unloading the things they would need for supper and sleep.

"Should we set the tent up?" she asked.

Spock paused as the blaze crackled and did a quick survey of their surroundings. "Yes. It is already cooling and I think the night will be too cold to sleep outdoors. In any case, if this place might do for a few days' rest. We have come a long way."

"Do you think we're far enough away from the lions' territory though?" she asked.

"I will sit up tonight and keep watch," he answered, blocking his son's grab toward the bright fire. "No! Hurt!" he said strongly to the baby. Sapel blinked at him, then his face crumbled up and he let out a wail. Spock lightly touched the baby's temple with one finger and immediately the noise shut off.

"What did you just do?" Christine asked, puzzled and a little alarmed.

"A Vulcan technique of teaching small children," he responded. "When a child is too young to understand language commands, a parent sometimes communicates telepathically on a very basic level. I merely taught him that fire burns. He will not be physically harmed now, but understands that touching fire is bad."

"Hmmm ... next time he gets me up in the wee hours of the morning, I'll just send you to convince him that he's not hungry and needs to let his old Mom sleep!"

Spock simply made a low noise in his throat in reply and turned back to putting wood on the fire. Once it was burning satisfactorily, he helped Christine set up their small tent and arrange their campsite. Then they broke out some of their rations and prepared supper.

The night descended quickly, it being the dark of the moons, and the early winter sky darkened rapidly, scattered with stars. After eating their meal of jerky and Vulcan-style journey bread, a mixture of grain and fruit mashed into round cakes, Spock and Christine got ready for the night. He took his spear and went to sit on boulder at the edge of their camp, alert for any danger that might threaten them. Christine wrapped their food back up and stored it in its pouch, then hung this up as high as she could from a tree limb. The food they carried had little odor and should not attract hungry animals.

She took a little bowl of water and heated it a bit, then spent time giving Sapel his bath, playing with him for a while, and then finally cradling him in her arms and humming him to sleep. Once she was certain that he wouldn't wake up, she gently placed him on the bedding inside their tent and closed the flap, securing it against insects and other small intruders.

Walking across their camp, she sat down beside Spock on the boulder, hugging her fur tunic around her. "It is getting chilly," she said softly. "I don't think we've gone far enough south to get away from winter yet."

"We never intended to entirely," he answered, still alert to their surroundings. "I merely expect to escape the snow and the worst of the cold weather."

She nodded and let her gaze move up to the sky. The brilliant stars were flung in unfamiliar constellations, the drift of a nebula's rosy arm faintly visible among them. "Where do you suppose we are?" she asked, almost rhetorically.

He let his eyes move upward for a moment. "I have pondered that question many times," he replied somberly. "I believe that orange star there might possibly be Antares but I cannot be certain. Without other reference points, it is impossible to tell."

"We traveled for about two days in the Romulan ship after we were taken from Deep Space 4," she mused.

"But in which direction? At what speed? Exactly how long?" Spock shook his head. "I have run the problem over and over in my mind. There are too many unknown factors, Christine. Perhaps we are in the Neutral Zone somewhere, perhaps in Romulan space itself. All that I am certain of is that I do not recognize any of these constellations from our astrological charts. With the proper equipment, I could analyze the spectra of the individual stars and identify them that way, but it is impossible under our present circumstances."

She sighed heavily. "Something in me still hopes for rescue, but I know that's a remote possibility."

"Extremely remote," he agreed. "I'm afraid this is going to be our home for a very long time ... quite possibly for the rest of our lives."

They sat silently for a while after that, listening to the sounds of the night. There weren't many insects this late in the season but far out on the plains they could hear faint roars that they assumed were made by the marsupial lions. A few night flyers chirruped as they swooped in search of flying bugs still about, and back in the woods they could hear a high pitched piping from some animal they'd never seen. Hopefully it was innocuous.

"Do you ever miss home?" she asked softly some time later, pulling her knees up and hugging them.

"Of course. It would be illogical not to expect to yearn for the things we cannot have."

"I miss the little things," she answered contemplatively. "Cheese. I'd kill for a slice of cheese. Or a nice cold glass of milk. And music. Books. Curling up in a sweater and an old pair of blue jeans."

"Chess," he responded in the same soft tone, matching her mood. "And music, yes. My ka'athyra ..."

"What?"

"My Vulcan lyre. I miss playing it."

She nodded. "Chocolate," she continued. "Coffee. A real bath in a real bathtub in a real bathroom!" Her eyes began to blur with tears. "And our friends ... oh, God - Leonard and Nyota and all the others! My sisters!"

He slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, her ragged emotions tearing at him through their bond. "I think this topic has gone far enough," he said gently. "There is no purpose in making yourself needlessly miserable. You are tired and it is time you slept. I will make sure that all is well tonight."

She nuzzled her face into his shoulder than looked up into his eyes, the pupils black and huge as his night vision worked at its full capacity. He leaned toward her and met her lips in a strong, reassuring kiss. "Sleep now, t'hy'la, he whispered.

She hugged him and then got to her feet, leaving him to keep watch during the long night.

* * *

Christine awoke with a wonderful warmth pressed against her back and a little hand on her nose. She opened her eyes to find Sapel with his baby face pressed right up to hers, peering intently into her eyes, his petite Vulcan features making Christine think right away that this must have been what Spock looked like as a baby.

Behind her, Spock obviously picked up on her thought because he chuckled and answered, "No, I look like my maternal grandfather. Sapel looks like you."

"Stop reading my mind," she murmured lazily. She stretched and rolled over onto her back, looking up at her husband. He was fully dressed, propped on one elbow and smiling down at her. "Did you ever come to bed?"

"Not until dawn," he answered. "It was a quiet night and I determined that no animals would bother us here. I felt Sapel stirring and came to tend to him."

"Ah ... so that's what both my men are doing up," she answered with a sleepy smile. "I didn't hear him cry, though."

"No. You told me to tell him to let you sleep, so I did."

She stared up at him incredulously. Spock looked wounded at her disbelief and addressed his son directly. "Sapel, did I not ask you to let Mama sleep this morning?"

"Ba!" the baby answered happily, showing all six of his teeth in a wide smile.

"There. You have his word on it!"

"Right," Christine replied skeptically. "Did you feed him as well?"

Spock peered back innocently. "I'm afraid that will have to remain your department for a while yet." Then he let his features soften. "Actually, I did give him a bit of cooked cereal. Are you hungry? It's still warming by the fire. It hasn't thickened into concrete yet!"

She laughed. "It does get pretty pasty, doesn't it? Okay, I'm up, I suppose. Have you eaten?"

"I was waiting to have first meal with you," he answered. "I'll get the cereal."

He stood and ducked under the tent flap. Christine sat up and picked up her baby. "So, you're a big boy eating cereal now, hmm? Bet you need something to wash it down with, don't you?" She settled him into the crook of her arm and put him to her breast, where he closed his eyes and began to nurse contentedly.

Spock returned with two bowls full of what looked like oatmeal, steam rising from the tan porridge. After handing Christine hers, he sat gracefully, cross-legged, and they spent a quiet half-hour over their breakfast. Mid-way, Christine gently disengaged her infant from her left breast and transferred him to her right, hardly missing a beat.

Breakfast finished, Spock stretched the muscles in his back and got to his feet. "Now, I am going to meditate for a bit. I won't be gone long."

"Would you rather sleep?"

"No. Meditation will serve the same purpose. I will stay within calling distance if you need me." He kissed her lightly and slipped out of the tent.

The early morning was cold but not unpleasantly so. Christine had become acclimated to the seasons of this world and found the sharp briskness refreshing. She dressed Sapel in the bunting and boots she had made for him, donned her own fur tunic and went out to survey their new campsite.

It had been getting dark the previous evening when they had arrived. She hadn't been able to look around. Now she did so and she liked what she saw. Their camp was in a clearing of tall pine-like trees, their straight clean trunks rising like the columns of a temple to the dark green canopy overhead. The ground beneath was free of brush but covered with a carpet of coppery pine needles, the morning sun breaking through the branches in slanting shafts of pure light. In the clearing, the rocky base was covered with a layer of soft brown soil but breaking through the soil and dominating the features of the landscape was pinkish-gray granite, its crystals sparkling slightly in the sun. Back in the direction they had come, Christine could see the plains sweeping to the north and the line of the river snaking its south, marked by a line of brushy trees.

It was a beautiful landscape and in the quiet of the early morning, she became aware of a faint musical sound, almost beyond the range of hearing. Shifting Sapel into his sling on her back, she set off to find it, curious. The sound led her into the trees, farther up the hillside. She was very careful to mark the trail and not lose her way back to camp and determined that she would turn back before going very far.

Fortunately, she found the source of the sound quite nearby. It was a little spring gurgling up from a crack in the granite and then running down a natural trough until it was lost to her sight. Christine bent and caught a little of the water in the palm of her hand, bringing it up to her nose, smelling carefully for any telltale odor. There was none and she touched the tip of her tongue to it.

While there was a slight mineral taste, the water was cool and pure, filtered through the stone until all impurities were removed. She took a larger sip, testing it against her tongue before swallowing it. A smile of wonder spread over her face. It was the best water she'd ever drunk, like the fine mineral waters served in restaurants to the wealthy. She caught and drank another handful but then prudently decided not to take anymore until she'd evaluated how her body reacted. Sometimes things that seemed entirely harmless turned out to have a hidden punch.

Their Romulan food tester that had been part of the survival pack left with them still worked, although its power source was beginning to fail after nearly two years. Still, it would be helpful and she decided to bring a sample of the water back to camp for a more thorough testing. Then she'd begin to scout the area for food plants that they might use.

Humming happily to herself, Christine started back to camp to retrieve a bowl and her gathering basket.

She met Spock coming back from his meditation. But far from looking rested and content, he seemed tense. "Break camp," he ordered without preamble. "We're leaving here."

"What's happened?" she asked, now picking up on his concern. "I was beginning to like this place. I thought we might stay."

"No." He began gathering their things and starting the process of packing up. "I found lion spoor all around the camp. I heard or suspected nothing last night while I kept watch, even though they were within attack range. Probably only the fire and our strangeness kept them away. We can't risk another night here."

"Oh, my God," she gasped and sat Sapel down where they could both keep an eye on him while they took down the tent and got everything stowed in their backpacks. They were practiced at this. It took them less than an hour to be on their way.

As they started higher into the hills, Christine glanced back at their camp and pondered aloud, "Do you think they'll track us?"

"I don't know," Spock replied grimly. "Hopefully they will prove to be territorial and will not go far from the plains and the tree line. In any case, I want to put as much distance as possible between us and them."

Spock pushed them relentlessly, seeming to follow some map of his own. Finally Christine simply stopped and refused to go any farther without a rest. Sapel was fussing as well, hungry and wet. Christine found a rock large enough to sit on and lowered herself onto it, taking Sapel out of his carrying sling. Spock turned back and stood staring pointedly at her.

She refused to budge. "Spock, we must have come five miles. I've got to take a break!"

"It is unwise," he answered.

"Then it's unwise, but my feet are killing me and, anyway, I've got to feed and change the baby. And let's have a bite to eat, too. I'm starved!"

He hesitated for a long moment, then gave in. "Very well. Perhaps we have come far enough to be out of the lions' territory." Still keeping a wary eye out, Spock slipped off his backpack and helped Christine off with hers. While he dug out some journey bread and venison jerky for them, Christine found Sapel's diaper stuffing and changed out the wet absorbent material inside the soft chamois that held it in place.

Once done, she poured a little water from their waterbag over each hand and then rubbed them vigorously with a handful of leaves she had grabbed. It was makeshift handwashing at best, but better than nothing. Then, unlacing the front of her tunic enough to bare a breast, she set her baby to nursing.

Spock didn't have eyes for her today, but kept up a watching scrutiny of their surroundings as they ate their meager lunch. He had conceded to the logic of eating meat nearly a year before and, although he still felt a pang of guilt and a bit of revulsion when he did so, he had finally admitted that he had no choice.

As soon as Sapel had finished nursing and Christine had rested a bit, he urged her to her feet and they set out once more. The area they were in consisted of miles of craggy, rolling hills, stretching as far as the eye could see. Pinkish granite outcroppings broke through the thin soil everywhere although the overlying rock in many places seemed to be a gray-white limestone. Vegetation ranged from thick pine forests to thorny scrub to grassy clearings, broken by numerous gullies and little creeks that had eroded their way into the limestone.

Late that afternoon, they came out onto a wide mesa, mostly meadow, but high enough to afford a good view of the hills undulating into the hazy distance. It was windy and cold here on the top of this hill, the stunted grasses bent before the prevailing wind. Even Spock seemed to be tired now and he paused to gaze out at the horizon, gathering his thoughts and deciding their next course. While he did so, Christine sank down onto her knees and rocked Sapel against her shoulder, hushing his exhausted whimpers.

Abruptly, Spock took a few steps forward and halted again, staring fixedly at something she couldn't see.

"Spock?" she asked in curiosity.

"Christine, please verify this," he answered in a strained voice. "I scarcely believe my own sight at the moment."

She managed to get to her feet and came to stand beside him. "What are you talking about?" She scanned the landscape but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. What was he looking at? A herd of antelope? A strange animal? Smoke?

"There," he said, pointing. "Do you see it, too?"

"What? Where?"

"Just to the right of that shattered pine."

Christine looked hard and saw it, a spark of light glinting off something bright, far away on the side of a hill. She squinted and shaded her eyes with her hand, then rubbed them and stared once more. Her heart leaped into her throat and she felt her legs nearly give way beneath her.

Grasping at her husband's arm for support, she managed to get the words out. "My God! Oh, my God! Spock -- I think it's a ship!"

* * *

It was a ship. A crashed ship. And it looked like it had been there a long time. Spock and Christine crouched far enough away to thoroughly observe the space vehicle, watching and listening for any sign of life.

There was none. Except for the sound of the wind and birds cheeping and twittering in the trees, all was silent. After a very long while, Spock rose and cautiously made his way closer, directing Christine to stay hidden with Sapel. While he was gone, she kept up her vigil and studied the ship more closely.

The design was unfamiliar, about the size of a conventional house, long and sleek. It looked civilian and was probably a personal yacht, not a military or commercial craft. The warp nacelle on this side looked okay, but the way the ship was burrowed into the hillside made her think that the starboard nacelle had likely been shorn away. Dirt and scree from the hillside had cascaded down over part of the hull and had grass and ground vines growing in it, falling down the ship's side. This crash had been here for at least a couple of years, she decided, probably longer.

Spock came walking back in their direction, apparently satisfied that all was safe, for his gait was casual. "It's all right," he told her and helped her to her feet. "This appears to be a private ship, perhaps a runabout for some wealthy merchant. I only found the pilot on board."

"Dead."

"Long dead. I left him where he lay in the cockpit. We will give him a suitable burial a bit later."

"Are there any supplies on board? Anything we could use?"

"Possibly. I did not explore thoroughly. My purpose was to ascertain if there was anyone aboard." They began walking back toward the ship. "I will need to examine the power grid and other ship's systems to see if they are operational, but I believe we might be able to make use of this vessel."

"Do you think so? I can't believe this thing could fly again," she answered.

"I did not say that it would fly, Christine," he replied. "A cursory inspection indicates that it is no longer capable of leaving the ground. I was referring to shelter. If this proves suitable, we will appropriate this ship as our home. Who knows? It may even have a bathtub on board!"

* * *

The ship's pilot proved to be of a race neither had ever seen before. He was humanoid in configuration but more reptilian than human, his skin a fine covering of scales, now long desiccated and crumbling. Christine found a blanket made of something like wool in one of the two sleeping compartments and she and Spock wrapped the body in it, then Spock carried it to a long crevice they had found in the rocky hillside and laid him to rest there, covering the cairn with a thick layer of stones. They didn't have tools to dig a grave and the soil was too shallow in any case to dig a suitable one.

When the last stone had been placed, Spock and Christine stood back and by unspoken agreement paid reverence to the unknown man. Christine bowed her head in silence, but Spock murmured something in Vulcan and then made a sign with one hand. She glanced at him curiously, but saw the focused, solemn expression on his face and so did not question him. After a few moments, they turned and made their way back to the ship.

"What did you say back there?" she asked quietly.

"A prayer in the Old Tongue," he answered. "It is called na'Tha'thhya, wishing a soul good journey to its ancestors." He glanced over at her, seeming a bit embarrassed. "I realize that it is not logical or in keeping with the Vulcan way of life, but many still use it as a sign of respect for the dead."

"I think it's lovely," she responded.

Uncomfortable, he shrugged and turned back.

It was late in the day now and as they arrived back at the little ship, Christine paused at the hatchway and said, "I don't want to sleep in there tonight. It's dusty and smells bad and, just because you didn't find any other people, doesn't mean there aren't critters in there."

Spock raised an eyebrow at her. "Critters?" he repeated.

"Critters. Varmints. Snakes. Spiders. Things you wouldn't necessary want climbing in bed with you."

"I understood you," he answered patiently. "I was merely amused at your choice of words."

"Just something my grandfather used to call them."

"My grandfather called them ti'kat, but it means the same thing," Spock responded with a smile. "I agree with you, however. We will make camp as usual tonight and tomorrow we will thoroughly explore this wreck." His eyes twinkled suddenly as he continued in a soft, husky voice, "I can think of only one 'critter' I would want climbing into my bed." His arm slipped around her waist and he pulled her against him.

"Ti'kat," she shot back with a grin and raised her face up to meet his lips.

* * *

Spock stifled a cry and jerked back as sparks exploded from the panel before him. There was a crackling and more sparks, then only the smell of burning wires.

Christine appeared in the hatchway of the cockpit. "What happened?"

"This circuitry blew out again," Spock replied irritably.

"Are you hurt?"

"No, merely singed." The Vulcan rose from the co-pilot's seat and waved smoke away. "I am on the verge of admitting defeat," he said. "This communications panel is beyond repairing."

"Well, why don't you call it a night? You've been working at that thing all day," Christine answered. "It will be here in the morning."

"Undoubtedly," he responded and followed her into the next compartment of the ship.

They had been here two weeks now. The first few days had been spent cleaning out the wrecked ship and exploring it. That didn't take too long. The outside airlock opened into a central common area and galley. Just to the fore of that was the cockpit and to the stern were two small sleeping compartments with bathrooms attached. Beyond that was the hold and then the engine room and power pile. The ship was little bigger than a shuttle but comfortable for short distance hops.

The first thing they did was clean the living areas, using brooms they'd made from saplings and bundles of straw grass, sweeping out the accumulated dirt and detritus. Then, while Spock examined the power packs, Christine went through the food in the galley. Most of it was unusable and she piled it on a spread plasticine sheet that she'd found, ready to haul it off and dump it well away from the ship. There were, however, sealed containers of alien foods that were still good and she set those aside to examine later.

As she was doing so, the whole ship abruptly shuddered beneath her feet and she gave a startled little cry. Then, as if touched by a magic hand, the lighting panel above her head flickered, died, flickered again, and came on. She let out a whoop! They had power!

Spock came back up the corridor, his face smudged but smiling. "Let there be light," he said.

She leaped into his arms and hugged him, laughing almost hysterically. "I'd almost forgotten what a well-lighted room looked like!" she said. "What else is working?"

"That remains to be seen," he replied. "The drive is irreparable, as we suspected, but ship's systems may be all right. I will attempt to get life support online as well. We should be able to ventilate the ship and generate heat."

"What about water? Have you checked the ship's plumbing?"

"Not yet. I regret that there doesn't seem to be a bathtub as I promised, but we might get the showers working. They appear to be water showers and not sonic."

"A real shower would be almost as good as a real bath!" she sighed. "I can't wait to get my clothes off and get under a nice hot water spray!"

Spock's eyes crinkled in amusement. "In that case, I had better get back to work and get one working!" She laughed again in delight and hugged him as he turned back to the engine room.

Later that day Spock had managed to get the life support going but so much dust had accumulated in the ventilation system that they were forced back out into the open for the night while the long unused air circulators cycled through several times and gradually cleared out the air. They spent one more evening in their tent, this time listening to the muted hum of the ship's power nearby.

By the next morning they ventured back inside and Christine set to work recleaning the ship, removing the dust that had blown in copious amounts out of the vents. Spock went back to work getting the heaters operational. That proved less of a challenge now that life support was in gear and it wasn't long afterwards that he tackled the food preparation area in the galley.

He was less successful here, managing only to get one of the counter top heating units to work and only fitfully at that. Christine sighed and said, "Well, I've grown rather fond of cooking over a fire. I've lived without a stove for this long, I suppose I don't need one now."

The plumbing on the other hand worked just fine once the water pumps began to cycle again. As executive officer of the Enterprise, Spock had been required to have a working knowledge of all ship's systems, including the plumbing, and now he managed to get water to come out of the taps in the galley and both small bathrooms. He turned on one of the showers and was rewarded by a spitting, intermittent jet of rusty-colored water, then it settled down and ran clear and full.

Christine was delighted until Spock admonished her not to get too excited just yet. They had water, but it was cold water. He hadn't gotten the water heating coil on line just yet. And in any case, the water purifier needed to run constantly for a couple of days, recirculating the water and cleaning it. It had lain dormant in the ship's tanks for a very long time and might have to be replaced with fresh if the purifier didn't work.

The toilets took a lot longer and they were forced in the meantime to "find a bush", as Christine put it. It was another week before Spock managed to get the waste system working and the bathrooms fully operational. He had solved the problem of the heating coil the day before and now could offer his wife a hot shower for her enjoyment.

That evening was cause for celebration...

* * *

After Christine had fed Sapel and gotten him ready for bed, Spock said, "Why not let me put him down tonight? I think there is a shower in there just waiting for you."

She felt a long, slow smile spread across her face as she handed the sleepy baby up into his father's arms. "I think I just remembered why I married you!"

His eyebrows went up and he answered in an innocent tone, "You married me because there was no one else to choose from!"

"Mmmmm ... maybe so, but I think I would have married you if there were a hundred men to choose from." She rose and leaned to kiss him, then, humming happily, went into the sleeping compartment they had taken as theirs, reaching up to unbraid her long hair.

Spock watched her go, smiling himself, then entered the other cabin that they had made into the nursery. The bed was the same size as theirs, but they had managed to fashion a railing around it and turn it into an oversized crib. Sapel, used to sleeping near his parents, had fussed a little at first, but soon had accepted his own bed and was sleeping mostly through the night. On this evening, Spock had a great desire that he should do so.

Cradling the eight-month-old in his arms, Spock rocked him in a gentle motion as he had seen Christine do, lulling him to sleep. "You must be a good boy tonight, Sapel," he murmured to the baby as the infant's eyes grew heavy and closed. "I would like your mother all to myself tonight ... with no interruptions! When you are older and have your own bondmate, you will understand. But for tonight, my son, sleep and do not wake until morning. Sleep..."

The baby snuggled into his father's chest, made a few reflexive sucking motions with his mouth, then subsided into deep slumber. Gently, Spock laid him down in the crib, covering him with one of the thick flannel-like sheets they had found onboard. The ship was warm now. The baby shouldn't need more than that. Just before leaving, Spock touched one finger to his son's temple and imparted a suggestion that he would sleep through the night and not wake his parents.

Spock paused at the door and turned out the lighting, leaving the door open so that light from the corridor streamed in at an angle. Then he went across the hallway and entered his own bedroom. He could hear the shower running in the small bathroom and quickly stripped off his clothing, leaving it lying on the floor. Then he moved to the bathroom door.

Christine's naked form could be seen through the frosted glass of the shower stall and Spock stepped in behind her. It was a snug fit but neither of them minded. She stood with her back to him, facing the wonderful spray of hot water, and he slipped his hands up around her, cupping her heavy breasts, gently massaging them and tweaking her protruding nipples.

She leaned back against him with a happy sigh, feeling his arousal nudging into the cleft of her buttocks. "Oh, that feels so good," she murmured.

"The shower or me?" he smiled back, continuing his massage.

"Both!" she replied. "Oh, I could stay here for an hour!"

"We don't have that much hot water," he answered in amusement. "And I do not relish a cold shower tonight." He bent to nuzzle her neck, tickling her earlobe with his tongue.

She moved around in his arms until she was facing him and brought her lips up to his. He pulled her wet, naked body hard against his, devouring her mouth, his tongue probing in to dance with hers. As he lifted his lips from hers and moved his kisses down her throat, she sighed, "I want you right now, Spock! I want you to love me right here!"

"There isn't enough room," he answered, nibbling along her collar bone and bringing one hand up to fondle a breast once more. "Besides, that would be like having the dessert before the main course. We have all night, t'hy'la."

He straightened and captured her lips again in a deep, fervent kiss, his ardor betraying itself as his erection strengthened and prodded against her abdomen. She reached down and took him in her hand, guiding him between the soft, hot folds, gently rubbing the sensitive head against her swollen womanhood. But almost immediately he gripped her wrist and stopped the movement.

"Not yet," he whispered against her lips. "Be patient, my love. Bath first, and then bed."

He let go of her wrist and she released thick shaft, allowing its rigidity to fade a bit from its urgency. They spent the next few minutes washing each other, exchanging kisses and intimate touches, rinsing off the soap and delighting in the sensuality of their shower together. Just as their modest reservoir of hot water was beginning to run out, Spock reached and turned off the shower, then retrieved more of the flannel cloth, thick and cut into bath towels, and they rubbed each other down vigorously, regenerating the excitement that was simmering between them.

When they were both dried off, Spock suddenly swept Christine up and carried her into the bedroom, where he laid her down on the big bed waiting for them. Far from being a typical ship's bunk, this was obviously made for luxury, large enough to accommodate two comfortably, and dressed with clean linens that Christine had found in the room's storage.

As she settled back, relishing the feel of a real bed once more, Spock crawled atop her, on his hands and knees, and began to trail kisses down her body, his tongue licking up the remaining droplets of water on her skin. He gently squeezed her full breasts, recently suckled, and lapped away the beads of milk that appeared on her protruding nipples. It was unbelievably arousing to her to watch him work her nipples with his tongue, kissing and tickling them, then pulling the entire areola into his mouth and sucking on her gently.

She arched her back up and buried her fingers in his long thick black hair, finding the curve of his ears and stroking from the points down to the lobes, again and again, making him surge with excitement. In answer, he slipped one hand down between her legs and spread her eager thighs, dipping his fingertips into her wetness and then massaging her engorged clit.

She jumped at the touch, gasping, and he kept up his manual and oral stimulation, then suddenly he lifted his head from her breasts and plunged one long finger inside her, pumping vigorously while his thumb continued to rub her clitoris. Her hips came up off the mattress in a spasm of rapture, her body clutching his working finger as she bucked up against him.

After a minute, she shuddered hard and gave a soft cry, then her body lowered to the bed once more. He didn't let her rest long. Quickly, he moved down between her legs, spreading them farther apart, and bent to the steaming center of her womanhood. His finger still moving leisurely within her, he flicked his tongue over the hard little nub hidden in her folds, then set to work once more with his tongue and lips, driving her yet again into ecstasy.

Reaching back over her head, she grasped her pillow with both hands and panted frantically. "Oh, God ... now, Spock!! Now!!"

He was rigidly erect, his penis absolutely throbbing in its frenetic need for her, and he knew he could not hold back much longer. He lifted himself up into position above her and, propping himself up on his forearms, ducked his hips into the wide valley she presented him, probing and then engaging into her threshold. He paused for a second, lowered himself against her, and then shoved his hips forward.

She cried out as his hot length plunged inside her, filling her completely, then moaned and opened herself fully to him as he began to move, softly at first, then with increasing force. Giving herself over to the wonderful sensation and building excitement, she brought her legs up around his working hips and clutched at his back, her nails digging into the hard muscles there.

He peered down into her face, suffused with rapture, eyes closed, as he pumped into her, and the emotions pictured there and radiating out through her skin brought him to the edge. Gripping her shoulders, he almost inadvertently picked up the tempo of his thrusts, driving into her as deeply as he could, his body nearly to the point of exploding with incipient release. And then he felt everything let go in a mindless rush of pure heat and screaming sensation and he slammed into her one last time. Her hips rose up again to meet his and she threw her head back with a long keen as his jet of hot semen erupted into her depths.

It seemed to last forever but after only a minute or so, they both began to come down from their peak. She let out a long breath and collapsed beneath him. Still buried within her, Spock bent down to kiss her and she felt him twitch deep inside her amidst the rippling electric aftershocks still pulsing through her body. Then he pushed himself up and pulled out of her.

"No, not yet!" she protested, feeling empty without his comforting solidity filling her.

He rolled onto his side next to her and drew the sheets over them. Gathering her in his arms, he kissed her again. "We have all night, beloved," he whispered. "I have never made love to you in a real bed before and I wish to savor the experience. Let me collect myself again for a few minutes and we will begin anew. I want each time to be as if it were the first." He caught her lips once more and kissed her long and softly. "We will do whatever you like."

"Whatever I like?" she purred sensually up at him, her eyes half closed.

"Whatever you like," he affirmed in a soft, husky voice, his lips hovering above hers. "Tonight is for pleasure, my beloved wife. I hope that when morning comes, you will know what it is like to have been truly loved."

She gave a low, throaty moan and smiled up at him. "And you, my husband. I hope you're up to a very long night!" She reached down between them and slid her hand along the thick, firm shaft she found there, warm and wet and slick to her palm. Lightly rubbing her fingertips over the smooth, bulbous head, she was pleased to feel it respond with a distinct pulse of interest. "Mmmmm ... I think you will be up and really soon now," she chuckled softly, seductively. "Maybe I can help it along..." And she slid down his torso to aid him in beginning their next journey together.

* * *

Morning came all too soon. They had at last fallen asleep, exhausted, in each other's arms, the moist heat of their bare skin pressing together, limbs tangled. Through the small port in the cabin's wall, dawn light was just breaking when Sapel's whimper brought Christine awake, alert as only a mother can be to her child's hunger cries. And in reflexive response, she felt her full breasts "let down", ready to be nursed.

She started to rise, but Spock's arm across her chest pinned her. "Stay there," he said softly.

He got up himself and padded, naked, out of the bedroom. The whimpering quieted and Spock came back, returning to his place in bed beside her. "He'll sleep for about another half hour," he said and his dark eyes were fathomless in the half light, seductive with promise. "We have time for one more."

She smiled and shook her head. "I won't be able to walk today!"

"In that case, then, I suppose we should cease all further sexual activities. I certainly have no wish to harm you." He made to get up.

She grabbed him and pulled him back down to her. "Not so fast, mister! We'll 'cease' when I say we'll 'cease'!"

"Then after this last time, you had better say 'cease'," he teased, nuzzling her nose and kissing her.

"Why?"

"Because anymore after this and I won't be able to walk today!" He rolled on top of her, bearing her down beneath him into the soft mattress, engaging in gentle roughhousing with her, all the while his erection pulsing up eagerly, ever hungry for her. He wriggled between her legs, forcing them apart while she put up a token resistance, laughing all the while, and, when his thrusting probes sank home, his tactics became more serious, more targeted, until he was well seated within her.

At that point she gave up and welcomed him as he thrust hard and filled the hot and familiar place once more. Suddenly intense as he moved his hips back and forth in a steady rhythm, she looked up into his beautiful dark eyes, soft and passionate beneath the exquisite sweep of his brows, and she felt the love he held for her suffuse her entire being. It was like being dipped in golden light and she gasped as the rapture filled her. Dropping her head back onto her pillow and closing her eyes, she felt as if she were flying, his large strong palms flat up underneath her shoulder blades, supporting her.

Opening her eyes, she peered up at him lying above her and, through the haze of light surrounding him, she almost thought she saw wings, wide and tapered, spread on the wind, outstretched flight feathers like extended fingers of white fire, breaking through the gauzy clouds through which they soared. There was nothing at all demonic about his physical features; instead he was an ethereal creature out of myth, loving her, filling her, transforming her with the power of his climactic eruption.

Her head fell back again as pearlescent fire exploded from his maleness and shot to every part of her body, saturating her with his light, his scent, his soul. It was too much for her to endure and she found herself spiraling downward into a whirlpool of rainbow hues and purple darkness.

The next thing she knew, she was being kissed awake by Spock's soft lips against her temple and cheek, his beard tickling her chin and ear. She clutched at him and pulled him down into her arms. "You wouldn't believe the wild dream I just had!" she murmured.

"Did you enjoy it?" he asked in an amused voice, raising up slightly to look at her.

"What? You did that?" She stared at him, her head still whirling.

"Only partly. You have quite an imagination," he smiled. "I merely enhanced it with a mind meld."

She blinked, still befuddled. "I thought you were an angel."

"Fascinating!"

Her expression became skeptical and she continued sardonically, "A rather randy angel, at that! I never heard of an angel doing what you were doing to me!"

"A fallen angel, perhaps," he suggested, his eyes crinkled with humor.

She was about to retort when Sapel announced that he was awake again and this time he wouldn't be put off. Again Spock was on his feet before she could react, but this time he came back with the tousle haired little boy in his arms. The child was looking decidedly cranky as Christine took him.

"Oh, now here's my angel," she cooed, cuddling the baby against her shoulder. Sapel squirmed and whined, wanting none of it. "Okay, I get the message. No loving before breakfast." Turning on her side, she positioned her baby and started him nursing.

Spock slipped back in beside her and the next hour the family spent quietly together. Spock softly ran his fingers through his son's fine black hair then touched them against Christine's as she cuddled the baby against her breast. She looked up to meet his eyes, smiling at the contentment and love she saw there.

"Angel," he whispered to her and stroked a fingertip down her cheek.

* * *

As the days progressed, Spock and Christine settled into a rather schizophrenic existence. At night they lived in an ultra-modern conveyance, surrounded by high tech appliances and conveniences, enjoyed central heat and running water and a soft bed. By day, they reverted to a primitive lifestyle, wearing clothing made of the skins Christine had tanned, from the animals that Spock hunted with a spear and a bow, cooking outdoors over a fire, foraging for their very survival. It was like standing midway through a time portal, with one foot in the present and the other in the past.

Winter caught up with them and, while it never snowed, a frigid wind blasted out of the north and plunged the temperature to the freezing point. Because neither of them could abide the taste of the recycled water in the ship, they had searched out a fresh water spring not far away, bubbling out of the limestone. This now froze and they were forced to haul chunks of ice back to melt in order to have drinkable water.

As their stock of food ran low, Spock returned to hunting. They were too far away from the plains now to hunt the herds they had followed into this area. Coupled with this, Spock did not want to risk running afoul of the marsupial lions that prowled there. He had nearly been killed the year before by the wolf things of their northern forest and the lions were three times bigger and even more ferocious.

Instead, he turned to the rolling hills of their upland home. There he found little family groups of a sheep-like animal, fleet and long-haired, its long thick horns curling around on either side of its face. This early in the season, they were still fat from their autumn feeding and were unwary of this new predator in their domain.

He found that, if he could get close enough for an arrow shot, they were easily killed and provided not only rich, succulent meat but a pelt of thick, soft fur and a downy undercoat. Christine had rubbed it between her fingers and looked speculative. When he questioned her, she mused, "I was just thinking ... I wonder if this could be spun into yarn ... and if I could build a loom..."

As winter worn on, the days became routine. Sapel took his first steps in the common room and before long was busily working at getting his little feet to take him where he wanted to go. By the time the winter had nearly worn away and the first signs of spring were beginning to show themselves, he was toddling throughout the ship, following his father or mother by turns, delighted in his mobility ... and getting into everything he could reach.

At night, if he wasn't too tired and as he could, Spock devoted himself to working on the ship's systems. Communications was completely burned out, far beyond any hope of repair. The ship's computer banks were intact, although badly damaged, and Spock focused his cybernetic expertise on accessing them.

It was a cold, stormy day when he finally broke through to the ship's logs. Rain was pouring in sheets and they were stuck indoors for the duration. Christine was in the galley, struggling with the fitful heating unit on their little stove, attempting to heat up water for a hot beverage. Sapel was asleep on a pallet of warm blankets in the middle of the floor, and Spock had taken advantage of the quiet, gray afternoon to work on the computer problem. He had barely contained a shout of satisfaction when he finally accessed the records he sought. Now he hoped to find out where the little shuttle had come from and who her owners were.

It didn't come as much of a surprise when he discovered that this was an Imperial Romulan skiff, a runabout belonging to a princess of the ruling house. The dead pilot they had found was definitely not Romulan but an invader and, digging deeper into the damaged records, he found what had apparently happened.

The princess and two companions, while on a pleasure jaunt, had been attacked and chased into this remote sector of the Empire by pirates, of which the reptilian pilot was one. The ship had been fired upon, not to destroy, but to damage it and force it down. The last frantic moments of the log ended with the pilot -- a Romulan pilot -- pleading frantically for help. Then the record ended.

Spock, who was sitting in the pilot's chair in the cockpit, settled back and pondered what he had learned. He was unfamiliar with the race of the reptilian invaders but he strongly suspected that they had recognized the ship as a royal shuttle and saw incredible wealth in the form of a heavy ransom for its passengers. Most likely they had forced the little ship down here and then captured the Romulans on board. There had been no evidence of blood or a struggle, but the body they had found, far from belonging to the crew, was one of the attackers, undoubtedly killed during the altercation.

This made him give a second thought to a half-formed plan that he had been working on. Although the communications was shot, he thought he would be able to get the emergency beacon operational. Now he reconsidered. If this area was home to pirates, possibly even slavers, it would be an unacceptable risk to trigger the electronic signal. Having no numbers to accurately calculate the odds, he was hesitant now to do so. He was as likely to attract outlaws as rescuers. Even if someone other than pirates showed up, they would probably be Romulans and disinclined to return Federation citizens to their home space.

No, Spock decided, he couldn't risk the lives and well-being of his wife and child on the negligible chance of rescue. In this remote region of space, it was more likely to end in further tragedy for them. They were better off as they were. Furthermore, alerted now as he was to the fact that this area of space was outside even the reach of Romulan law, he would have to be mindful to the fact that if ... if they should sight a ship or humanoids here, extreme caution would be called for until he could determine who they were and what their purpose was in coming here.

Christine entered the cockpit to find her husband gazing pensively out at the rainy afternoon. This ship, instead of having a forward viewscreen, was equipped with actual transparisteel ports, a curving expansive window wrapping around the control room. Rain cascaded down it in sheets, causing patterns of shadow and dim light to give room an almost underwater feel.

Spock looked up as she came to stand beside him then accepted the mug of steaming liquid she handed him. She had another one in her other hand. She didn't know what the drink was, having found a store of powdered mix in the galley and had figured out from pictures on the label how to prepare it. It had a taste somewhere between coffee and cocoa but with a subtle undertaste all its own. In any case, it was delicious and perfect for a cold, blustery afternoon such as this. She just wished she had some miniature marshmallows to float on top.

Today she was dressed in a blue floor-length caftan-like garment. The two small closets in the bed chambers had been filled with women's clothing and she found that she could wear most of it. Alas, the only men's garments obviously had belonged to a short, stocky person and were in no way suitable for Spock's tall, lanky frame. He resigned himself to his tiny wardrobe of leather clothing that Christine had made for him.

Now he gazed appreciatively at his wife as she seated herself in the co-pilot's chair. It pleased him that she had found something more contemporary and feminine to wear here. The creamy blue of the caftan matched her eyes and set off her skin.

"Credit for your thoughts," she said.

He took a sip of his cocoa and made a noise deep in his throat, deciding on the spur of the moment not to burden her with his speculations about the new dangers he had discovered. "They are of no consequence," he answered.

She studied his angular features as he looked back out at the rain, the light patterns playing over his face. "You have an awfully somber expression for thoughts of no consequence," she commented.

He glanced sideways at her and one eyebrow went up. "Indeed? I am not somber at all, Christine. It must be the weather that makes it appear so."

"Mmm-hmmm," she mumbled, bringing her mug up to her lips. "You're positively dancing with joy."

He turned to look directly at her, his incrutable mask slipping into place. "You do not seem to believe me," he answered accusingly.

She pinned him with a patient, long-suffering gaze. "Spock, my true love, my darling husband ... through our Bond I feel what thee feels."

The other eyebrow went up. "Then thee knows that I am content, wife" he retorted formally.

"Okay, okay. I surrender." She turned her gaze back out the windows and watched the rain pour down. "You're just awfully quiet. And I do sense worry, love. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I was merely contemplating the coming spring."

"Whether we should stay or go back north, you mean."

"Yes." He sipped his cocoa, watching the rain also. "The hill sheep seem to be moving to higher pasture and I believe that the antelope and horse herds will be migrating back to summer grazing soon. And yet ... it is so comfortable here that I hesitate to take us back to the harsh life we have lived."

Christine was silent for a long time then she said softly, "Spock, I'm going to tell you something that is going to surprise you." He looked over at her, curious. She wet her lips and continued, "I don't much like it here."

"Indeed! I would have thought that the comforts we have found with this ship would have been very much to your liking!"

"That's the strange thing about it. I would have thought so, too. But the daily back and forth between the 23rd century and the Ice Age is driving me crazy! I mean, I can heat water in a modern kitchen, but have to spit and cook meat over an open fire. On days like this, I can't even do that because we can only have the fire outside and when it's raining we have to have a cold meal indoors. We have running water but can't drink it, so we have to haul drinking water in from a half mile away. I'm dressing in Romulan finery while you're stuck with home-tanned buckskin." She shook her head. "And poor Sapel -- if he lives like this, how will it affect him? Will he grow up depending on the things we have here, impairing his ability to survive?"

She looked back to the storm outside. "No, Spock. I want to go home." She swung back to face him, her eyes pleading. "To the valley. As weird as it sounds, that's where I feel comfortable, where we have what we need and where our lives are pared down to their most basic components."

He exchanged a long, searching look with her, then he closed his eyes for a second and nodded. "Very well, wife. As thee wishes. When the weather gets better and we're able to travel, we will go home."

He had finished his cocoa and now rose from the pilot's seat to take his cup back to the galley. As he started past her, Christine reached up and grasped his arm. "Spock..." she said, looking up at him anxiously. "I will go where you want. I'll do whatever you think is best for us."

He let his fingers trail down her cheek and along her jawline. "I will be truthful with you, too, my t'hy'la. I have missed our life there as well. For all its hardships and primitiveness, I have come to consider it home, too."

She smiled and he returned it, sending his relief and contentment through their Bond to her. As he moved to leave the control room, Christine sighed happily and drew her feet up under her, cupping the warm mug between both hands and taking a long, soothing drink.

* * *

There came a day when it was obvious that spring had arrived and, with it, the time to leave their winter home. Spock and Christine had known it would be soon and had been preparing for it, deciding what to take back with them, how much they could carry, preparing journey food and getting everything together that they would need. Now, as the morning dawned clear and with the promise of good weather, Spock made the decision to go.

As the two adults bustled around, going back and forth from one end of the ship to the other, moving things outside and storing things away in case they decided to come back for the following winter, little Sapel was left a bit to his own devices. He tried toddling first after his father then his mother, but both were moving at too fast a pace for him to keep up. Finally, he sat in the middle of the common room floor and let out a frustrated howl.

Christine swooped down and picked him up, moving him out of the main traffic pattern, and handed him a slice of their cracker-like bread to keep him quiet. At about thirteen months old, he was being weaned and he had become adept at feeding himself finger foods. That seemed to mollify his hurt feelings and he sat for a while gnawing on the cracker and watching his parents in their uncharacteristic busyness.

However, neither of them stopped to play with him and, after a while, just watching became supremely boring. He put his mangled cracker down on the floor, got himself up on his feet, and toddled to where he last remembered seeing his father.

Spock was in the control room, sitting in the pilot's chair, running a systematic shut-down of all the ship's internal systems when his little son made his wobbly way between the seats and grabbed a double handful of the fringe on Spock's knee-high moccasins to avoid falling.

"Ah, the First Officer!" Spock said and reached down, picking the toddler up and sitting him down in the co-pilot's seat. "This is your station I believe. You may have the conn while I run these procedures, Mr. Sapel."

The child stood up in the high-backed seat so that he could look out the wrap-around viewports and that seemed to engage his attention, allowing his father to finish working through the checklist on the datapadd he held. Spock reached over and quickly snapped off a series of switches on the pilot's panel, then reached overhead to do the same to a number of press-panels and buttons, his long fingers dancing over the array.

One of the lights remained red, indicating that a relay hadn't closed in the engine room, and Spock hurriedly rose and strode out of the cockpit to see what the problem was.

Sapel had been watching his father play with the pretty lights and knobs and he decided that he wanted to play with them, too. He scooted to the edge of the co-pilot's seat and managed to lean forward enough to reach the controls in front of him. Randomly, he began to poke buttons and flip switches and twist knobs on dials. Spock had already taken 99% of the panel offline, so there was no power behind the vast majority of the controls Sapel poked.

There was one button that particularly intrigued him, however, a big bright purple one with some white marks on it. This one had a clear cover over it and he worked at it with his little fingers until the cover came off. Delighted, he explored the engraved markings with his fingertips but of course had no way of knowing that the picture on the button was a Romulan symbol for "emergency". In the process of his fingering the button, he depressed it and it sank into a hidden socket and engaged there. Try as he might, he couldn't get it to come back up again, so he grew bored with it and forgot about it. Something colorful fluttered by the cockpit windows and that pulled his attention away from the control panel. He stood back up in the seat and tried to see the pretty bird.

Spock had gotten the relay closed and finished his shutdown from the engine room. Now, satisfied that the ship would stay in good shape until such time as they came back the next year, he came back into the common room to see how Christine was doing with the packing. She was done and had secured everything they were leaving in safe storage.

They looked around and then back at each other. "I guess we're done," Christine said.

"Apparently. Well, in that case, I shall move these packs outside, you get Sapel, and we shall, as they say, 'hit the road'."

"Where is Sapel?" Christine asked, spotting the remains of the cracker she had given him but not seeing any trace of her child.

"Um ... he's there, looking out the viewport." Spock picked up their packs and equipment and started for the hatchway.

As he left the ship, Christine went to collect her son. "There's my good boy," she cooed as the toddler looked up at her and grinned. "What do you see out there?"

Sapel made an unintelligible answer and pointed.

"Oh, a birdie? Pretty! Well, you know what? It's time to go see a lot of birdies and animals and other things!" Christine picked him up and parked him on her hip, carrying him out of the little ship's cockpit.

She paused in the galley to retrieve the cracker and quickly wipe up the crumbs, then she took a last look around and stepped outside, leaving the place they had called home for the past several months.

Spock was waiting for her, his pack already seated across his back. "Do you have everything you need?" he asked her.

"I sure hope so!" She set the baby on his feet long enough to shrug into her own much lighter pack. Then Spock settled their son in his carrier on Christine's back and handed her the walking staff she used. When they were ready, he sealed the hatch on the ship, exchanged an appraising look with her, and they set off toward home.

Inside the ship, the purple button that Sapel had pushed had triggered a program in the ship's memory banks. This in turn had accessed a subroutine designed to activate a battery that served as a backup should the ship's systems be shut down.

Within a couple of minutes, the battery's activation had caused a backup transmitter to come online and begin to emit a calculated series of electronic pulses. These pulses, in turn, sped out in all directions from the ship.

Some of them were moved away from the planet and into space, a definite signal, radiating out from a central point. The transmitter did not have a subspace relay and so the waves traveled at the relatively leisurely pace of the speed of light, spreading out away from the planet like the ripples on pond whose surface has been disturbed.

* * *

Spock led them due north, avoiding the territory of the lions farther to the east. This was all new land to them and it proved to be an extension of the rocky, rolling hills in which they had been living. The going was a bit rough at times but they took it slow and easy, not pushing themselves.

In early afternoon, they took a break, letting Sapel stretch his legs a bit and eating lunch under the shade of trees that spread over a clear platform of pink granite at the top of a hill. From there they could look out to the horizon, disappearing in a soft haze far away. Christine nursed Sapel until he fell asleep at her breast, then she laid him down on a bed that consisted of a soft-tanned hide spread out in the shade. As he napped, she and Spock sat side by side and finished their lunch, quietly enjoying the warm, lazy afternoon.

"It's so much like home," she mused softly.

"Which home?" he asked, his eyes betraying a twinkle of good humor. "The valley?"

"No, Earth. This whole planet. It's all so Earth-like." She let her gaze roam. "This area reminds me of several places I've seen ... parts of California, the Ozarks, central Texas... I could almost imagine that we're there, having a picnic on a fine spring day."

He nodded. "I too have been struck many times by the resemblance of this planet to Earth. I cannot imagine why it has not been colonized by the Romulans."

"Perhaps it's just too far off the beaten path. Or, perhaps they have colonized it and we just don't know it. They could be on the other side of the world or 100 miles a way and we'd never know it."

Spock shrugged and drew one knee up, folding his forearms across it. "Possible, but somehow I believe what Tal told us, that we are the only people here. It wouldn't suit his plans for vengeance if there was the remotest chance of us finding anyone else here. I think we might as well consider ourselves the sum total of civilization on this planet."

Christine made a little sound in her throat. "You know ... it just occurred to me that we never have named this place. It's always just 'this planet'. If it's all ours, then we ought to call it something."

"Any suggestions?" He peered at her with lifted eyebrows, waiting for her pronouncement.

"Hmmm ... I don't know ... let me think about it..." She pulled her knees up and hugged them, her gaze drifting far away in thought. "I suppose we could go all sorts of routes in the naming game, but I can't think of anything fancy that suits it. It just seems like Earth to me. Maybe that's the ticket. Earth Two. No ... Terra Two. That's better. Terra Two."

"Practical, if not particularly poetic," he agreed. "A logical designation."

"And if later on we think of something better, we can always change it," she shrugged. "It's not like it's carved in stone."

"Agreed." Spock turned his eyes back to scanning the rolling hills. A variety of trees cloaked the hills in various shades of green, from the bright mint of budding new growth to the deep, rich pines of evergreens. On the crown of nearly every hill, though, pink granite lay exposed, the overcap weathered away long since. The outcroppings ranged in size from little knobs of rock to vast expanses of the stone.

"This is an interesting geological area," he commented. "This is undoubtedly a volcanic uplift zone with exposed plutons."

"What are plutons?" she asked.

"Solidified blobs of magma that rose nearly to the surface and then cooled,"he replied. "They are quite common on Earth in old seismic zones."

"Oh, yes, I've seen them in Yosemite," she responded. "I remember reading that Half Dome is a pluton that broke right down the middle, or something like that. It's amazing to look out and see these things sprouting up everywhere. But why are they pink?"

"Because of the iron content of the rock. There are areas of Vulcan that show this same sort of geology." He gave a soft sigh. "I wish I had my tricorder. It would be most gratifying to take readings here."

She didn't answer but watched a winged bird-like creature soaring on thermals against the blue canopy overhead. High altitude cirrus clouds streaked the sky and the slight breeze stirred the trees, bringing the perfume of new leaves and blossoms with it.

"God, it's beautiful here," she sighed wistfully.

Spock glanced at her again, the same affectionate, slightly amused expression on his face. "I have noticed that you often evoke the Deity, Christine" he commented. "I have never asked you this before, but do you miss the practice of your religion?"

His question surprised her. "I ... I don't suppose I really have a religion," she answered. "I guess it's just a bad habit, saying God's name like that. You're not supposed to. 'Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain' or something like that. It's one of the Commandments but I can't remember which one."

"Did you not receive religious training as a child? I was given to understand that this was customary with many humans. You often evince such training."

"I went to church off and on when I was a kid," she mused. "I guess I stopped altogether once I went away to college. I just never got back into going again." She looked at him. "What about you? Did you ever go to Sunday School or do they have anything like that on Vulcan?"

"Vulcans do not practice religion as a human would understand it. Most of the population follows the Tenets of Surak as their moral and practical guide in daily life," he answered thoughtfully. "Although there are isolated areas that still show a belief in the Old Ways. Despite what most people think, the Teachings of Surak are not universal on Vulcan."

"Do they believe in God, then?" Christine asked, becoming interested. She had never known this about Vulcan culture.

"No, not a supreme being such as many humans understand. In the Old Times, long before Surak, the Goddess Heya was worshiped widely as the Keeper of the Mountain Fires. She was said to rule from the interior of Mt. Seleya. That's where the mountain gets its name. Properly, it is Seyl-Heya, the Seat of Heya. It was once an active volcano and the primitives thought it erupted because of the Goddess' wrath."

"Pele," Christine responded. "Like on Hawaii."

"Similar."

"But you don't believe in her."

"No, of course not. It is merely an ancient superstition to explain a natural occurrence."

She lay back and stretched out on the soft hide. Sapel sensed his mother's presence beside him and stirred but then settled down and continued to sleep. Christine smiled at her little son, then looked back up at her husband, enjoying at the way the breeze tousled his long black hair and teased it around his cheeks.

"What do you believe, Spock?" she asked seriously. "What was the statue that you always kept in your bed chamber on the ship and the incense that you always burned. It looked like a pagan shrine to me."

He glanced at her then looked back at the vista. "It was not a shrine, Christine, and hardly pagan. That word denotes a religious belief outside the mainstream of the local culture. No, it was merely a reminder of the Ancestors. That they are there should I need to call upon their wisdom."

"Well, isn't that a religion? Ancestor worship?"

He looked at her again, his brows lowering a bit. "It is not ancestor worship. I show reverence to my forebearers because they are there."

"Like they are in heaven or something?"

"No, again you are confusing superstition with fact," he replied. "This is difficult to explain... When a Vulcan dies, his katra ... his soul ... rejoins the a'Tha ... the overlying consciousness that connects all Vulcan minds together. It is not like telepathy but it is a binding. We can feel the life force of one another. Do you remember when the Intrepid was destroyed? I felt the crew die, every individual one of them. It is what we mean when we say 'I grieve with thee'. We grieve because the death is personal to us.

"It would be unbearable except for one thing. A Vulcan's intellect does not dissipate upon his death, but is ... collected into the other souls that are part of the ... um ... Being that is the Vulcan spirit. Sometimes a katra is imparted to the family members so that the ancestor is directly incorporated into their own katras. My ancestors are literally part of me. I can call upon them because they are here, within me." He peered at her hopefully. "Do you understand?"

"I think so. Is that what you do when you go and meditate? Do you talk with your ancestors?"

"Sometimes, if they have something they wish to say to me," he answered. "It is very difficult to explain to a non-Vulcan who has not experienced it."

Christine reached out and stroked her baby's soft black hair. "Do you suppose Sapel will have it?" she wondered softly.

Spock stretched himself out on the other side of his son, propping himself up on one elbow and resting his cheek against his hand. With the other, he slipped a finger into the palm of the toddler's small hand, which reflexively grasped the man's larger one.

"I don't know," Spock said in answer to his wife's question. "He is showing many Vulcan characteristics. Time will tell if his Ancestors will lead him as they have led me."

* * *

It took ten days of walking but at last, late in the afternoon of the tenth day, Spock, with Sapel sitting atop his shoulders and his little hands resting on his father's head, paused and peered into the distance. Christine stopped beside him and strained to see what he was looking at. And then she recognized it, too -- the familiar contour of the bluff above their valley, the snaking green line of trees following the waterway to the edge of the escarpment, and the little waterfall plummeting over that.

She let out a whoop that startled Sapel so much he would have fallen off his father's shoulders if Spock hadn't had his hands wrapped around his little son's legs, anchoring him. As it was, the boy stared at his mother in surprise and Spock abruptly added to that surprise with an burst of laughter that he quickly stopped.

Christine's mouth fell open. "What was that?!" she demanded. She could count on one hand the times she'd heard Spock laugh.

A little embarrassed, he looked at her and barely suppressed a smile. "It was Sapel," he explained. "He transmitted the mental impression that you had lost your mind. Not in so many words or even a coherent thought, just that that was his immediate response to the noise you made."

She pursed her lips and shook her head. "I can see that you two are going to be a handful!"

Spock smiled again. "This isn't getting us any closer to home. Shall we continue?"

"Absolutely!" They set out toward the landmark on the horizon, new energy added to their step. Christine was bone weary, but right now she felt like she could have run the rest of the way. As they walked, she asked, "Does he know he's transmitting his thoughts?"

"No," Spock replied. "Nor will he begin to learn how to shield for another couple of years. Vulcan children generally are old enough to comprehend the lessons when they are about three. I suspect Sapel will be the same."

The little boy was paying no attention to his parents' discussion. He was happily riding high on his father's shoulders, surveying the landscape, and had double fistfuls of Spock's thick black hair for extra security. Spock didn't mind except when the toddler, in the throes of excitement at seeing a new animal or bird, yanked enthusiastically in response. Spock was just glad that Vulcans were not prone to baldness.

The sun was beginning to near the western horizon by the time they finally trudged down into their little valley and waded across the creek. Here they paused and surveyed their homesite. The hide-covered barrier that Spock had wedged into place when they'd left several months before had been knocked aside and there were animal tracks leading in and out of the cave.

Spock handed Sapel down to Christine and shucked his heavy pack, then took up his hunting spear and cautiously approached the cave mouth. Christine dropped her pack as well, holding Sapel close, and ready to run if she had to.

Spock paused at the doorway and peered inside for a very long time, then he stepped inside and was lost in the darkness. All was quiet for a moment, then his deep voice gave a loud, sharp shout, which was punctuated by a shriek. At the same instant, a half-dozen rabbit-sized animals exploded from the cave mouth and scattered in all directions, disappearing within seconds.

Christine was breathless, clutching her baby, wondering what had happened, but then Spock ducked underneath the doorway and strode confidently toward her. He had his spear in one hand, the point bloodied, and a lifeless hare in the other, holding it by its long hind legs.

"Supper," he remarked as he reached his wife. He jerked his head back to the cave. "It is alright but the hoppers have evidently been in there all winter. It needs a good cleaning. I do not think we want to sleep in there tonight."

Sapel was squirming to get down so his mother set him on his feet. He promptly made a bee-line for the rabbit his father held and reached out to stroke the soft fur. When it didn't move, he peered up at Spock and made an interrogatory sound. Spock looked directly back at him for a few seconds, his gaze intense, and Sapel seemed to have his answer for he promptly found something else that interested him.

"I wish I could do that," Christine commented with a sigh.

"He will be talking soon enough and there will be little need of it. As I was saying, the cave smells of rabbit dung and urine. We will need to clean it thoroughly before we can move back in."

"Well, I'm just so happy to be home that I don't care if we have to sleep in the tent for a week," she smiled. "Do you want me to take care of that?"

"If you don't mind," he answered, handing the animal over to her. "I'll see if there is usable firewood where we left it and get a fire going."

"Be careful with that woodpile," she warned as he walked toward the area where they had always stored brush and logs. "There may be spiders or snakes in it."

"There aren't any spiders or snakes on this planet," he retorted over his shoulder.

"That we know of!" she shot back. "Just watch what you're grabbing!"

Christine got her hunting knife and carried the rabbit down to where the creek ran swiftly over rocks, Sapel toddling after her. When she squatted down at the water's edge to gut and skin the hare, he did likewise, watching her. He'd seen her prepare many different types of animals and was not the least bit upset by the butchering. Animals were food and this was how you made them ready to eat.

She had pulled the pelt off the lean carcass and was about to start the gutting when suddenly she heard Spock cry out in alarm. She whipped around in time to see him fling an armload of kindling away from himself and begin to bat frantically at his torso and legs. Without thinking, she dropped her knife beside the carcass and leaped to his aid.

"Spock! What--"

"Biters!" he responded, still contorting to reach everywhere at once. "They're all over me!"

She could see now that he was covered with the tiny black insects, reknowned for their ferocious tempers and fiery stings. She started to slap at his body, then ordered, "Get in the water! Quick!"

He didn't stop to quibble but immediately ran and leaped into the creek, immersing himself and staying there as long as he could hold his breath, hoping that the current would wash away the tormenting creatures before he was subject to any further assault.

Christine crouched on the bank and watched anxiously as her husband finally came up for air, his long black hair hanging in his face and looking like a drowned rat. She couldn't help it. She began laughing as he shook his drenched hair away and panted for breath.

"I fail to see what is so funny!" he stated.

"Oh, lord, Spock! I wish you could see yourself!" She broke out into another fit of giggles then managed to ask, "Are you all right?"

"Yes, thank you for asking," he retorted and stood up to wade out of the water, his waterlogged buckskins clinging to his body. He was nearly to shore when he suddenly gasped, "Sapel!"

She whirled and cried out. She'd forgotten about her knife when she went to Spock's aid and the toddler now had it in his hands, looking over the pattern the rabbit's blood made on the razor-sharp blade.

With forced calmness, Christine rose and walked deliberately toward her son, careful not to startle him. He looked up at her innocently then with bewilderment as she leaned down and lifted the knife from his grasp. "No, Sapel!" she told him with a stern expression. "Bad! Don't touch!!"

He blinked his big brown eyes a couple of times then his face bunched up and he erupted into a wail of hurt protest.

Spock was behind her now and Christine handed the knife back to him, then bent and picked up her baby, hugging him tight, herself shaking so much she could barely function. "It's okay, my lovey boy. It's okay," she crooned, holding him against her shoulder and rocking him soothingly. "Mommy's sorry but you mustn't ever touch a knife, baby. It will hurt you! Shhhh...."

Eventually he stopped crying and snuggled into his mother's comforting shoulder. Spock slipped an arm around Christine and bent his head to his son's, heedless of the fact that he was soaking wet. He was too weak with relief to care.

Christine continued to rock her baby but snuggled against her husband's cheek and whispered, "Welcome home!"

* * *

They settled back into their routine as if they had never left it. The cave was cleaned and scrubbed, and fragrant herbs burned for several days until the lingering animal smell was finally eradicated. The furs and hides that had been stored in the back had to be dragged out and soaked in the pond in order to clean them and also to get rid of parasites that had taken up residence during the rabbits' winter sojourn. Then Christine had the job of reworking the hides to make them soft and pliable once more.

Spock burned the brush pile, using up a lot of perfectly good kindling wood, but killing the biting insect colony that infested it. He sported two dozen or more stings where they'd gotten under his clothing and these turned into painful, itching pustules that kept him scratching for more than a week afterwards. Fortunately, while disagreeable and unsightly, the insect stings weren't serious and eventually healed.

As spring progressed, he took up hunting once more to supply his family with food and Christine returned to her chores of preserving the meat as jerky or in their salt barrel. New plant growth also meant fresh greens and tender shoots that she was now practiced at finding and cooking. And little Sapel reveled in the first spring he had known and happily explored while his mother foraged.

It was now two full years since Spock and Christine had been marooned on the planet they had dubbed Terra Two and, if either thought much of the homes they had lost, it was a fading memory. Both had accepted that there was almost zero chance of rescue and so they dismissed it as irrelevant. They looked to the future now, their priorities centering on raising their son and finding enough food to survive.

On this afternoon, the family had gone up onto the plains simply to enjoy the fine weather and walk together. The grass here had been grazed low by the herds of horses and antelope and other animals that populated this place. Spock and Christine strolled leisurely along side-by-side as Sapel laughed and chased hop-bugs and flutters. A good distance away, a herd of the little equine mesohippus were grazing and switching their tufted tails at flies. Foals were numerous and they scampered and kicked with the energy of new life, never straying too far away from their mothers.

"A lot of babies this year," Christine remarked. "I hope that's a sign that this will be a good year."

"I have no faith in 'signs' but one can always hope," Spock replied, keeping an eye on Sapel.

Christine let her gaze move to the child as well. He was growing fast and she had nearly weaned him now. Her milk was beginning to dry up and her breasts were getting smaller, back to their normal size. Unconsciously a troubled look cross her face and Spock noticed it.

"What is wrong?"

She shook her head. "Just thinking. He's not nursing much anymore but he needs milk. I worry about his teeth and bone development. I don't want him malnourished."

Spock nodded and looked back at the boy. Then he looked at the horse herd and got a speculative expression on his face. Christine peered up at him. "I know that look, Spock. What are you thinking about?"

He didn't answer for a few seconds, then said, "Just pondering the answer to your question. There are a lot of mares and they are lactating now. I wonder if it might be possible to catch some of them and milk them..."

"Drink mare's milk?"

He shrugged. "There are whole cultures on your planet that depend heavily on horses and their milk."

"But these aren't horses," she pointed out. "We don't even know if their milk is drinkable."

"No, and we won't know until we try it," he replied. "I will give it further thought..."

Sapel made a fumbling dash at a bright-winged flutterfly and ended up rolling and giggling in a patch of white flowers. Christine laughed happily, too, delighted in her child's play. She noticed Spock smiling at her and glanced up at him, curious. "What?" she asked.

His dark eyes were warm as they held hers. "You are so beautiful," he said softly. "I couldn't go on without you."

"Spock..." she smiled and slipped her arms around his waist, holding him close. After a moment, she pulled away a little, lifting her face as he bent to her lips. It was soft and light at first, then she touched her tongue to his lips and opened them against hers. He held her tighter as their tongues danced and the kiss grew deeper. She moaned low in her throat as she felt desire rear up in her soul. She could feel his answering need beginning to press against her and she moved her pelvis harder into his, encouraging him.

He lifted his mouth from hers and murmured, "If Sapel weren't watching us, I would already have you on the grass, but I think perhaps we had better wait until tonight when he is asleep."

She laughed throatily. "Undoubtedly. I would hate to have him come over and ask you telepathically what you were doing to Mommy!"

"Indeed. So I will wait until he cannot ask," Spock replied in a deep purr and kissed her hard one final time before releasing her.

Sapel was indeed watching them curiously but then got to his feet and ran to them, his little fists clutching some of the white flowers. Christine crouched and caught him, lifting him high. Then she cradled him close and hugged him.

He squirmed and thrust the flowers into her face. "Oh, how pretty!" she cried in exaggerated delight. "Are those for me? Thank you!!"

"Let's put some in Mama's hair, shall we?" Spock said and began tucking some of the mangled blossoms into her braids.

Sapel said, "Pa!" and reached up toward his father.

"Well, of course, Papa needs a flower, too," Christine agreed and stuck one into Spock's dark hair before he could stop her.

The little boy giggled happily. "And Sapel gets one," Spock said, tucking the last flower behind his son's ear.

Sapel was beside himself and wriggled until Christine put him back down. He set back off at a clumsy run to get more blossoms, his parents following behind hand-in-hand

* * *

The day had been unseasonably warm, almost to the point of being hot, and the evening that followed it maintained the heavy, muggy heat of the day. The sun still set fairly early at this time of the year and, by the time they had their meal prepared, it was full dark. After they had eaten supper and Christine had put Sapel to bed, making sure that he was fast asleep, she came back to find Spock standing just outside the opening of their home, looking up at the clear, star-speckled sky. She sank against him, slipping her arm around his slim waist, and snuggled into him.

"It's hot tonight," she commented softly.

He looked down at her and she saw that there was a sly smile on his face. "Do you think the water is too cold for a swim?" he asked.

Her heart leaped. "Probably, but let's go anyway."

Quickly, they stripped and tossed their clothing back inside, then, with her skin prickling in the night air, Christine said, "Race you!" and set off at a run for the pond. She could hear Spock right behind her.

Feeling decadent and silly all at the same time, Christine giggled like a girl and splashed into the water, the shock of its cool temperature making her squeal at first. Spock caught her before she had gone a half dozen steps and seized her from behind, his strong arms sliding around under her breasts and pulling her hard against him.

She laughed and twisted, coming around to face him, and then he silenced her with a long, fervent kiss. She moaned and returned it full measure, her arms going around his neck, her body molding itself against his. They hadn't made love since they'd left the little ship in the hills and their innate hunger for each other burst into flame once more. For a long time, they stood waist deep in the cool water and feasted on each other's kisses, tongues playfully dueling, lips caressing and nipping, bodies hardening into attention as they pressed together.

He moved his lips down her throat and one hand slid from stroking her back to cupping a full breast. She laughed again and pushed away from him, striking out toward the waterfall. He followed her and for a few minutes they enjoyed the luxury of stretching their muscles against the water's resistance, slicing through the lapping wavelets until they came up underneath the fall's crystal shower.

There he caught her again, treading water as he nuzzled between her breasts. Then abruptly he surprised her by ducking down and submerging. She could feel him sliding down her torso, his hands guiding him, but she was unprepared when she suddenly felt him push her legs wide apart. She gave a little cry as the cool water surged into her hot folds, and then jumped and made an even louder sound when without warning she felt him nuzzle his face in between her thighs and kiss her intimately, his tongue hot against her flesh. The shock and the dichotomy of sensations nearly made her explode with ecstasy, but it lasted only a second and then he was surfacing again, flinging his hair out of his face.

"Spock!" she gasped and then watched amusement crinkle his eyes. She flung herself onto him, dunking him inadvertently, then when he came up spluttering, she slid her arms around his neck in a gentler manner. She kissed him hard, nearly pushing him under again, until he fended her off a bit and managed to catch his breath.

A wicked expression crept over her face and, before he could do more than register it, she had copied his actions, sinking down under the water and moving down his body. Within a couple of seconds, he jerked reflexively as her warm mouth engulfed the end of his penis and gentle suction jolted him. It was just about the most incredible sensation he'd ever experienced and he couldn't suppress a groan as he immediately felt himself respond with a surge of arousal. And then the hot mouth was replaced by the shock of cool water and he shuddered as the chill shot through him.

Christine surfaced with a gasp and smoothed her hair out of her face. "How'd you like that?" she asked.

"It would have been better without getting dashed with cold water just as I was beginning to get interested!" he responded.

She reached down and grasped him. "Hmm ... yes, that definitely needs some work. Let's get out. I'm getting cold, too."

They struck out for shore and climbed out onto one of the big rocks that bordered the pool, its surface still bearing the day's heat. Here they stretched out, savoring the latent warmth of the stone. The muggy night breeze, moving with barely a breath over their skin, was sensual in the extreme and Christine could feel her nipples rising up in response.

Spock rolled onto his side and propped himself on one elbow, his face against the palm of his hand. With the other hand, he lazily trailed his fingertips over the taut rosy nubs, feeling them swell and harden beneath his touch. She arched her back and sighed, pushing her breasts up higher in offering. He responded, bending to draw the nearest one into his mouth and working at it with his tongue.

Her sigh became a moan and she slipped her fingers up to bury themselves in his thick, soft hair, still wet from their swim, stroking down the tips of his ears and back again. He picked up the strength of his suckling, almost to the threshold of pain. But, knowing through their bond exactly what she was feeling, he never crossed that point.

After a few moments, he lifted his head and kissed his way down her warm stomach, pivoting on his hip as he did so, until ultimately he was facing toward her feet and his lips were tickling the inside of her thighs, gently coaxing them open. The intoxicating scent of her womanhood met him as he spread her legs and lifted himself over her to better reach the sweet secrets he sought. He parted her labia and moved to kiss her there, his tongue exploring and tantalizing her unmercifully.

Christine found his hardening manhood within easy reach and she began to stroke him again and again, reveling in the heat radiating off his body, in the musky scent of his skin, in the contained power he evoked. Encouraging him to move astride her, she pulled the firm, pulsing shaft to her lips and kissed the moist head, tickling it with the tip of her tongue and tasting first briny droplets hanging there. She wanted more of him and pulled him into her mouth, still slipping her hand up and down the rigid rod as she sucked gently but with increasing fervor.

She felt him shudder underneath her hands and he lifted his mouth from her, gasping aloud. Don't stop! she pleaded through their meld, but he couldn't concentrate on pleasuring her as he wanted to, so consumed was he at the moment with impending orgasm. Instead, he slid two fingers into her wet slit and pumped them in a matching rhythm to her mouth working his throbbing erection. Her hips involuntarily bucked and tightened and she quickened the beat of her stroke, sucking him hard.

He cried out in response and a half-controlled spasm gripped him, then her mouth was abruptly flooded with a gush of hot, salty liquid. She swallowed reflexively, holding him to her until it was over, then eased up and he pulled away from her. She could feel his embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, Christine," he said in a hoarse voice. "I didn't mean to do that. Forgive me..."

"Come back up here," she answered. He repositioned himself beside her and was surprised when she slid her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. Her mouth was musty and he experienced the odd sensation of tasting himself on her lips. It was surprisingly erotic.

When she lifted her mouth from his, she whispered, "Do not ever apologize to me like that again. I had plenty of time to move away if I had wanted to."

"I lost control," he protested, still holding her close.

"I gave you a blow job," she responded, peering at him meaningfully. "That was supposed to happen." He was quiet for a moment and she said in a softer tone, "If you didn't like it, I won't do it again. Just tell me, Spock."

He peered at her closely and caressed her cheek with one hand. "What pleases you, pleases me, t'hy'la. I just find it more pleasurable to reach a climax inside your body and feel you climax around me. This way makes me feel a bit distant from you."

"Then I won't do it again," she promised.

He smiled and retorted, "I did not say that exactly."

She laughed and moved to kiss him again, long and languidly. When they parted, they lay for a while looking up at the stars. Though unfamiliar, the glittering points of light seemed warm and inviting and their thoughts drifted up and were lost among them. After a while, Christine asked in a murmur, "Spock? On the Enterprise ... did you love me then?"

"I liked you," he answered honestly. "I liked you very much. But I did not love anyone. I did not know what love was."

"I loved you," she whispered against his chest where she had nestled her head. "I think I fell in love with you the first time I saw you. And that's it. I was IN love with you, even though I didn't yet know you. But I truly came to love you as time went on." She trailed her fingertips up through the crisp, dark hair on his chest. It made her pause for a moment and savor the sensation, a characteristic so primally male that she felt a quiver of incipient arousal run through her.

He felt it too and it generated a surge of answering electricity in him. "Why don't we go back in?" he asked softly. "I think we would be a lot more comfortable in our bed."

"Mmmmm...." she responded with a sigh, nuzzling against him, letting his chest hair tickle her nose, drinking in his masculine scent as she did so. "Does that mean I have to get up and let you go?"

"Only for a minute," he answered in a soft, deep voice. He gently pushed her away and then got to his feet. Pulling her up, he suddenly swept her up into his arms and carried her back up the trail to their home.

She giggled softly, hiding her face in his neck. "I feel like Cavewoman, being carried off my Caveman!" she grinned. "The old joke used to be that he would club her over the head and drag her home by her hair."

"Well, if that is what you wish," he responded and started to put her down. "I will attempt to locate a club and--"

She held on tighter and clung to him. "Don't you dare!"

"But if you wish me to behave as a cave man..."

"Just shut up and take me to bed and ravish me," she murmured and kissed him, her body lush and eager in his arms. It wasn't long before he did just that.

* * *

A soft grumble of thunder and the patter of rain brought Christine up from sleep enough to register it but not enough to fully wake her. Instead, she rolled over in Spock's arms and snuggled into the wonderful heat of his body. He draped an arm over her and pulled her close, but didn't wake either. The night had been spent in a prolonged session of lovemaking that had finally culminated with a soaring mind meld that sent them both spiraling into oblivion as they erupted into simultaneous orgasm that left them both completely sated. And then they had collapsed into utter exhaustion and sleep.

Now as Christine found herself once more enveloped in the delicious heat of Spock's arms, she muzzily discovered herself growing aroused yet again. It was a lazy, sleepy sort of arousal but the knowledge that his naked body was pressed against hers and that all she had to do was slip her leg over his hip to bring him into her set her tingling at her very core. She opened her eyes and gazed at him in the dim, pre-light of the rainy, overcast dawn. She could just barely make out his features, but knew them so well by now that she didn't need the light to trace them with her eyes.

Gently, she moved her hand down her side and slid it between their bodies to find what she sought. With one fingertip, she touched him, so softly that he didn't even stir. She moved her finger over the silky skin and was pleased when she felt an answering twitch. Smiling, she continued to stroke him with her fingertips.

Spock moved in his sleep, shifting slightly, and his dark brows bunched together a little in a frown. Underneath her light manipulations, he was hardening rapidly and she finally decided it was time to wake him. Projecting through their bond, she sent him an image of a particularly erotic moment they had shared the night before and at the same time stroked the full length of his shaft.

His dark eyes were suddenly gazing at her as he drew in a soft gasp. "I thought you'd had enough last night to keep you a while," he said in a whisper.

"I will never have enough of you," she whispered back. "Are you interested in one more before you-know-who wakes up?"

"I think that is fairly obvious," he responded breathlessly. "But I think it will have to be a fast one. It is almost his waking time."

"Then stop talking so much," she murmured and leaned into his lips.

She still had him in her tantalizing grasp and he reached down to lift her leg over his thigh, touching her lightly as he did so. She was still soft and moist and very ready to receive him, and he flattened his broad palm on her buttocks cheek, pulling her pelvis against his. In response, she guided him to her portal and then released him. He did the rest, thrusting his hips into hers, pushing into her welcoming tightness.

In this posture, he couldn't penetrate deeply but she pressed against his shoulder. Obligingly, he rolled over onto his back, taking her with him. Adjusting her position, she braced her hands against his shoulders and settled down astride him, his hard maleness sinking fully into her. It was such a delicious sensation that she held still for a few seconds, just feeling him inside her, then she began to move, rocking on him in an age-old rhythm.

Outside the thunder rumbled again, a little louder as she picked up speed and Spock slid his hands down to the curve of her hips, holding her firmly to him. His eyes locked on hers, his gaze intense, as she felt him swell and harden even more within her. Then he closed his eyes and dropped his head back, his expression suffused with incipient ecstasy.

She felt him gathering himself, his muscles rock hard between her legs, and his hips began to lift up underneath her. Suddenly, he groaned and his hands gripped her almost painfully, his hips bucking frantically up into her. And then she felt the hot pulse of his semen filling her. She arched back and took him fully, her body tightening in climax around him.

At that moment thunder crashed in startling accompaniment to their rapture and a second later Sapel's frightened cry sounded from his sleeping position near the rear of the cave.

It brought them immediately back to the present. "Uh-oh," Christine said. She bent down and kissed her husband. "Perfect timing!" He kissed her back and she quickly dismounted, reaching over to snag the soft nightgown she'd brought back from the Romulan ship. Slipping it over her head, she got up and went to see about her child.

Spock lay back in the furs, feeling spent, listening to the rain and thunder rage outside the cave mouth. The gray light seeping in told him that it was time to be up and stirring, but there was not much they could do at the moment, so he took advantage of the situation. He had been disciplined his entire life to live to the dictates of a clock, but it was different here. There was no need to. He had found the pleasures of a rainy morning and a warm bed.

Christine came back with Sapel, having changed his diaper and comforted him, and now she brought him to their bed. He was more interested in watching the rain, though, and brave now in the presence of his parents, he crawled down to the end of the pallet of furs, sitting and staring in fascination at the storm. Christine shrugged and went to stoke the embers banked on the hearth, setting a stone bowl of water near to heat for tea and porridge. Then she rejoined Sapel.

Spock got up and went down the side branch of the cave where their "bad weather" latrine was located, then returned in a bit and pulled on his loin cloth and leggings. By that time, Christine had the tea steeped and the coarsely ground grain boiling.

Spock settled down cross-legged on the furs and accepted a cup of tea from his wife. Sapel stood up and leaned against his father's arm. "Dink," he said.

"It's hot," Spock warned. He blew on the liquid then carefully brought the cup to his son's lips and allowed him to have the tiniest of tastes. The herbal tea was a little bitter but Sapel was used to it. He smacked his lips and indicated he wanted some more.

"Here, baby, here's some that's cooler," Christine said and gave the youngster a small bowl with his own tea. "Don't give him the hot stuff, Spock. He'll burn himself."

"He'll be fine," Spock responded.

"Don't give him the hot stuff," she repeated, a little more forcefully and stared at him meaningfully to get her message across.

"I was quite careful with it," her husband answered and stared meaningfully back at her. "Your maternal instinct is sometimes too intensely protective."

"When we're talking about my baby, you bet it is," she retorted. "*This* is why men don't give birth and women do. Hell hath no fury like a mother protecting her young." She handed over a bowl of porridge. "*Don't* ... give him ... the hot stuff."

"Understood, wife," Spock sighed in resignation. "Here, Sapel. Do you want some cereal?" He dipped his carved wooden spoon, one of two that they had, into the steaming gruel and fed some to the child while Christine dished out some for herself.

"Have you given any more thought to the milk question?" she asked after a few minutes.

"Yes. I was planning on a capture attempt today, but this rain may delay that." He offered another spoonful of porridge to Sapel who ate it with relish. "I think I will carve another spoon for us instead."

"Good idea," Christine answered. "While you do that, I'm going to have another look at our Romulan survival book."

"Why?"

"I want to see if there's any instructions on how to make cheese or yogurt," she responded. "If we're going to have milk, I want to see how many ways we can use it."

* * *

There was a word for what Christine was watching, a word that was Spanish and had its roots in the American Southwest of several hundred years before. Rodeo. Not the proper Spanish pronunciation of "ro-DAY-o" but the Americanized version. "RO-DEE-OH." What made it all the more hilarious was that the cowboy involved was Vulcan and had never before attempted the feat.

It had started quite well, actually. Spock had spent a couple of days braiding together strips of rawhide, ending up with a serviceable length of rope. He formed a slipknot in one end and practiced tossing the lasso onto a tree stump until he was satisfied with his prowess.

Then the next morning, he, Christine and Sapel headed out to the plains above their camp to capture a mesohippus mare.

The little horse-like animals stood no higher than a human's hips and were stocky and relatively short-legged. Their dun-colored hides, striped on the flanks with dark brown markings, blended well with the surrounding grasslands, and their herds numbered enough individuals to make a confusing presentation to any predators that stalked them. They were generally docile creatures without the intelligence to recognize Spock as a threat. He hunted them frequently but their memories were short and he was not one of the predators they were genetically programmed to recognize.

Thus, he felt that if he approached them quietly and projected comforting thoughts, he should be able to snag one of the mares without much trouble.

It proved a little bit more difficult than that. He had failed to take into consideration what Christine had said a few days before ... that hell hath no fury like a mother protecting her baby. This was a nursery herd, made up of mares and foals. Most of the year, the mezzies were presided over by a stallion, but in the spring time they separated themselves from the males and were led by a dominant mare, usually with a new baby by her side.

And now, as Spock slowly walked up to the herd of milling horses, getting his rope ready to toss over the neck of a young lactating female, the matriarch decided that she didn't like his looks. She didn't know what he was, but he wasn't equine and that was enough to settle the issue in her mind.

With a coughing bray, the mare burst from the pack and charged him, ears laid back and teeth bared. Even with her short legs, she could run twice as fast as he could and he hardly had time to register what was happening in time to leap aside.

She swerved immediately, her three-toed feet digging into the sod as she cornered and charged him again. Spock was too far from any trees or other shelter to attempt to reach one. The only thing close was the mezzie herd itself and he plunged into the roiling bodies, using them as a barrier between himself and enraged mare.

She brayed again, trying to get to him, evidently a command for the others to get out of her way, for they set up an even bigger commotion and he was hard-pressed to keep from being knocked down and trampled. All the while, the matriarch was bellowing her challenge and pushing through the other whinnying mares, their foals adding to the racket with their high-pitched bleating. Stamping feet and the crush of sweaty bodies churned up the ground, generating a pall of dust that added to the confusion.

Christine couldn't see well enough to discover what was happening but, from the noise and agitation of the horses, she was pretty sure that Spock was in trouble. But she had Sapel in her arms and couldn't leave him. She had no choice but to watch and wait.

And then the most amazing sight she'd ever seen burst out in the open with the suddenness of a bronc buster exploding into an arena. The big mare erupted from the fray with Spock hanging frantically onto her neck, one leg over her back as if he had been trying to mount her and she had bolted out from under him. His rope was around her neck and he was evidently attempting to tangle it in her front feet and bring her down.

She was having none of it. Screaming at the top of her voice, she bucked, twisted and kicked, trying to get her teeth into the horrible, frightening creature attacking her, her eyes wild with fright and fury, foam flying from her gaping mouth, ears laid back flat. He maintained his grip doggedly, a look of utter determination on his face, trying to use the leverage he had to her mane to throw her off balance.

The mare got her head bent around and seized her tormenter by his loose hide, in reality the buckskin shirt he wore. But she bit deep and Spock yelped as she took a chunk out of him, too. But it provided the impetus he needed and he jerked himself up higher on her back. The extra weight made her miss her footing, stumble, and fall heavily.

It knocked the wind out of both of them, but Spock recovered just quickly enough to grab the end of his rawhide rope and whip a couple of loops around her muzzle, pulling it tight. He then fell across her neck and pinned her head to the ground while he secured it. She was trying to get out from under him, struggling wildly, as he worked frantically, grabbing one forefoot and tying it up close to her body.

Then he flung himself away as the mare vaulted to her feet. Three of them, anyway. She stumbled again and went down, got up and went into a frenzy of action. It was no use. She couldn't run with one foot tied and the rope muzzle prevented her from getting her teeth into the rawhide to bite it through. She fought furiously for a few minutes, then gave up, panting heavily, her breath rasping in and out of her lungs, glaring at him.

Spock took a minute to examine his wounds. He could feel bruises already appearing and, when he lifted his shirt, he found a nice set of teeth marks cut into his side. He raised an eyebrow at how lucky he had been. Given Vulcan anatomy, she had come uncomfortably close to his heart.

He looked up from his seat on the ground as Christine approached cautiously with Sapel. "Are you hurt?" she asked, keeping an eye on the mare.

"Minor injuries only," he responded. He gestured toward the horse. "It's your turn, Christine. I caught her. You milk her."

His wife stared incredulously at him. "You're joking!"

"I am not," he responded quite seriously, getting up with a groan. "I will hold her head, but you will have to milk her. I trust you brought something to catch the milk in."

Christine was speechless for a moment. "No ... I thought we'd be taking her back to the camp and do it there."

"In fact, that was my plan as well. However, I doubt that this animal will placidly allow us to lead her away." He sighed and flexed one arm to stretch a sore muscle. Then he said, "Empty your water bag. We're not that far from home. We can do without water until we return."

She reluctantly put Sapel on his feet a safe distance away and told him pointedly, "Stay there! Do not move!!" Her tone of voice was so forceful, that he squatted down where he was and made himself small, his brown eyes huge.

Satisfied that her son would stay put, Christine poured the water out of the skin bag she used and she and Spock cautiously approached the apprehensive mare. The animal attempted to hobble away, handicapped by her tied foot. Having no wish to frighten her further, Spock talked soothingly to her, projecting well-being, while Christine hung back a bit.

At last, Spock was within reach of the horse's head and took a firm hold on the make-shift halter. "All right, Christine," he said. "Be careful of her hind feet. I don't think she can kick but I'm not sure."

The woman walked slowly up to the animal's side and reached out to stroke her. The mare made an angry sound and gave a little hop that had evidently been meant as a kick. She couldn't manage it with one front foot out of commission, but she kept a wide-eye on this new threat.

Christine bent and looked underneath the mare's flank. Sure enough, a milk-swollen udder with two teats nestled between the mare's hind legs and Christine gently reached to take hold of one.

The mare gave a strangled scream and launched herself into the air. Spock barely managed to hang onto her and it took a few minutes before she settled down enough for Christine to try again. The same thing happened as soon as she touched the mare's udder.

"Wait a minute," Christine said. "I've got an idea. Take off your shirt and blindfold her. Maybe she won't object so much if she can't see what's going on."

That sounded like a logical idea to Spock and he quickly stripped his buckskin shirt off over his head, draping and holding it over the horse's eyes. She stiffened in puzzlement, but held still under Spock's firm grip. "Okay, try it again," he directed.

But Christine was staring at his bare torso, where livid green bruises were beginning to appear, and especially at the crescent of teeth marks across his side. "My God! She really got you, didn't she?!"

"Never mind that!" he snapped. "Hurry. I don't know how long I can hold her."

Chastened, she quickly turned back to her task. Blinded, the mare held still, trembling, and Christine was finally able to give a gentle squeeze to one of the teats. Milk flowed immediately over her hand and she brought the water skin into position, doing a passable job at extracting the creamy yellow liquid.

"Well, this is something I never saw myself doing," she commented ironically, switching to the other teat and gently pulling it in a rhythmic motion. After a few moments, she said, "I think that's enough to start with. We've got to see if this stuff is even drinkable, after all."

"Go back with Sapel," Spock ordered, intent on the animal he held. "I don't know how she will react when I free her."

"Be careful!" she admonished him. "I don't want to have to scrape up your trampled bones!"

He waited while she hurried back to her little son and picked him up, moving still farther away. Then, keeping the mare blindfolded with his shirt, and working as quickly as he could with one hand, he untied the knot holding her foot and allowed her to set it down. Still she stood motionless, paralyzed by not being able to see around her.

Spock then gingerly unlooped his rope from her neck and from around her muzzle and let it drop. He made ready to run and then abruptly whipped the shirt away from her eyes, simultaneously throwing his arms up in the air and screaming fiercely in the startled mare's face.

It triggered her "flight" instinct and she whirled and thundered back toward her herd. They all broke into a run and were soon lost in a cloud of dust.

Suddenly tired, Spock bent to retrieve his rope and turned to walk wearily to where his wife and child waited. With as much shaking as that milk had received, he thought wryly, it was a wonder it wasn't cheese already!

* * *

When they reached their campsite, Spock veered off and walked toward the pond. He hadn't said anything on the way back and Christine could feel his irritation simmering through their bond. As he moved away, she took a step after him and said, "I need to see to that bite."

"I will see to it myself," he responded tightly and kept walking.

"Hoookay," Christine answered to herself and took Sapel up to the cave to find him some lunch. She hung the precious container of milk in the cool darkness at the back of the cave until she had a little more time to test it, then turned to preparing a simple meal of baked tubers and bread. She could see Spock kneeling beside the water, delicately washing the area on his right side where he'd been bitten by the mare.

Sapel was watching him, as well. Though not quite a year and a half old by this planet's calendar, he was starting to show a precocious intellect. Christine wondered if all Vulcan children did. He was about on the level of a human two-year-old and beginning to put simple sentences together. After he had gazed silently at his father for a while and chewed meditatively on a piece of flatbread, Sapel looked up at his mother. "Pa sad?" he asked her, conveying his meaning to her quite plainly.

She smiled and reached out to tuck his silky black hair behind one petite pointed ear. He was so like his father, she thought, so sensitive and intuitive. "Papa is just tired," she answered softly. "The horsie hurt him some."

"Bad!" he answered emphatically, his little slanted brows angling together.

"No, honey, the horsie wasn't bad. She was protecting herself and her family. Just like Papa and I would protect you or each other." She smiled at him again, her blue eyes full of love. "Finish your lunch now, sweetie, and then it will be time for a nap."

Sapel did as he was told, but Christine's attention was again on her husband. He was still down by the pond, just standing with his back to the cave mouth, and she felt the agitation he was experiencing. The bond fairly vibrated with it.

Sapel was exhausted from the morning's excitement and went right to sleep after Christine had settled him into his bed. Then she stepped outside the cave and gazed down the path at the rigid figure by the water's edge. He had not put his shirt back on and now stood clad only in his leather breeches, loin cloth, and fringed knee-high moccasins, his hunting knife strapped in its constant place at his side. His long black hair was loose and hung about his shoulders, his skin bronzed from frequent exposure to the sun.

Quietly, she walked down the dirt path toward him. He was so beautiful, she thought, so much like an ancient American warrior. Or more likely, he was like an ancient Vulcan warrior, the distant ancestors whose blood still burned in his veins. In any case, she found him astounding.

He undoubtedly heard her coming but he did not turn, his back and shoulders tense. Reaching up, she laid her palm against the bare skin of his back and was surprised when he flinched away.

"Don't," he said stiffly. "Please."

"Are you hurt, Spock?" she asked, immediately worried, coming to his side and looking up into his face. His expression was closed, the Great Stone Mask firmly in place.

"I told you I have only minor injuries," he replied in a voice just short of being harsh.

"Then what is it?"

The thin line of his mouth got a bit tighter. "I simply wish to be left alone."

"Why? What's the matter?" she pressed him, worried.

"Nothing!" he snapped, frowning, then caught himself and pulled himself back under control. "Nothing is the matter."

"Spock ... don't go into your Uber Vulcan act after all this time," she admonished him. "Tell me."

He looked away, his jaw working. He was fairly radiating anger, his chest rising and falling with the deeper breaths he was taking in order to calm himself. Finally he ground out in a low voice, "This morning. It was useless. All that work for nothing."

"We got the milk," she pointed out then stepped back as he swung on her, his brows low over hard eyes.

"A bag full! What good is that?!" he burst out, finally giving sway to his temper. "The whole purpose of this scheme was to provide Sapel with a supply of milk. The effort expended to obtain that one tiny bag of milk utterly defies logic! How many times a day must that action be repeated? How many mares will it take?"

He turned away, parking his hands on his hips, his arms akimbo in a defiant pose. Angrily, under his breath, he muttered, "C'thia k'torri sakha't'michi'a kh'a'lah!"

"What? Spock, speak English."

He pinned her with a blazing glare. "Why should I speak English? Why don't you learn Vulcan?"

Christine was getting angry now, too. "Because I don't have the vocal apparatus to speak Vulcan!" she shot back. "My larynx won't make half the sounds needed to do it!" She mimicked his pose with her fists resting on her hips. "What in the bloody hell is wrong with you?!"

"Nothing is wrong with me!"

"Oh, God, you're not going into--"

"No, I'm not in pon farr! Why do you always think I'm going into pon farr?!" he fairly shouted at her. "Every time my behavior is the least bit out of the ordinary, you automatically conclude it's pon farr! Is that the only Vulcan condition that was ever recorded in your database? I don't want to hear that asinine diagnosis again!"

Taken aback by his hostility, Christine was silent for a long moment, trying to evaluate the situation and make sense of it. Finally, she asked in a very small voice, "Then what, Spock?"

He covered his eyes with one hand and hung his head, visibly trembling now. "I'm tired, Christine," he answered in a shaky voice full of pain. "I'm tired of this place. I'm tired of killing. I'm tired of living like we do. I'm tired of everything. Some days I don't think I can make it another step. I just think about giving up."

Her heart seized in fear. She'd never heard Spock talk like this before and the medical professional in her recognized the symptoms immediately. Spock was showing classic signs of depression and stress. He had managed to hide it so well that she had never suspected how close he was to hitting the wall. She'd taken his innate strength and determination for granted, not bothering to consider that perhaps he was making it all look a lot easier than it actually was.

Gently, she put her arm around his waist and said, "Let's sit down, Spock. Sweetheart, you don't have to go through this alone. I'm here with you."

She guided him to one of the big rocks at the pool's edge and he let her sit him down there, with her close by his side, her arm still around him. She could feel the tremors shaking him now as he began to talk. It was as if a dam had burst and all that he'd been keeping inside came pouring out.

"I don't know how to do this, Christine!" he declared shakily, not looking at her, just talking. "I don't have a clue what I'm doing most of the time. I try and try to think of something that will give us an easier life, but I just don't know what to do! I'm not even capable of getting my son a bowl of milk to drink!"

Her heart went out to him and she drew him closer to her, holding him with all the tenderness she possessed. "You have kept us alive for the past two years," she soothed him. "You work harder than any man I've ever known. You put aside deeply ingrained cultural beliefs for the good of Sapel and me, risked your life time and again to bring us food, stood watch over us at night. You've done a job that I wouldn't have wished on anyone and done it well. No wonder you're tired!"

He sighed deeply against her. "The enormity of it just suddenly hit me when we were coming back," he said, quieter now. "There just seemed to be nothing but endless years stretching out before us. I suddenly didn't think I could make it."

"You can't think about it like that," she whispered. "You will go crazy if you do. All we can think about is one day at a time and preparing for the next season. That's enough. First thing we're going to do is forget about the milk project. It wasn't practical and there's no way it could have worked. We would have known that if we'd really thought it through. I mean, the only way to do it would be to have one or two, maybe three, animals in a domestic situation, and we'd have to milk them twice a day, every day. Even then it's probable that their milk supply would have dried up within a couple of months, until they were bred again and had a foal." She shook her head and said, "It's not logical. C'thia k'torr."

He lifted his head and stared at her. "I didn't think you spoke any Vulcan," he said accusingly.

"I know a phrase or two," she replied, pleased to see that he was feeling better. "And I know one more. Kaiidth What is ... is. Spock, we didn't ask to be brought here. We didn't ask to be in the position we're in. But we're here and we've done pretty damned good! And I think you're just about the most amazing man I've ever met!"

"Now you are attempting to win me over with flattery," he answered but with a hint of the old twinkle in his eyes.

"Whatever works," she responded, smiling at him. "And I also think that what you need is a vacation. I think you ought to spend the next few days doing nothing but loafing and lazing. No hunting, no working, nothing except relaxation. As your doctor, I'm making that a medical order!"

"And if I don't?"

"Then I will confine you to sick bay and put a security guard on you," she grinned.

"What guard would that be?" he asked.

"Sapel," she answered. "He's working for me now!"

That brought a genuine smile to Spock's face. "I'll have to see about that," he replied then leaned to kiss her and draw her into his arms. They sat in close embrace for a long time, and she felt love and relief radiating off him like the warmth of the sun.

* * *

Spock slept for two days. Not continually, but once he gave himself permission to do so, his body just seemed to collapse into much needed rest. He hadn't realized how absolutely bone-tired he really was. Christine left him alone, understanding better than he had that he needed the quiet and the time to restore himself, and she kept Sapel occupied and sometimes literally out of his father's hair.

The first afternoon, when she went to put Sapel down for his nap, the boy fussed and said, "No! Papa!"

"Shhhh..." she whispered. "Papa needs to rest, Sapel. You need to sleep in your own bed."

"No!" He wriggled fiercely, trying to get down.

Spock opened his eyes. "It's all right, Christine. He can sleep with me," he said.

"Are you sure? I don't want him to disturb you," she answered uncertainly.

"He won't disturb me," Spock replied and patted the bed beside him. Sapel scampered over and threw himself down beside his father in delight. Spock caught his eye and warned, "Go to sleep! Or I'll make you go to your own bed. Understand?"

"'kay," the little boy said and obediently shut his eyes, feigning sleep.

Spock wasn't fooled but settled back down himself. He heard Christine chuckle softly and go back outside. Sapel flipped and flopped a few times but eventually genuine sleep did claim him and Spock was able to drift off again himself.

He woke to the faint clink of crockery and sleepily opened his eyes to see Christine kneeling beside the kitchen fire and stirring something in a carved pot. She added seasoning and stirred it some more. A delicious odor began to drift his way. She picked up her bone spatula and flipped over a tortilla grilling on the flat cooking stone, then went back to stirring the pot. She began to hum quietly to herself.

Sapel was still stretched out beside Spock, sleeping with his mouth open and in a contorted position that only children seemed to be able to get into. Perhaps sensing that his father was now awake, he closed his mouth, stirred and muttered, then rolled over and burrowed into Spock's chest, digging one foot into Spock's belly in the process.

"Oof," Spock grunted involuntarily and reached down to extract his son's foot from his midsection.

Christine looked their way and smiled. "Well, it's about time. You two have been sawing logs all afternoon. Feeling better?"

"Yes. A bit stiff," her husband answered and stretched. "I am not used to sleeping in the middle of the day."

"You needed it," she replied.

Sapel sat up, looking fuzzily around him, and announced, "Go pee pee."

"You need to or you have already?" Christine sighed and started to rise.

"Don't bother," Spock broke in. "I'll take him. I need to make a trip myself." He got to his feet, clad only in his loin cloth, as he was used to sleeping, and hoisted his son up under one arm.

As they started out of the cave, Christine said, "We should be ready to eat by the time you boys get back from doing your business. And make sure he washes his hands good!"

"Yes, Mother," Spock responded patiently and took the path toward their outside toilet downstream from the campsite. Christine shook her head and sighed. Then she flipped the cooked tortilla off the grill and set another one to cooking, pleased that Spock had taken her advice to heart and was actually resting his exhausted body and soul.

* * *

The next afternoon found Spock and Christine sitting underneath a spreading tree upstream from their camp, relaxing as Sapel explored and chased insects and ran on his stubby legs for the sheer joy of running. Sighing happily, Christine reached over and took her husband's hand in her own, squeezing it. He squeezed gently back, glancing at her with a smile.

"Still feeling stressed?" she asked.

"If I allow myself to feel that way," he answered honestly. "But right now, I am finding this time to quite refreshing."

"We both needed it. We work so hard to get the things we need, it's easy to fall into the mindset that we can never take any time off," she mused.

Sapel ran up with a small mollusc-type shell he'd found, its owner long gone, and Christine admired it. He left it in her care and hurried back to find more treasures.

"He is quite amazing," Spock said softly, leaning back against the tree trunk. "I would never have believed that I would enjoy a small child as much."

"Were you ever around children?" Christine asked.

"Only my peers when I was a child," Spock answered quietly and then was silent for a long while before saying introspectively, "Vulcan children can be quite cruel. Surprisingly so. If we were at home, I do not think I would want Sapel raised in a purely Vulcan environment."

"That does surprise me," Christine responded. "I would have thought that you would insist on it."

"Many things about the Vulcan lifestyle are good and worthy of emulation, but there are things I have learned in human company that are far better. For instance, when I was a child, my father would have never considered allowing me to sleep with him. It would have been as unthinkable as committing murder. No Vulcan father would have."

"I'm glad one Vulcan father did," she whispered and he glanced at her, looking rather embarrassed. She went on, "Did it make you hate your father, Spock? Is that the trouble between you?"

"Hate is an emotion," he answered automatically. "I do not experience hate." He realized that he was responding as he had been trained and continued, "No ... what I felt was ... despair. I was a disappointment to him, by my very existence. Because I was human. It did not matter that my birth was no accident or that it had taken great effort on the part of the medical and scientific communities to even bring me into existence. He could never quite get past that horrible, inescapable fact ... my humanity."

Spock sighed and pulled a long stem of grass out of the ground, beginning to methodically strip it apart with his thumbnails. "I doubt that Sarek was even aware of it. He would argue that his wife was human, after all, and that was ample proof that he had no antipathy towards humans. But that prejudice was there, nonetheless. That humans are inferior to Vulcans, and I was human, therefore, I could not be equal to full Vulcans. And yet he expected me, indeed drove me all my life, to be the perfect Vulcan. I believe now that, in his mind, buried so deeply that even he would not acknowledge it ... I was expected to be the perfect son, to follow perfectly in his footsteps, to be the replacement for the one who had betrayed and deserted him."

Christine looked puzzled. "You've lost me," she said.

"My older brother ... Sybok."

"I didn't know you had a brother," Christine answered.

"He is my half-brother, actually. Much older than I. I barely knew him as a child before he turned his back on the Vulcan way of life and our father disinherited him." Spock kept his eyes on the ground and on the grass he was pulling apart. "Sarek had married very young, in the Vulcan tradition of bonding as children, and then consummated his marriage to T'Lis upon reaching maturity and entering his first pon farr. Sybok was born ten months later but his mother died shortly after giving birth. I don't think Sarek ever quite forgave him for that ... for 'killing' his wife." Spock's eyebrow lifted sardonically. "He is a great one for pointing the finger of blame at others. In any case, Sarek did not remarry for another 52 years, until he met my mother and scandalized the family with his bonding to her."

He paused and pulled another blade of grass. "I never knew the entire circumstances but from what I learned in later years, Amanda's pregnancy was a complete surprise. No Vulcan and Human had ever successfully mated. Sarek felt strongly that she would not carry the embryo more than a month before spontaneously aborting and decided that it was illogical to attempt to prevent it. I heard that Sybok took Amanda's side of the argument and browbeat Sarek into allowing her to undergo the procedures that would assure the baby's survival, using the argument that otherwise he would be losing her exactly as he had lost T'Lis. In any case, Amanda won the day with Sybok's help and the long and costly procedure of embryonic transplantation and genetic manipulation was performed successfully. As you can see."

She smiled. "I'm glad! Otherwise, I would not have had the pleasure of your company!"

"Sybok was in and out of my life until I was seven. He was something of my champion, actually. He and my mother seemed to be the only ones who did not care that I was of mixed blood or who did not require me to pass constant tests to 'prove' my 'Vulcanness'."

Spock let his gaze turn far away. "It was my kahs'wan trial that proved the final breaking point. Sarek was raising me as the perfect Vulcan and insisted on my following every tradition. Sybok had by this time forsaken tradition and was following a group of free-thinkers. He felt that kahs'wan was a needlessly dangerous test in the modern world and he argued that Sarek should not require it of me. This time Sarek was so incensed at his interference that he banished him and disinherited him from the family. We were forbidden to even speak his name. That was the last time I ever saw him."

"Where is he now?" Christine asked, her heart twisted in sympathy.

Spock shook his head. "I have no idea. I tried finding some trace of him when I reached adulthood and went into Starfleet, but he has disappeared. I do not even know if he is still alive."

"Spock, I'm so sorry," she murmured, reaching out to touch him on the arm. "How sad for you."

He sighed and said with resignation, "Kaiidth."

Sapel broke his reverie at that moment by bolting up and throwing himself onto his father with a squeal. Spock automatically caught him and the child threw his arms around his neck, laughing in delight.

Spock hesitated for a second, then hugged the toddler to him, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against the tousled dark head.

Christine heard him whisper, "Cha'i...cha'i..." and smiled as she translated the words.

"My son..." he'd said. "My son..."

* * *

When Christine slipped into the furs a couple of nights later, having gotten Sapel to sleep and finished the household chores of banking the fire and checking to make sure that their door gate was secure, Spock welcomed her into his arms and pulled her close to him. It took her only a few seconds to discover that he had nothing on, a fact that sent a surge of arousal pulsing through her.

He kissed her long and languidly, his large hands roaming over her body, one of them coming to rest on her thigh and sliding up under her gown until he cupped her bare hip. When their lips parted, she commented softly, "My, you're feeling frisky tonight. You must have gotten all rested."

"Indeed," he murmured in reply, taking her lips once again in a more urgent kiss, his hand massaging her buttocks cheek and pressing her harder against his growing erection. Pulling away once more, he asked, "Are you rested? Is this something that would please you?"

"Mmmmm ... you always please me, Spock," she smiled, offering her mouth to him again and running her hand down his back. "It might not be the best time to do this, though."

"Why is that?" he asked, kissing her cheek and jaw and throat.

"I may be about to ovulate," she answered.

"May be?"

"Well, my schedule has been a little messed up since Sapel was born and with nursing and all. My cycle is still a little sporadic." She stopped him and looked into his eyes. "I thought you could tell. My pheromones or something."

"I can. I do not detect any difference," he replied.

She relaxed. "Okay, I'll take your word for it. Hang on, let me get this off." She sat up and peeled the Romulan gown over her head and then settled back into his arms, loving the sensation of his heated skin against hers.

They gave no further thought to the problem of fertility and turned their entire attention to their love play. He was rested and eager, hungry to have her beneath him, and as soon as he was sure that she was ready, he moved atop her and between her welcoming thighs. He sank into her with practiced ease, burying himself hilt deep in her hot sheath.

Pausing there, savoring the feel of her around him, he placed his fingertips onto her psi points and slipped into her mind as effortlessly as he had her body. They lost themselves in the meld, each aware of both their bodies and yet transported to another time and place. In their minds, he took them to a moonlit beach, the sand beneath them warm from the day's sun, the quiet surf whispering as it rushed up the beach and then slid back again. Even the water was warm, enveloping them with incredible sensation when it did occasionally wash over them.

They noticed only their own heat as he began to move within her, the rigid contours of his penis stimulating all the sensitive spots inside her. She arched beneath him, giving him better access, allowing him to penetrate deeper. So deep that she felt the tip bumping against her cervix, sending her into breathless, whirling ecstasy. Digging her nails into his back, she lifted her hips up beneath him, opening to him as much as she could, inviting him to lose himself completely in her.

He responded with enthusiasm, her climax triggering his own. He gasped and thrust hard, shuddering as his semen spurted deep within her. They hung there on the knife edge of rapture for a long moment, then she lowered her hips and relaxed. He did not. Far from sated, he wanted more of her and began rocking against her once more.

The motion sent her soaring back up. Still immensely sensitive inside, the gentle movement in her heated, wet passage made her gasp and clutch him harder. Taking his fingers away from her face, their meld now singing back and forth between them, he hefted himself up onto his elbows and plunged into her with renewed vigor, thrusting steadily and with easy rhythm.

She writhed beneath him, her skin growing slick with sweat and the scent of her heated body exciting him all the more. It didn't take long to build back up to a fever pitch and this time he pounded into her with a strength just short of roughness. She loved it, wrapping her long legs around his hips, holding onto him and letting his passion carry her away. Her wild abandon drove him over the edge and he erupted for a second time within her, his skin prickling with the intense sensory overload of it. Time slowed and it seemed that he pumped into her forever before his body was drained and he collapsed weakly on her.

She hugged him close, still relishing the feel of him inside her, even though his erection was deflating rapidly. Pulling his face to her, she kissed him soundly then allowed him to move off her and fall onto his back beside her, his face flushed and his breath still coming heavily. She looked over at him and smiled. "I love you, Spock," she whispered, her hand seeking his.

He gazed back at her, his dark eyes soft and warm. It was still difficult for him to say it and he answered in a deep murmur that she understood. "T'chal'ya, t'hy'la." It didn't exactly mean "I love you" but the sentiment was there nonetheless.

She snuggled against his shoulder and fell into contented sleep almost immediately.

* * *

Christine shut her eyes and pressed the heels of her hands against them, trying to get the world to stop spinning. She was aware of contacting the ground hard but it seemed far away, a distant event. Then she was coming up from a deep, dreamless sleep, aware that her face was being stroked and Spock's urgent voice was saying, "Christine! Wake up, t'hy'la, wake up!"

She mumbled and wondered why the cave was so bright. Was it morning? Why was Spock holding her like that? What was wrong?

Groggily she managed to open her eyes and realized that she was lying in the meadow, her head cradled in his lap, and he was bending over her with outright fear on his face. Then it came back to her. She'd been collecting ground nuts with Sapel and had been squatting down, searching through the grass. Spock was coming back from hunting and Sapel had spotted him crossing the meadow toward them.

He shrieked, "Papa!" and she had stood up suddenly from the squatting position. As a nurse, she knew clinically what she'd done to herself. The blood constricted by her folded knees had rushed to her brain and the sudden increase in blood pressure had made her pass out.

She felt foolish pulling a stunt like that and now she attempted to push herself up from Spock's lap. "I'm okay," she insisted. As soon as she sat up, her head spun again and she clutched reflexively at him to steady herself.

"You are not well yet, Christine," he warned her in a serious tone. "Please do not move until you are certain your dizziness has passed."

"I'm okay, really," she repeated. "Just a fluctuation in my blood pressure. Nothing to worry about."

"I do worry about it," he responded firmly. "Have you ever experienced this sort of thing before?"

"No," she admitted, then said, "I am fine! Please let me get up."

Skeptical, he did so, but rose with her and made sure she didn't fall again. The world seemed to quiver a bit but then settled down and was steady. She looked up at him with more bravura than she actually felt. "There, see? All better. I just got up too fast, that's all. So ... any luck?"

Still watching her closely, Spock gestured across the meadow to where the carcass of an antelope lay where he'd dropped it when he'd seen her collapse and had sprinted to her side.

"Oh, good! I need a new hide to tan for leather! Sapel's outgrowing his clothes again and you could use new uppers to your moccasins," Christine said cheerily, trying to deflect Spock's worry about her.

"I need to plan on a bison hunt," he answered, still watching her for any sign of returning dizziness. "We will all three need new shoes this winter."

"Right. Well ... um ... why don't you go get that buck up to the butchering site and Sapel and I will finish getting these nuts picked up," she said, his scrutiny beginning to make her a little nervous.

Spock only nodded silently and turned to walk back to his kill. Sapel had been standing to one side, sucking on a finger, not understanding what had happened to his mother or why his father was so worried. He could only perceive the tension in the air and he didn't like it. He took his finger out of his mouth and asked in an uncertain voice, "Mama?"

She turned and smiled, her warm blue eyes reassuring. "Oh, lovey, did Mama frighten you? It's okay! I just fell down! Mama's not hurt, sweetie boy." She swept him up in her arms and hugged him to prove it. He could feel her love radiating out from her soul and it wrapped him like a warm blanket. "Come on and help Mama pick up these ground nuts, okay? Then we'll hurry back home and you can help me fix these."

"Go Papa?" he suggested, pointing to his father's tall figure striding across the field to retrieve the antelope.

"Not this time, sweetie. You come with me. I'll tell you what ... when I skin the antelope, you can have the tail, okay? Then you can play like you're an antelope, too."

Sapel grinned happily at that and his mother set him down. Hurriedly they finished gathering the ground nuts they had dug and put them in Christine's carrying basket. She glanced up and saw that Spock had shouldered the buck and was carrying it effortlessly to the site by the creek where they butchered their kills. His enormous strength never ceased to amaze her. Without him, she didn't think they could survive here. A human male alone would have difficulty doing all that Spock did by himself.

She hefted the basket up onto the top of her head. It was something she'd seen done in countless cultures and had been surprised that it worked, providing the burden wasn't too heavy. The balanced load for short distances kept the strain off her shoulders or back, allowing her to carry it with greater ease than attempting to pack it other ways.

Steadying the basket with one hand, she set off toward the camp, Sapel scampering after her, making his usual stops and detours to explore the world around him. It was early summer and there was lots for a curious child to see. He examined flowers and rocks, insects and small animals.

Christine smiled, thinking about the many times she had simply sat back and watched him learn about his world. Sometimes she would find him squatted down a prudent distance away from a busy trail of biters, watching them hurry back and forth on their ceaseless food gathering expeditions, following a straight chemical trail laid down by their scouts. Other times, he spent hours gathering pretty and sparkly rocks washed clean along the creek bed. As the weather heated up, he waded ankle deep in the creek and couldn't get enough of the little schools of tiny fish that inhabited the shallow pools. She always kept an eye on him to make sure he was safe, but otherwise allowed him the freedom to observe his surroundings on his own terms.

Now, as they reached the campsite, he took off running to where Spock was hoisting the buck up by its hind legs from a large level tree limb beside the creek. It was ideal for holding a carcass for butchering and skinning. It was an everyday occurrence in Sapel's life and he showed no interest at all in the fact that this animal had been alive only a short while before. It was simply a routine part of his existence.

Once Spock had the carcass secured, he proceeded to the next step -- bleeding the animal. Placing a deep stone tub underneath the antelope's dangling head, he drew his knife and quickly made a long, clean slit down the jugular vein. At once blood gushed and began dribbling into the tub.

Satisfied, Spock knelt down and pulled a handful of grass from the green sward and cleaned the knife blade with it. Then he threw the grass away and slipped the blade back into the leather sheath at his side. Sapel was watching him and, as Spock stood back up, the little boy reached up and touched the knife hanging at his father's side. Spock caught his telepathic yearning as he did so.

"No, Sapel, not yet," he said quietly, looking down at his son. "When you are older, I will make you a flint blade but the steel knives are only for Mama and me."

Sapel looked disappointed and chagrined, his lower lip beginning to push out. Spock lifted an appraising eyebrow at the pouty expression. "Sulking will do no good," he stated firmly. "Now, go and help Mama while I put my bow and quiver away. Perhaps later I will take you swimming in the big pond. Provided that your behavior is acceptable, that is."

Sapel glanced up warily to gauge his father's sincerity, but could not read anything in the serene, stony features. Finally, he said, "...'kay..." and turned to trudge back to where Christine was emptying the basket of ground nuts out to sort them.

She noted his woebegone expression and smiled as she understood. Sapel was going into the Terrible Two's and was also becoming aware that he and Spock were alike in a lot of ways, the most important being that they were both male. Somewhere and at some time, his child's mind had registered that his body was built like Spock's, only smaller, and that his mother was fundamentally different. He was beginning to think like a boy and to want to do "boy stuff". In other words, he was beginning to worship his father and wanted to do absolutely everything he did.

* * *

Christine's eyes snapped open just as her stomach did a flop and announced that something was very, very wrong. She vaulted out of Spock's arms and fled the cave, just making it outside before the first bout of vomiting came. Leaning against the cliff face for support, her other hand clutched her midriff, which cramped and tried to turn inside out once again.

She felt large, warm hands steadying her, one on her shoulder, the other on her forehead, holding her head still as she retched. He said nothing, although she was faintly aware of his alarm radiating through their bond.

When she was done, she tried to spit but the action of working her tongue around to generate saliva nearly triggered another dry heave. "Wait," he said and left her for a moment. Then he was back and was holding a gourd dipper of cool water to her lips. "Rinse your mouth out," he instructed. She did as she was told, rinsing and spitting until the taste of bile was washed away. "Now, try drinking a sip. Just enough to wet your throat."

When she had complied and was sure the water wasn't going to come right back up, she let Spock lead her to their bed. After he had her settled, he lay down behind her and carefully took her into his arms, as they had been sleeping before.

"Lie quietly," he said. When he felt that she had relaxed somewhat, he continued, "Do you still feel sick? Do you think you have contracted a stomach virus or something similar? Your fainting last week and now this..."

She tensed a bit in his arms and didn't answer. He could feel her turmoil and grief and asked with concern, "T'hy'la? What is it?"

Bringing one hand up to cover her eyes, she suddenly sobbed and answered in a strained voice, "Spock ... I think I'm pregnant."

The pronouncement stunned him into silence and his mind quickly reviewed the past few times they'd made love. He hadn't detected any change in her and they'd been careful to avoid another pregnancy since Sapel's birth. Spock did a lightning calculation back. Sapel had been born in the spring beginning their second year here. Another full year had passed and they were now in their third summer on Terra Two. It took fourteen turns of the planet's moons to complete one full year. By this planet's calendar, Sapel was seventeen months old, but his predominantly human genetics made him nearly two by Earth standards. It was hard to keep straight and Spock was sure that the same conflict between T2's cycle and inbred human ones had also served to throw Christine's hormones into chaos.

She turned over to face him and snuggle into the warm comfort of his chest. He drew her nearer and she reached up to scratch her nose as his chest hair tickled it. Still, she loved the feel of it, loved the masculine smell of his skin, loved the hard muscles of his pectorals against her cheek.

Closing her eyes, she slipped her arm across his ribs and held him firmly. "I'm sorry, Spock," she whispered.

"For what?" he responded, surprised. "It is as much my doing as yours! I am fairly certain that you did not conceive this child by yourself!"

She couldn't help laughing a little. "No ... it was certainly a mutual endeavor. One I enjoyed quite a lot. But ... what are we going to do? Another mouth to feed..."

"We shall do what people have always done," he answered quietly, massaging her back. "We shall adjust to it and welcome this new child and go on with our lives."

That brought fresh tears welling up and she gulped them back. "I love you, Spock," she murmured against his chest.

He enveloped her with feelings of warmth and comfort. "Go back to sleep, t'hy'la," he answered softly, stroking her hair. "It isn't time to get up yet. Just rest now." He held her until he could feel her breathing even out, then he lay back and turned his thought to planning for the next year.

* * *

Christine just about had the antelope hide to the stage she wanted it. It had been soaked, de-haired, scraped, soaked again, twisted, stretched and worked until it was soft as butter. She had sun bleached it, too, so that it was a pale gold. She thought she could get enough yardage out of it to make Spock and Sapel matching vests. She'd been collecting decorations as well and had quite a selection of small animal bones, feathers, quartz, pebbles and tiny shells from the creek. She was looking forward to creating these garments.

Then she paused as she held the supple leather and thought instead of baby clothes and bedding. The leather was already incredibly soft. A little more working and it would be like velvet.

She looked across the clearing to where her husband sat in the shade, a hide apron spread over his lap, napping out flint arrow points and other instruments. Sapel squatted down beside him, fascinated by the work. The boy was a miniature version of Spock and Christine smiled warmly at her two Vulcans huddled together, their dark heads bending over the toolmaking. She had always thought the Vulcans were a handsome people and Spock had inherited all of their exotic beauty. It had knocked her for a loop the first time she'd laid eyes on him. There was something magical about a Vulcan, something that resonated up from the distant reaches of myth and memory. Elfin, perhaps, with the ears and almond-shaped eyes, or cat-like maybe. Mysterious and far-seeing, in any case, and Spock was no exception, for all his human blood.

Sapel had every bit of his father's looks. At times, when he ran naked through the waving green grass, flowers in his hair and bee pollen bright on his cheeks, he seemed like a fairy child, wild and free and filled with the joy of life. In the dusk of evening, as the moonlight pooled in liquid puddles and he leaped to catch glitter bugs that winked on and off just out of his reach, there were times when she expected him to launch skyward on gossamer wings and disappear in a sprinkling of stardust. A changeling child, not her own baby boy any longer.

Christine rested her hand delicately on her abdomen, trying to envision the tiny life within, wondering if it would be the same. Once she had acknowledged the fact of it, Christine found herself accepting her pregnancy with a calmness and assurance that had not been there the first time. It was so different this time compared to that first. She had been caught so unprepared. Her mind turned back to those first weeks after Spock had gone through pon farr and they had come together as mates. Mates, yes, but not quite husband and wife. Not yet. That was to come.

She had long dreamed of making love with him and that first time, when they'd come together as the thunderstorm raged outside their cozy haven, when his lips had pressed hotly against hers and his arms had drawn her close, was all that she could have hoped for. She still found herself tingling with latent pleasure at the thought of it. If she closed her eyes, the scene was still vivid in her mind ... his naked body moving over hers, the golden firelight limning the bulging muscles of his biceps and shoulders as he braced himself above her, his longish hair painted with deep ruddy highlights by the flames, the fine sculpted face intent with the passion and ecstasy that was gripping him.

She could still feel the tightness and resistance of her body as he pushed into her for the first time, gently but insistently, allowing her to grow used to him but maintaining the pressure until he was firmly seated within her. She welcomed him eagerly, regretting only that she seemed so artless in the ways of love. But he was the same, his experience lying solely in a few fumbling experiments from his youth and early days in Starfleet.

It was remarkable, though, how easily they united into a single entity, as if they had only been apart for a while and now were connected once more. Their bodies and minds melded together as if they had always been joined, and when he gave a shuddering heave and began to work his hips against her in a rhythm born of instinct and time, she had slid her hands up across his naked back and felt the muscles gliding beneath his skin and had given herself over totally to the moment. He was everything she had dreamed about and the reality of his presence was reaffirmed each time she opened her eyes and looked up into the familiar, beloved face, inches from her own, and knew that this time it was no fantasy.

But his unearthly nature had quickly made itself known when, a few days later, he had slipped into pon farr and taken her into the long, nearly insensate mating that followed. He had kept her mind diverted from her body during that time, protecting her from the violence and agony of unending copulation with a partner whose anatomy was not as human as it seemed. She had come back to herself wracked in pain and, despite his tender care of her, she found herself having second thoughts about a sexual relationship with him.

She had never expected him to injure her as he had, albeit unintentionally. Would this happen every time they had sex? Surely he would tell her if that were the case. Spock was one of the gentlest, most caring men she'd ever known, and she could not believe that he would be so insensitive as to inflict such a thing on her. But more than that, she found that she was feeling a bitter disappointment and vague anger at being, for all intents and purposes, unconscious during their lovemaking. Of course, she knew it hadn't been "love making". It was hormone-induced breeding, almost animal in its intensity, and she wouldn't have been able to endure the pain if she'd been awake. But deep inside, she felt betrayed because Spock had engaged in intercourse with her and she had not been able to share the experience with him.

A memory long buried reared up with force. She was in college, it was Saturday night, and she was at a party. Everyone was drunk, including her. Extremely drunk. So drunk that she had only just managed to stagger into a bedroom before passing out cold on the bed. When she came to, she found herself half naked and her boyfriend in a similar state, his eyes closed as he blissfully pumped away atop her, oblivious to anything but his own pleasure. She was too drunk to care at the time and had passed out once more just about the time he came. He swore up and down later that he had no recollection of the incident, but it had haunted her nevertheless and now her sense of violation came back full blast.

It had taken her a long time to work through that subconscious quagmire. Finally she made herself realize that Spock had not taken advantage of her during the pon farr. Nor had he raped her in a drunken stupor. She had offered herself willingly to him and he had exercised as much control as he possibly could over the biological demons that held him in their grip. But he had gained no pleasure from the experience. It had been excruciating for him, too, and he had done his best to shield her. She realized that, during the time of the blood fever, he had been with her, guiding her mentality to places far away from the sweat-soaked, shuddering bodies coupling on the cavern floor. It was as much for his sanity as hers. And, when he had finally come back to himself and found her sprawled beneath him, limp and pale, he had felt shame and grief at what he had done to her.

She hadn't been prepared for the pregnancy that followed, either. At first she could only see that he had impregnated her during a violent, mindless episode. It was struggle enough for the two of them to survive here. Adding a baby to their situation truly made her panic. And, despite their bond, she didn't feel like a wife. It was all still too new, too traumatic. She loved Spock but a true intimacy and trust had not developed yet between them. That would grow with time as their bond strengthened and deepened.

Coming back to the present, Christine smiled as she gazed adoringly at the man across from her and let her hand slip lightly over her still flat stomach. A lot had happened in the past two years. She felt closer now to Spock than anyone she'd ever known. She could almost feel his heart beating and his lungs drawing air, could almost feel when the wind stirred his hair or rain caressed his face. He truly was her bonded mate, her husband in every sense of the word. And she found the idea that she was once more carrying a child within her, his child, conceived during the full expression of their love and oneness, to be a very magical thing.

He sensed her watching him and looked up to meet her gaze, his dark eyes soft and affectionate. She suddenly felt him within her, filling her with a glow as warm and golden as the sun, coating her in its heat and promise. Closing her eyes for a second, she projected the feeling back at him, pleased when his lips spread into a real smile.

Everything was going to be all right, she felt him tell her. Everything...

* * *

Sapel was bored. He was sitting on the banks of the pond, despite the standing rule that he was not to go there by himself, and resolutely tossing pebbles into the water to make ripples. He'd been doing this for quite a while, seeing how far he could throw a rock, watching the little fishes come up to the surface to investigate, enjoying a wide-winged water fly hovering over the surface, picking off tiny insects that swarmed there. Normally he liked throwing rocks in the water, but today it was boring. Especially when there was nothing else to do. After a while, he dumped the rest of his rocks on the bank and climbed back up to the big shade tree that spread above the opening to their cave home.

His mother was still asleep on the hide blanket she'd unfolded for them to take their afternoon nap. It was much too hot now to sleep indoors, particularly when the sky was cloudless and the sun beat down unmercifully like today. It was all normal for him, though, for his child's mind lived in the present and did not conceive of yesterday or tomorrow. He was used to the heat, his skin browned from going naked or at most wearing a loin cloth as his father did. His mother wore one too, plus a cover over her breasts. He occasionally still wanted to suckle but she wouldn't let him anymore, explaining that he was a big boy now and big boys didn't do that. He thought that might be why she'd covered herself up like that, though he and his Papa didn't cover their chests up.

He frowned as he gazed down at his mother. He didn't understand what had been wrong with her lately. It seemed like she spent a lot of time lying down and resting. Sometimes she got sick at her stomach and threw up. Other times, she just seemed exhausted and didn't want to play with him. Instead, she'd send him to entertain himself or perhaps see if his Papa had something he could do.

If Papa was in camp, he welcomed Sapel's company and sometimes took him along on short hikes outside their campsite, but never on his frequent hunting trips. When Papa gathered up his bow and quiver and spear, he invariably ordered Sapel to stay behind. That rankled the boy. He wanted to go and help Papa hunt the animals. He was big now. He could do it.

Papa had left about noon to hunt horses. He liked to do that because the plains animals would be lethargic and sleepy in the heat of the day and easier to approach. And Papa didn't mind the heat. In fact Papa liked it hot. He sometimes thought about a hot, dry place and scary orange sky. Home. The fleeting images puzzled the boy and he couldn't figure out what made Papa think that way. This was home and it didn't look like that.

Sapel shrugged it off and thought about the horses. He knew without being told that this was where Papa had gone today. He'd picked up on his father's telepathic musings. He didn't know that, however. He just "heard" Papa in his mind and didn't think any more about it than when he heard him with his ears. On this particular occasion, he had caught the image of sleepy horses and a kill in Papa's mind and knew that this was his destination.

After seeing Papa off, Mama had made lunch for herself and Sapel, then had spread their blanket under the tree. Sapel had napped briefly but awakened to the sound of a bird giving its scratchy call in the branches high above them. He'd tried to see it but couldn't in the dense foliage. It finally flew away. But by this time, he was wide awake.

Now he looked at his mother, stretched comfortably on her back, deep asleep. He poked her with his bare foot but it only made her turn over on her side. Uncomfortably, he reached down and grasped himself through his loin cloth. He needed to go pee pee but she didn't want to wake up and take him. Jittering, he made an instant decision. He had to go now and couldn't wait for her to finish her nap; he simply decided to go by himself. He was a big boy and knew where he was supposed to go. He'd gone there with Papa lots of times.

A little downstream of their camp was a place shielded by a copse of bushes where the bank of the creek was slightly undercut and hung over a section of fast flowing water. They used it as a toilet and let the swift current flush away any sign of waste. Sapel pushed down his little loin cloth and let it fall around his ankles. He knew not to get too close to the edge but was practiced at standing on the bank and letting his stream arc out into the creek. He always thought this was hysterically funny and he giggled as he did it now.

Once done, he stepped out of the cloth tangling around his ankles and left it lying where it had fallen. He felt much better naked, anyway. Scampering back toward camp, he suddenly paused as his attention was caught by a bright bug on the opposite bank. The creek was low here and they had set stepping stones in it as a ford. He had been across it many times in the company of his parents and thought nothing about hopping across the stones now.

The bug took wing and flew a short distance before coming to light on a tall stem of grass. Sapel followed it, but the same thing happened when he got near. Again he followed the bug and again it flew away. Sapel doggedly trailed it, determined to capture the jewel-bright insect. The hillside sloped up away from the creek and he found himself standing on the level plain across from their home. The bug flew off again but this time he forgot all about it.

He had been here lots of times with his parents and wasn't afraid. The sun dried grass was deep, coming about to his waistline, and he had no trouble seeing across the rolling prairie. Far off, he could see the horse herds. They were standing quietly, most of them with heads dipped in a sleepy posture, their tails lazily swishing at flies. Heat shimmered on the plains as the drone of insects in the trees behind him underscored the drowsy afternoon.

Sapel wasn't drowsy, though. Looking toward the horses, he detected a familiar presence in that direction. "Papa!" he cried and set off at a run.

* * *

Christine murmured and lazily opened her eyes, looking up into the thick foliage of the tree spread above her. Bright blue sky shone through the gently moving leaves and the sun winked through now and then, unbearably bright. That's what had woken her. The sun in her eyes.

She smiled and rolled over onto her side, her hand moving to cover her abdomen. Now in her third month of pregnancy, the nausea was just about gone and her belly had just begun to show a hint of the roundness that was to come. She felt the tiniest flutter inside, barely there, but it focused her attention inward. Are you there, baby? she thought. Was that you I just felt? Are you my baby girl or my baby boy? If you're a girl, I think we'll name you Jennifer, after my dad's mother. Or maybe Amanda, after your Daddy's mom. Or both. Jennifer Amanda. Would you like that?

Still smiling, she reached to touch her other baby but found the blanket beside her empty. She opened her eyes and confirmed the fact that Sapel was no longer beside her. It didn't worry her. He sometimes woke up from his nap first and played quietly.

Sitting up, Christine looked around for her son but didn't see him. She got to her feet and walked into the cave. "Sapel?" she called.

There was no answer and the merest hint of concern began to creep into her. It took her only a few minutes to determine that he was not anywhere within their cave home. Coming back outside, she visually searched for him, to no avail. "Sapel?!" she called again, louder.

Only silence answered her and she stepped up her search, checking the woodpile, the butchering site, the place where she worked on hides, then, with a note a real fear becoming evident, she hurried down the path to the pond.

There she found where he had sat and tossed rocks into the water, but no evidence that he had gone in. Nevertheless, she quickly walked the perimeter of the pool, straining to see into the clear water for any sign of him. There was nothing.

She backtracked, calling his name over and over, then followed the creek down toward the latrine area. There her heart leaped as she found his loin cloth lying on the bank. He must have come down to relieve himself, she reasoned, and frantically searched to see if he might have fallen off the edge. But the bank was pristine, showing no disturbance whatsoever. She searched downstream anyway, to no avail.

Once more she backtracked and this time caught the faint track on the opposite bank where he had set his little bare foot down in the mud. "Sapel!!" she cried and quickly crossed the creek along the stepping stones. She found two more footprints, leading up the bank and rushed to follow them to the plains above.

There she halted, her heart beating with dread. There was no sign of him, only the miles of open grassland stretching out before her. Far away she could see the horse herds and knew that Spock had gone there to hunt today. But also to one side she could see a darker group of animals, bison ... bad tempered, massive and extremely dangerous. They were rare in this area, but not unknown. And they were grazing in a pattern that would take them between herself and the horses.

Something ... telepathy, intuition, or just a good guess ... told Christine that Sapel had decided to join his father and was somewhere out there in that vast grassland, and it sent her fear into a full blown panic. "Sapel!!!" she screamed and the cry shot through her mindbond to touch her husband two miles away.

???!!!! his mind answered immediately.

She stopped and made herself concentrate. *Sapel! He's lost! Coming to you!* she thought, hoping he would understand her.

I'm coming! she heard in her mind and knew that Spock had stopped his hunt and was hurrying back her way, searching mentally for his son's mind-signature.

Christine couldn't wait. She began to run as fast as she was able to meet him, all the time looking for a small dark head amid the waving golden grass.

* * *

Sapel stopped and looked uncertainly around. He had come a long, long way but still hadn't found Papa anywhere. And now, as he looked back the way he had come, he realized that he couldn't see home anymore either. He was hot and thirsty and itchy from the grass whipping against his naked skin. His foot hurt where he'd stepped on something and he was tired from coming such a long way.

"Papa!" he called as loudly as he could, but the only sound he heard back was the wind in the dried grass and the sound of insects.

He decided he wanted Mama and turned back to the way he thought was home. "Mama!" he yelled but she didn't answer either. He stuck one grubby finger in his mouth and sucked on it, trying to see something that looked familiar. Slowly he moved in the direction he'd originally been heading.

The grass thinned out a bit where it had been grazed down and he stopped again and looked around. There were a lot of animal droppings and he forgot about being afraid for a little while as he watched a group of black beetles rolling dung along in balls, finally depositing it down burrows in the dusty ground. When he tired of watching them, however, he remembered that he couldn't find Papa and that made the fear start to build again. He didn't like it here, he decided. It smelled bad and there were lots of flies, too. Every now and then, one would land on him and bite him. And his skin was starting to feel burny from the sun beating down on him. There wasn't any shade anywhere that he could get in.

He ran back into the grass to get away from the files but then got turned around and didn't know which way he'd come. Tears were starting to well up in his eyes as he called again in his high, piping voice, "Papa!! Mama!!"

Then, miraculously, he "heard" Papa answer, not with his ears but with his mind. *Sapel!* said Papa's deep, strong voice. *Stay where you are! I'm looking for you!*

It had the opposite effect on the frightened child. Bursting into tears, he ran in the direction that he thought Papa was coming from. He couldn't know that in fact he was running farther and farther away from his frantically searching parents.

* * *

Christine slowed to a stop and clutched her abdomen, panting for breath. When she could breathe easier, she filled her lungs and shouted, "Sa-PELLLL!" The south wind drowned her voice but brought with it the faint, rank smell of the grazing bison about a half mile away.

She shaded her eyes against the sun's glare and willed herself to see clearly. Meticulously, she scanned the prairie, intent on seeing anything out of the ordinary. The heat shimmer made it difficult. The air tended to waver with the rising thermals and what she did see moving out there could be nothing more than birds, tall weeds, hunting canids ...

... or a small dark head bobbing above the grass.

Her heart leaped and she screamed again, "Sa-PELLLLL!!!" Again protectively clutching her abdomen, she began to run toward the small figure so far away.

* * *

Spock's keen hearing caught the distant sound of his wife's voice and quickly he turned his sharp gaze to the sea of waving yellow grass. He spotted her , moving at an awkward run toward a little pod of bison ... and a tiny dot that could only be Sapel.

Unaccountable dread surging through him suddenly, Spock gave a mental cry of his son's name and dashed toward the spot where he had last seen his son's head above the grasses. Sprinting at the top speed he was capable, something told him that he would not arrive in time.

* * *

Sapel again "heard" his father call his name and he stopped, looking around. Papa seemed so close, yet he couldn't see him. Uncertainly, he walked a little farther then suddenly his feet went out from under him and he found himself lying in a shallow depression that had been worn into the dusty ground - a bison wallow.

After a second, the shock wore off and he sat up, focusing on the new scrapes and cuts that his tumble had given him, now starting to bleed and sting. It was all too much. He screwed his face up into a mask of hurt and fear and self-pity, letting loose a wail as tears streaked his dirty cheeks. He wanted his Mama and Papa and he wanted to go home!

Then, somehow, he heard his mother's familiar voice. "Sa-PELLL! Where are you?!"

Hurriedly the little boy got to his feet and sobbed, "Mama! Mama!" He started climbing out of the wallow. As he reached the rim and stood up, something moved at the edge of his peripheral vision and he spun to his right, crying, "Mama!"

But the thing that confronted him was huge, black and shaggy and there was little doubt that massive bull bison objected strenuously to the presence of the small dirty boy standing before it.

* * *

Christine came to a halt as she saw the bison peering closely at her tiny, frightened child. Thankfully, he had frozen in his tracks and now she approached quietly and cautiously. The bison reminded her most of an African Cape buffalo, bovine in appearance, thickly muscled, with a crown of solid horn curving from the top of its head, down past its ears, and back up in wicked hooks. A big bull ... and this was a big one ... could stand six feet at the top of its humped shoulders. They usually traveled in small groups of a bull and several cows and calves.

Off to her left, she could see them, five cows, smaller and not so heavily muscled, and their half-grown young, all watching the events alertly.

The bull lowered his head and his nostrils flared as he drew in Sapel's scent, then snorted it back out again with the force of a bellows. With one forefoot, he pawed up a puff of dust in warning.

Christine moved a little closer. "Sapel?" she said softly. "I want you to start walking very slowly backwards. Don't run or make any sudden moves. Understand?"

"Yes, Mama," he sniffed and took a step back. The bull snorted again.

"That's good," Christine said. "Slowly. Slowly. Move away."

The boy complied and began to widen the distance between himself and the huge animal.

The bull swung its head around to look at Christine now, once more snorting and pawing the ground. There was a wild look in its small reddish eyes and it began to lift its tail in a sign of aggression. Christine began to back away, too, praying that she could reach Sapel and both of them get well away from the animal's territory.

The bull gave a low rumble in his throat and shook his horns in Christine's direction. Then he ejected a pungent stream of urine and rumbled menacingly again. Christine knew enough to understand that this was a threat display, the bull proclaiming how powerful and bad he was, urinating to spread his scent as a reinforcement of his strength. She agreed whole heartedly and backed away a little faster, still not turning away from him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sapel and then her heart gave a leap of gladness. She could also see Spock, still a good distance away but moving toward them, his hunting spear at the ready.

"Sapel?" she said, just loud enough for the boy to hear. "Go to Papa, Sapel. Don't run, though. Just walk to Papa."

The little boy turned and saw his father carefully approaching, his eyes flicking between the bull that now faced Christine and his son standing in the middle of it all. Sapel blinked back frightened tears and resisted his urge to dash into the safety of his father's arms, but he obeyed, keeping his pace at a walk.

The bull gave a low bellow and tossed its head, then lowered it back down to fully display its rack of horns, and pawed up the earth with both front feet, one after the other. Christine kept backing away, shaking so hard that she wondered how she kept to her feet.

Glancing to her side, she saw that Sapel had nearly reached Spock, who had stopped and was waiting for him, his steady gaze still on the drama playing out before him, his spear in both hands and at the ready.

Christine turned her head to look at her husband and at that moment she stepped in a rodent burrow, almost losing her balance. She did an instinctive wave of both arms to right herself and regain her feet -- and jerked back as the bull bellowed at the top of his lungs and lunged straight at her.

"Sapel, run!!" Spock roared and dashed to his wife's aid.

He wasn't fast enough. Her frightened scream was cut short by the sickening thud of the bison's lowered head impacting her body full-on. It knocked her several feet away, where she landed flat on her back in the yellowed grass. The bull didn't stop there. By the time Spock was within striking distance with his spear, the animal was over Christine's prone body, worrying her with his horns and trampling her with his big, three-toed feet.

Spock yelled at the top of his voice and plunged his spear into the bull's flank, shoving it in as far as he could, hoping to hit a vital organ.

The bull bawled in rage and turned on its new attacker, attempting to hook a horn tip into Spock's mid-section and rip him open. Spock hung onto the spear shaft, realizing that if he let go, he would lose all advantage. The bull twisted furiously, turning in a tight circle in his effort to reach his tormenter. Froth flew from his mouth as he bellowed and spun in fury, spraying blood in profusion on the man.

With a definitive snap, the spear shaft abruptly broke under Spock's weight and the stresses of the battle, flinging the Vulcan ungracefully into a heap. For the moment he needed to scramble away, the bull continued to focus on the spear point in its side. Spock gulped in air and unslung his bow, quickly nocking an arrow into it.

Christine chose that unfortunate time to groan and sit up, holding her head. The bull spotted her once more and, driven insane by pain and rage, he charged again, this time hooking her body with his horns and tossing her into the air with his massive strength.

She landed hard and he attacked once more, before she could react at all.

Spock frantically took aim and sent an arrow thudding into the bull's side. With a speed born of terror, he already had another drawn as the bison whipped in his direction. This arrow imbedded itself in the creature's thick neck. A third lodged in the throat, sending a gush of blood from the wound.

As the Vulcan nocked and drew the fourth arrow, the bull staggered, blood loss finally beginning to take effect. Spock hesitated for a moment then, when the bison still stood, panting with its tongue hanging from its mouth, dripping blood and saliva, he sent one more shot, aiming this time for the heart. His aim was true and the massive bull went down with a final bellow of outrage.

Spock paused to make sure he wouldn't get up again, then first looked around for his son. The little boy was crouched, terrified, not far away and, as Spock beckoned to him, he stood up and ran into his father's arms, sobbing hysterically.

Spock hugged him close and then hurried to where Christine lay, crumpled near the body of the bull. His heart battered against his ribs, afraid that she was dead. But then, as he set Sapel on his feet and bent over her, she groaned weakly and moved her head.

Quickly he ran his hands over her arms and legs, trying to determine if any bones were broken. As he went over her left arm, she jerked and cried out. Underneath the skin, he could feel the fracture and noted it. There were broken ribs, too, where the bull had hit her and numerous gashes and bruises. But what frightened him the most was the trickle of blood running down the inside of her thighs, indicating internal injuries.

He looked around frantically for something he could use as a stretcher or travois, but the grassland afforded nothing. As he was rapidly running the problem over in his head, Christine groaned again and her face contorted in pain.

"Spock..." she said weakly and he was instantly bent over her again. "Get me home, Spock..." she murmured. "Don't let me die here..." Then her head fell back as she lost consciousness.

He made an instant decision and knelt down beside her. "Sapel," he said in a hoarse voice. "I want you to climb on my back and put her arms around my neck. I'm going to have to carry you and Mama home and I need for you to hang onto me and not fall off. Can you do that?"

The child sniffled and nodded. He'd ridden piggy-back before and Spock gave him a little boost up until he was clinging as hard as he could on his father's back, his little arms tight around Spock's neck. Once Sapel was secure, Spock slid his arms underneath his wife's body and gently lifted her, cradling her against him as tenderly as he could.

A human might not have been able to carry the burden that Spock was forced to bear, but he steeled himself and stood up smoothly, adjusting Christine's limp body in his arms and making sure that Sapel had a good grip. Then he set off for their valley cave, praying to any of the gods that would listen that he would get her home in time.

* * *

Christine was bleeding heavily by the time Spock knelt and laid her on the soft leather covering of their bed. Sapel slipped off his father's back and stood looking down at his mother, one finger in his mouth and sniffling with the tears he couldn't seem to quite stop.

For a few seconds, Spock thought over what he needed to do next and realized that he was going to have to spend a vast amount of time and energy healing Christine. He needed to quickly see to his son's injuries first. Turning to Sapel, he put his hands on the little boy's dirty, naked body and visually inspected him for anything major. There were only some scrapes and bruises, nothing that wouldn't heal on its own.

Spock got up and retrieved a bowl of water and some chamois and hurriedly washed the majority of the grime and blood off his son. He made sure that the scrapes were clean, holding Sapel still when he tried to jerk away. "Hurts, Papa!" the child insisted.

"I know it hurts, cha'i," Spock said quietly. "But it is necessary so that they do not get infected. Now, listen to me, Sapel. Pay attention." The boy turned his wide brown eyes on his father's. Spock peered into them and continued, "Mama is hurt very badly. Very badly. I must try to help her so that she will get well. I may not be able to give you much attention for a few days. Do you understand?" The boy nodded. "There will be times when I will be touching Mama's face and neither one of us will move for a long time. What I will be doing is helping Mama to heal from within. It is a Vulcan thing and someday I will teach it to you. But right now Mama needs all the help we can give her."

"I help Mama?" Sapel asked tentatively.

"Yes, you can help Mama, too," Spock answered. "You can think very hard about Mama and think about her getting well. Can you do that?"

"Yes, Papa."

"All right. You are clean now. There is some bread there by the hearth. Go and sit there and have some supper. I must tend to Mama now." Spock ruffled the little boy's unruly dark hair and sent him into the "kitchen" portion of their cave. Then he turned back to the grim task before him.

Tossing out the dirty water from Sapel's clean-up, Spock refilled it with clean water from their water bag and went back to kneel at Christine's side. The first order of business was to get her bloody, dirty clothes off. She was dressed only in a loin cloth and halter top and moccasins, her usual attire in the heat of summer. He had her stripped in short order, noting with dismay that the loin cloth was soaked through with blood, much more even than she lost when she menstruated. There was still more seeping from her vagina.

The right side of her body evinced massive trauma, already turning an angry purple with contusions. He needed to get her arm splinted and find something to wrap around her body to stabilize her ribs. Then he would attempt to assess if the child within her still lived or whether, as he feared, he was seeing the beginning of a miscarriage. Frantically, he tried to remember what he must do. His medical training was limited to basic first aid and field experience. But he'd never had to deal with a uterine hemorrhage before and realized with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach that Christine could very easily bleed to death.

With determination he set to work, quickly but efficiently setting and splinting her broken arm then he took a newly tanned horse hide from their store, soft and sturdy, and punched holes on either end of it and found a length of rawhide lacing to tie it with. Getting it on her involved lifting her slightly in order to slide the hide underneath her back and the pain of it woke her with a cry.

She clutched at him with her good hand, her nails digging into his skin, and moaned loudly as he gently laid her back down again.

"I am sorry, Christine," he said softly, but working to thread the lacing through the holes. "I have to get your ribs wrapped. I will be as gentle as I can."

"I know, Spock," she answered through clenched teeth, tears of pain leaking from the corners of her eyes. "Lace it snugly but not too tight. Oh! Oh, Jesus, God and Mary!" She trailed off with a hiss.

He began to tighten the corset around her as she whimpered and fought to stand it. The procedure seemed interminable but at last he was done. She was breathing shallowly and sweat was dripping off her face. He let her rest for a few minutes and checked her other injuries. Blood was beginning to pool underneath her hips. There appeared to be clots in it.

Worried even more, he turned back to her and stroked her face. "Christine ... t'hy'la ..." he urged and she opened her eyes to look at him. "You are bleeding from your vagina. Do you feel pain within? What should I do?"

She closed her eyes and focused on her various aches and pains. The bone-setting had been so agonizing that it had masked her other injuries, but now she could feel the twisting inside her lower torso, as if her body was trying to tie itself into a knot. The medical professional in her assessed the symptoms and fresh tears surged down her face. She sobbed and that set a fresh spear of pain through her ribs. She forced herself to damp down her grief.

"It's gone," she whispered, almost to herself. "Dear God..." She swallowed hard and looked back up at her husband bending over her, distress plain on his face. "In my medicine stores," she said weakly. "Get some of the brown, furry-looking herb. Make me a tea with it. Strong. It will help stop the bleeding."

"The baby?" he asked in a choked voice, confirming what he already knew.

"Yes..." she whispered and closed her eyes again. "There will be a lot of tissue with the blood. The placenta may look like strips of raw liver. There is a bare chance that the fetus ... will ... will be ... alive ... briefly..." Her face crumpled in grief and agony and she covered her eyes with her right hand and sobbed again brokenly, despite the pain it caused her.

Feeling as if his heart had been ripped from his body, Spock rose to prepare the medicinal tea. Sapel crouched near to the fire, a piece of bread in his hand, but himself too distressed to do more than nibble distractedly at it. Spock passed him without acknowledging his presence, too sunk in his own grief to do more than focus on his duties.

The little boy watched him go to the area where Christine kept her stock of herbs and medicinal plants and then Sapel looked back at his mother lying nearly naked on her bed, in obvious pain. He put the bread down and went to her.

"Mama..." he said and lay down at her side, snuggling under her good arm.

Christine sobbed and hugged him close, her love and relief that he was safe for a little while overshadowing the ordeal that was beginning.

* * *

It was all over not long before dawn. Christine lay sleeping in total exhaustion, aided by the diluted juice of a plant sap that dulled pain and induced slumber. Spock had wrapped the bloody evidence of her miscarriage in a length of leather and set it aside for later burial. He had changed the bedding underneath her, packed a good portion of sphagnum moss and soft lint between her legs and secured it with a strap, as she used during her period, and then dosed her once more per her instructions with the herb tea and opiate. Then he had lain down beside her and held her until she had cried herself to sleep.

Sapel had long since been moved to his own bed, asleep.

Spock had not slept at all, of course, and would not now for some time. His hardest task was at hand. When he was sure that his wife was deep asleep and breathing easily, he rose and gathered together his digging implements and then the forlorn little bundle, and stepped out into the pale light of the new dawn. The morning was cool and fresh, bringing with it the promise of another hot clear summer day. On the eastern horizon, the sun had not yet broken the horizon but already the sky was painted in a wash of light pinks and yellows as daybreak neared.

To Spock the dawn was as bleak and mocking as he'd ever seen it. Numbly, he turned away and walked far down the trail beside the creek, a good ways from their campsite, until he reached a place where the creek turned in a little bend to the south and willow-like trees grew, shading the ground beneath in a soft pattern of light and shadow. The earth here was not hard and Spock carefully laid the bundle aside and began to dig.

It took him a long time to excavate deep enough to satisfy him, working with only an antler pick and shoulder-blade shovel, but at last he had dug down about a meter, deep enough that he judged the bundle would not be disturbed.

For a few seconds, he clutched the bundle against him, then he carefully placed it in the oblong hole he had dug, positioning it just right, then he began to backfill with the dirt he had removed. That part didn't seem to take long at all and soon he was smoothing and tamping down the fresh earth into a little mound. Then, before rising from his knees, he hung his head and commended to the Ancestors the dead child he had buried beneath the willows.

Once done, Spock wearily rose to his feet, picked up his tools, and made his way back to Christine's side. She still slept, as did Sapel on his little bed near the back of the cave. Spock sank down to sit beside his wife, his back against the cave wall, and drew his knees up, folding his arms across them. Exhaustion and grief settled on him like a blanket and he bent forward until his forehead rested against his arms in complete surrender.

He had never known such emotional pain, could not imagine how he could survive it. But he knew that he must, for Christine and Sapel if not for himself. He had not known fully what to expect when Christine had gripped his hand and finally delivered the bloody mass of tissue onto the spread leather, but could readily identify the tiny form amidst the gory remains. It was unbelievably small, only a couple of inches in length, but nearly fully developed into a recognizable shape, with arms and legs and a large head. He didn't examine it closely after determining that it did not live. He thanked the gods for that.

Christine had raised her head a bit. "Is it out?" she asked in a strained voice. "Can you tell what it is?"

He had swallowed his pain as he wrapped the bundle and answered in a voice that barely worked. "It would have been a boy."

"Is it ..." Her voice cracked.

"Dead," he assured her flatly, then turned to finish his ministrations to her. She had cried weakly all during his cleaning and dosing her, not hard or hysterically because she no longer had the strength for it. He had wanted to soothe her with a mind meld, but found that he could not drop the shields of his own grief in order to do so. He still had much to do and could not afford the luxury of releasing the control he was tightly maintaining.

Now, in the dawn quiet, bent beside the still body of his wife, Spock felt the barriers beginning to crack. Tears welled up and began to run down his face as he clenched his teeth tightly to avoid making any noise that would wake Christine. His son... He'd lost his son. Without ever knowing him, without holding his newborn warmth or watching him grow and learn, without seeing him toddle after and then run with his older brother, without watching him mature to manhood... His son was gone before he'd ever been.

The sobs came harder and Spock buried his face in both hands, trying and failing to gain command of them. The outpouring of pain and despair was coming too strongly and he abruptly vaulted to his feet and strode from the cave.

Walking rapidly, and then breaking into a run, he bolted up the trail to the bluff top and there, finally, well away from the hearing of his wife or son, Spock stood and gave full vent to his emotions, shrieking into the wind that buffeted the hilltop and took his howl of grief away with it. Spock shrieked until his voice muted into an agonized wail and he dropped to his knees in the grass, then finally down onto his hands as well, simply sobbing until he had no more tears left.

For a long time he knelt there, head down, the wind drying his face and lashing his hair against his cheeks and eyes. The pain was still there but the edge of it had dulled now and he was finally able to pull the tattered rags of his control back together around him.

Rising numbly to his feet, he took another moment to calm himself and make sure there would be no more such emotional outbursts. Then he took a deep breath and went back down into the valley. Sapel would be waking soon, if he was not already up, and he would be wanting his breakfast. Spock would have to take care of them all for a while now and his other son needed him.

* * *

It took a long time for Christine to heal, physically at any rate, and the summer days stretched into autumn. For about two weeks following her miscarriage, she was so weakened from blood loss and pain that it was an effort for her to leave her bed for even the most necessary chores. Tenderly Spock saw to her every need -- feeding her, washing her, helping her to the latrine and back. When she hurt too much to stand it any longer, he eased her pain with a mind meld until she could sleep or rest once more. For the first two days, he took control of her mind and body, taking her down into the depths of her subconscious, pressing a healing trance onto her psyche, willing her broken bones to knit, her torn uterus to mend, her bruised and abused body to repair itself.

He did not keep her there continually. Her human mind was not strong enough to survive the depth of the advanced Vulcan mental discipline. Instead he worked with her until he felt the strain, then he brought her up into a natural sleep and pulled out of her mind to allow her to rest. The effort always exhausted him, but he would not allow himself to feel fatigue. Sapel was always waiting, watching with wide brown eyes, not understanding except that Papa was making Mama well.

Inevitably, when he looked at his little son, Spock struggled to maintain his emotional control. The knowledge that he had lost one child and had very nearly lost the other frightened him more than he could have imagined. If there was a thread of resentment toward Sapel -- that his actions had caused this -- Spock kept it deeply buried. Sapel's wandering away had been done in complete innocence; one did not blame a small child for inexperience and naivete. The Vulcan way was to correct, not to punish. Children were guided with firmness and consistency until they responded correctly. It would never occur to Spock to blame the two-year-old and call it his fault.

Nevertheless, Sapel was severely traumatized by the entire incident. He knew that he had been lost and that his Mama had been hurt saving him from the big animal that wanted to hurt him. He had witnessed the fierce battle between his Papa and the animal, had seen the animal's blood spurt and flow, and had felt the anguish and fear his father had projected as he bent over Mama's crumpled body. Sapel had also seen how his Mama had suffered as Papa took care of her, cleaning and bandaging her hurts, then had lain awake in his little bed long into the night, listening to her moans and sobs of pain as something terrible had happened to her. He was too frightened to move, but he felt all too well the sorrow and agony both his parents projected.

Now Mama was so sick, unable to move, and Papa spent so much time with her, his fingers pressed into her face, his eyes closed, his forehead knotted in concentration. He had told Sapel that he would do this, but the knowing did not alleviate the fear that permeated the little boy's soul. He didn't like what was happening! He wanted Mama to get up and laugh and play with him again. He wanted Papa to carry him on his back again and talk to him in his head and feel good and strong.

He stared at Papa now, wondering when his father had begun to look so different. Sapel had no reference point to define "old", but something told him that the lines on Papa's face were deeper, the skin underneath his eyes darker with fatigue, the sparkle of humor that lurked in his eyes and at the corners of his mouth was gone.

But the ghost of a smile softened Papa's face as he gazed at Sapel and the boy felt his father's welcome settle over him. Relieved, he ran and put his arms around his Papa's neck, snuggling his face into the man's neck as he felt strong, warm arms come around him and hold him securely.

Spock closed his eyes tiredly and settled back against the wall, cross-legged, nestling the soft body of his little son against him. He sensed that Sapel wasn't hungry; he just needed to be held and reassured. They sat there for sometime until Spock realized that Sapel had gone to sleep and was drooling on his shoulder.

Gently he started to get to his feet then stopped as he felt Christine's hand touch his foot. "Don't put him in his bed," she whispered. "I want him with me."

Spock understood and softly laid the toddler down beside his mother, next to her uninjured side. She stroked the tousled dark hair, smoothing it behind the petite pointed ear, and smiled as the child burrowed in nearer her body.

Spock stretched out on his side beside her, Sapel between them, and propped his head on his elbow, then took her hand in his own. Bringing it to his lips, he kissed her fingers and then returned her hand to rest on their sleeping child. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly, gazing deep into her eyes.

"A little stronger, I think," she answered. "You look tired, sweetheart. You should take a nap, too, and get some rest."

"And you should stop worrying about me," he responded with a half-smile.

"Face it," she smiled back. "We're both dyed-in-the-wool worriers." She sobered a little and looked back down at Sapel, lightly caressing his back. "I was just lying here thinking. We need to do some planning."

"Planning for what?" Spock asked, curious.

"The rest of the year. It's late summer and we need to think about the winter. I'm not sure I'm going to be up to going south. Not walking and carrying a load. I think we'd better think about wintering here."

"All right," Spock agreed without conviction. "In that case, I will do a thorough inventory of our food stocks and other necessities and will begin to prepare accordingly."

"I'll be able to help soon," she assured him. "It will do me good to get a little gentle exercise."

"I do not want you over-exerting yourself!" he answered firmly.

"I won't. But I can begin doing simple things." Christine's features settled into her "take charge" expression as she began to mentally count up tasks to be done. "I want you to check our supply of salt. And be on the lookout for another log that we can convert into a brine barrel. There are lots of fish in the pond. Sapel is old enough to fish with me. That won't take much energy but it's something I can do."

Spock's eyebrows began creeping upward as his wife slipped into high gear and continued, "Oh, I know you don't like salted fish, but perhaps I can think of some way to prepare it that will be better. And it's time to start looking for ripe fruits to harvest. And grain. There's lots of grass grain this year. You'll have to help me harvest rather than hunting so much, but we'll get it done." She paused and he could almost see the wheels in her mind whirling. "And firewood... We'll need to start collecting all the firewood we can find and storing it. We can go upstream to the woods. We can take a hide and make a sled out of it and you can pull it--"

Spock leaned across Sapel and silenced his wife with a fervent kiss. When he lifted his lips from hers, he gazed into her somewhat startled blue eyes and murmured, "You are indomitable!"

"Nonsense," she answered back, but blushed and smiled with pleasure. "We're down but we're not out. This isn't the end of things, Spock. It's only the beginning!"

END OF PART TWO