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) 2001 by Cheree Cargill. This story is Rated NC-17 for sexual situations.

THE CASTAWAYS

by Cheree Cargill

PART SIX

"RITES OF PASSAGE"

The wind off the ocean howled like a thing in pain, its voice rising to a shrill screech, then falling to a moan and climbing back again. It drove the rain before it, lashing all in its path, the trees bending against its force. Some were limber enough to bow to its power; others tried to endure and were snapped like twigs. The wind and rain stripped all of them bare and used the debris to further erode anything still standing.

On the beach, waves crashed ashore from an ocean gone mad. The storm surge had already flooded the waterfront and the breakers were hurling themselves against the hillside that rose up steeply behind the stretch of sand.

High up on the hillside, within the low log cabin snugged against the rock face, the Vulcan man and his human wife sat in the firelit dark, listening to the storm tear at the timbers of their house. Their three children were asleep in bed ... or were supposed to be. The eleven year old boy lay awake, too apprehensive to sleep, and his immediately younger sister, about to turn five, huddled against him. The baby, just over a year old now, was the only one truly asleep, oblivious to the storm that raged outside their home.

A particularly fierce blast rattled the house and shook the front door, although it was securely barred. The woman flinched and, when it had abated, commented softly, "That was a bad one. How much longer do you think it will last?"

"I don't know," the man answered, leaning back in his chair, one he'd made himself. "I do not know if this is a hurricane or some other type of storm. My mother used to tell me of the storms that would hit the northeast coast of North America. Sometimes they would last for days and inundate the coastline."

Outside, the wind howled its way up to a scream and then slacked off a bit, before resuming its banshee wail. They could hear another tree crack and split, then crash to the ground, much too close for comfort. Its impact caused a softer, more human cry to issue from the area of the children's bedding and Christine rose quickly to check on it.

She returned a moment later with her youngest child, T'Kai, in her arms. The baby was fretting as her mother settled back into her own chair. "It's okay, sweetie babe," she whispered as she opened her leather tunic, baring one full breast. "Hush now..." She set the child to nursing and peace resumed, punctuated only by the sounds of the storm.

"Vulcan doesn't have anything like this, does it?" she asked, picking up the thread of the conversation.

"Not ocean storms like Earth has," Spock replied, rubbing a forefinger along his little daughter's cheek. She opened onyx black eyes to peer at him, her Vulcan features giving her the appearance of an elfin child. T'Kai was the most Vulcan appearing of the three children, although like her siblings, she was three-quarters human and only a quarter Vulcan. But she had taken fully after her father's race and Christine thought she was the prettiest and most delicate of all the babies she'd borne.

T'Kai suckled busily at her mother's nipple, all the while peering up at her father. He felt a tickle in his mind and knew that her telepathic abilities were beginning to form. He sent back a sense of comfort and safety, pleased as the baby closed her almond-shaped eyes and continued nursing.

"She is much like T'Ruasa, sister to my father," Spock murmured, stroking the baby's soft cheek again. "I remember her from my childhood. I thought she was spectacularly beautiful and I wanted to marry her when I was small. I was greatly disappointed when I learned that I could not possibly marry my aunt." He smiled at the memory of childish naivete then his voice softened in introspection. "A great pity that you will never meet her. She and her husband died in a speeder accident not long after I left for the Academy."

"I'm sorry," Christine said quietly. "You must have loved her very much."

Spock raised a speculative eyebrow. "Vulcans do not adhere to such emotions as love--" He paused as his wife snorted in disbelief, then continued. "--however, she was someone very special in my life."

The wind rattled the house once more in a sustained blast that seemed determined to take the roof off. In the midst of it, the middle child, T'Jenn, appeared and made to climb into her mother's lap. Seeing that it was already occupied, she turned to her father instead. "Papa, I'm scared," she whimpered.

"It is only the wind," he assured her, but took her onto his lap nevertheless, allowing her to snuggle against the solid warmth of his chest. Then turning his head a bit, he spoke in a voice just a little above conversation level. "You might as well join us, too, Sapel. It doesn't seem that any of us will sleep this night."

The boy appeared, his black hair disheveled. "How'd you know I was awake, Papa?"

"I could feel your emotions and the patterns of your thoughts," Spock replied as his son settled onto the rug between his parents. "It was obvious that you weren't asleep."

"I need to work on my control," Sapel murmured.

"Yes, but not tonight," his father replied.

"What were you saying about the storms on Vulcan?" Sapel asked, changing the subject as he stared into the fireplace. "Don't they have oceans there?"

"Small ones. Not like your mother's home planet, Earth. They are more like large seas. The wind can be quite fierce and whip up large waves, but it doesn't compare to the great ocean storms on Earth, which can cover hundreds and hundreds of miles."

"Then what do they have on Vulcan?"

Spock shifted T'Jenn to a more comfortable position on his lap. "Vulcan is mostly desert and the storms there can rage for days. They can be lethal to anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in one. "The salt storms on Vulcan's Forge have been known to flay people and animals down to the bare bone and, in the worst cases, to grind those to dust."

In his arms, T'Jenn shuddered. "I hope we never go there! It sounds bad!"

"On the contrary," Spock replied. "Vulcan is a beautiful and fascinating planet. It can be harsh, yes, but the cities are havens of peace and culture. There are museums and galleries of art, schools of learning and advanced medical centers. Fountains and gardens where one may contemplate for an hour or a week. It is a place of peace and harmony. And should we ever get back there, I will take you to my home ... Keldeen."

Christine had shifted T'Kai to her other breast and looked up from where her child was fast falling asleep, still latched onto her mother's full nipple but only sucking reflexively now as she drifted in and out of slumber. "Keldeen? I thought you lived in ShiKahr."

"Indeed I do, if I am home for only a short visit or if my business takes me there. My townhouse is located in ShiKahr not far from my parents' home," Spock answered. "However, on those occasions when I am home on long leave and have the time to spare, I move my residence to my estate at Keldeen."

"What's that, Papa?" asked T'Jenn curiously.

"It is a large house and agricultural lands located on the north side of the Llangon Hills on Vulcan. I inherited it from my great-grandfather when he died and it belongs to me now," Spock explained.

"I don't know where Llan.... Llang... where that is," his daughter complained.

"I will draw you a map of Vulcan sometime and show you," he replied.

"You have more than one house?" Sapel asked, puzzled.

"Of course. That is not so strange. We have more than one home here on Terra Two," Spock answered. "There is our Valley Home, the Ship, and Sea Home here. We move about from one to the other as we need to do. Do you remember the summer we spent at the Ship, Sapel?"

The boy dipped his chin. "Of course, I do. It was awful."

"But it was the summer you passed the ritual of kahswan," Spock replied. "A very important milestone in a Vulcan male's life."

"Only because I had no choice," Sapel grumbled, his voice dropping a bit. "It was survive or die."

Spock and Christine exchanged a meaningful glance over the head of their son. It had indeed been an eventful summer. It had set Sapel firmly on the road to manhood and had given him a glimpse of an ordeal that was yet to come his way.

* * *

When the herds began to move south in the fall, Spock, Christine and Sapel packed their belongings and followed them, Mooch tagging along in their wake. They had spent the summer preparing for the move, replacing and repairing the clothing they had worn out or lost during the previous year's bad weather, refurbishing weapons and tools, restocking their food supplies that they would take with them. By autumn, they were ready to go.

They closed the cave and sealed it with Christine's remade door, then hefted their packs and set off to the west. The summer had been a hot, dry one after the spring's heavy rains, and the river was low enough to cross without undue difficulty. This was another reason Spock was anxious to begin the journey when they did. He had no desire to fight the current when the autumn rains brought the river level back up.

But once on the western bank, they followed its general course for a day's travel. There they camped, tired but satisfied with the progress they had made. The next morning, Spock turned them in a southwesterly direction, toward low hills that rose on the horizon and they spent their second night among a stand of brushy conifers.

From that point, their progress was slower and a bit more arduous but Spock had a very good reason for avoiding the plains that stretched out to the east, their flatness broken by the winding course of the river as it meandered away to the sea far to the south. They were getting into the territory of the giant marsupial lions they had encountered on their first trek through this area. The size of Siberian tigers or bigger, the big cats roamed the vast central grasslands of this world, preying on the roaming herds that passed through their territory in the fall, winter and spring, and hunting even bigger, stranger animals that lived year round in the savannahs and scrub.

Sapel was wide-eyed the entire trip. Although he remembered their time on the shore of Southern Sea and the dangers that area held, he had no memory of ever traveling through this part of the country. He'd been a mere toddler when his parents had last journeyed this way. The craggy hills and different flora and fauna fascinated both him and Mooch. On one afternoon, Mooch came upon a den site of her own kind and spent a good hour exchanging challenging barks and growls with the kits of that area. She finally turned tail and sped after her adopted family, unwilling to lose them as they ranged ahead.

Spock allowed their pace to be an easy one, taking the opportunity to explore the strange terrain. Christine spent time investigating plant life, mentally noting what might be edible and/or medicinal. The weather was crisp and clear during their entire trip south and both Spock and Christine began to feel renewed and reassured by their decision to move their home away from the northern plains.

On the tenth day of their journey, they topped a rocky hilltop and Spock halted them, surveying the countryside from this vantage point. As far as the eye could see to the north, west and south, the horizon disappeared in a succession of rolling hills. To the east, the hills leveled out onto the grasslands, their yellow expanses punctuated by the black and brown smudges that were grazing herds of antelope, horse and bison. There were many other types of animals here, too, and Christine was reminded more than anything of the Serengeti of Earth.

Shading his eyes against the noonday sun, Spock scanned the countryside to the south and west, searching, and was finally rewarded by a glint on the side of a hill about two miles away. "There it is," he said.

"What, Papa?" asked Sapel, trying to see what his father was looking at.

"You'll see," Spock responded enigmatically and started down the hill.

"Mama?" Sapel persisted. "What's Papa talking about?"

"You'll see," she answered with a grin, unwilling to spoil Spock's surprise.

The next hour was spent in silence as they labored down the side of one hill and back up the other. Upon cresting this second hill, Spock again stopped them, ostensibly to allow them all to catch their breath, but calling his son to his side and pointing across the valley.

Sapel's eyes bugged and his mouth dropped open. "Wh-what is it?!" he demanded when he could speak again.

"Our destination," Spock responded as Christine joined him and reached out to take his hand.

Lying on the hillside across from them was the grounded form of a sleek, silver spacecraft, partially covered with vegetation and a landslide. Never to fly again, the Romulan yacht lay as they had left it several years before, the only difference being that it was now almost completely overgrown with weeds and vines.

"Let's get down there," Christine said, looking happily up at her husband. "With any luck, we'll sleep in real beds tonight!"

* * *

The ship had almost completely disappeared underneath its thatch of vines and a dirt slide had blocked the door sometime in the past year or so. After doffing his pack and retrieving his elk shoulder blade shovel, Spock set to work digging the hatch free.

As he worked, Christine made camp, just in case they could not access the ship this evening. The nights were growing cool now that autumn was underway and she wanted to have a fire going as soon as possible. There was plenty of deadwood around and she gathered up an armload in short order. After clearing away the weeds, she found her old hearth ring and happily began laying the fire and getting it going.

Sapel spent his time walking around and around the ship, touching it hesitantly, then running his fingers over the sleek metal surface. He couldn't get enough of this new marvel. Nothing in his experience had prepared him for the wonder of this shiny stuff, bright even through its overcoat of dirt and plants.

Spock worked steadily, but finally, as the sun was setting, put down his crude shovel and walked back to the fire, accepting a cup of tea from his wife. "Too much earth to move," he said, sinking down cross-legged beside her. "We will continue tomorrow."

"Then I'll make supper," she replied. "In any case, I'm really glad to be here. This was a good idea, Spock. I didn't realize how much we needed to get away from the cave until we started out. I feel like a whole new woman!"

He smiled and sipped his tea. "There are times when a new beginning is best. I think we have both nearly forgotten who we are and where we came from. We have been so consumed with the tragedies of the past year that it seems we have been on this world always."

"It does, doesn't it?" she answered softly, her eyes taking on a far away look. "I'd stopped thinking about the way it was." She remained preoccupied for a few seconds more, then came back to herself, turning to face him, her blue eyes warm and gentle. "Say, who knows? We may be able to get the galley stove working this time! I'll make us some great meals! If I can remember how to cook on anything but an open flame, that is."

"You have kept us well-fed and healthy," he admonished her. "I have often marveled at the culinary genius you have shown."

"Bosh!" she retorted, but was pleased nevertheless. "Why don't you and Sapel go fetch some water before it gets dark ... if you remember how to find the stream, that is. I should have something going by the time you get back."

"An agreeable suggestion," Spock replied and got to his feet, calling to his son. Catching up two of the water bags, they started off down the hill, toward the spring they'd discovered here so long ago.

After they had gone, Christine sat back for a moment and studied the quiet surroundings. There was still plenty of daylight, but the sun had set behind the hills to the west and the sky was painted a delicate palette of blues and pinks. In the trees surrounding the ship's resting place, birds were coming to roost and were twittering and fussing among themselves as they vied for their places or courted noisily in the waning twilight.

Far away, Christine heard the bleat of a hill sheep and knew that the wooly creatures had begun moving down to lower pastures for the winter. She made a note to herself to explore spinning and weaving that wool into cloth. Quickly, her agile mind ran over what she'd need ... some way to card the wool, then a spindle to twist it into yarn. She'd have to figure out how to make a loom... She smiled to herself as she sized up the new challenge. If she could make woolen clothing, it would be a nice change from the leather garb they all wore now.

And, speaking of clothing, she remembered that there was still a small wardrobe of women's garments left hanging in the main cabin's closet, the property of the long-vanished Romulan woman who had used this ship. There were men's things, too, but they were much, much too small for Spock. They might be tailored to fit Sapel now, though. He was growing up fast, five and a half by Terra Two's count, but getting on to be seven years on Earth or Vulcan.

That number struck her abruptly and her feeling of contentment quivered slightly. If her count was correct, then Spock must be facing his next pon farr within the next few months. She had no idea what it would be like now that they were so closely bonded. It had been bad enough the first time, when she had barely known him. Oh, certainly, they'd been colleagues on the Enterprise but nothing could have prepared her for the incredible intimacy of the pon farr. He'd shielded her mentally, knowing she could not endure the pain of it, but it was not until weeks later that they had finally joined their souls in full love and bonding.

Now that fact frightened her. What little she had managed to glean from the medical records indicated that a bonded wife went through the madness as well. On Vulcan, during the Time, the couple were left strictly alone, for in their near insanity, either of them was capable of harming or even killing anyone interfering with their mating. The male was especially aggressive and emotionally overwrought while in the plak tow. He would let nothing stand between himself and his mate.

She had seen Spock in the early stages and knew from experience the depths which his anger could reach. She had a vivid recollection of a bowl of soup sailing past her ear and his livid, incensed countenance bearing down on her. It was not an experience she wanted to repeat. If she hadn't gotten out when she did, he might have killed her then and there.

The image left her chilled and she shuddered involuntarily at the memory. Then another thought struck her. What about Sapel? On Vulcan, the mating couple went into seclusion and any children were cared for by relatives. That wasn't possible here. Spock very well might be capable of harming his son while in the blood fever. For that matter, she might be capable of it, too!

Christine drew in a startled breath. She's have to figure out some way to keep Sapel safe during the four or five day mating period, when both she and Spock were likely to be completely irrational.

Puzzling over this dilemma, Christine sighed and began the task of heating water in order to prepare a simple stew of dried meat and vegetables.

* * *

With all three of them working together, they managed to clear the dirt and scree away from the ship's hatch by mid-day, although more of the hillside cascaded down now and then, pebbles and dust raining on them from above. "I must find a way to shore that up," Spock mused, gazing at the rocky hill rising above them. Then he turned back to the task of opening the hatch itself.

Dirt and plant roots had managed to work their way into the door channel and it took Spock another hour to laboriously pick it out with the point of his Romulan knife. But at last, the hatch was free and clear and he keyed in the lock code.

Nothing happened and he tried again. This time, the hatch moved back an inch, scraping on missed sand still wedged into the channel. Taking a deep breath and anchoring himself as best he could, Spock laid both palms flat against the door, fingers spread for maximum coverage, and used his own enormous strength to drag the hatchway back toward him.

With a screech, it was free of the sand and Spock nearly lost his footing as the door slid all the way open. Quickly, he recovered himself and stepped back. Stale, musty air billowed out of the ship for a few seconds then the atmospheres equalized and the three people moved forward to peer inside.

"Let me check it first," Spock said, stepping into the shuttle's main room. "I do not believe anything could have gained access, but it is better to be safe."

Christine held back the eagerly goggling Sapel until Spock returned. "It is fine," he said and reached a hand out to help his wife come aboard. Sapel scrambled in after her, looking around with wide eyes.

Inside the ship, darkness prevailed except for the natural light coming in through the hatch and the cockpit window plates. There was a thin film of dust on the floor and the vessel had the smell of a place that had been sealed for much too long.

"I'll see if I can get the lights on," Spock said. "Keep Sapel here with you. I do not wish him to blunder around in the dark and possibly injure both himself or some ship's system." He started back toward the engine room at the stern of the yacht.

"Where's Papa going?" the boy asked, making to follow his father.

Christine grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "To see if he can get things going again," she said. "You come with me and help me find the cleaning materials. The first thing I want to do is swab this deck."

"Swab? What's that?"

"A long and traditional pastime of sailors everywhere," she grinned.

Sapel grumbled a little, but soon both he and Christine were busy sweeping and mopping the dust from the decking in the main room and cockpit. They'd do the cabins and bathrooms once there was more light to see by.

In the midst of the work, Mooch made herself highly unwelcome when the kit innocently hopped through the main hatch, mussing the woman's newly cleaned floor, and Christine chased her out with the mop. The little kit sat outside, reared up on her hind legs, chittering in high offense at having been so rudely treated. Christine didn't care; she'd just got the decking cleaned to her satisfaction and she wasn't going to have it tracked up.

It was to no avail, however, for Spock came walking back from tinkering with the ship's systems, leaving a neat trail of size 12 footprints all the way through the main room and into the galley. "I need a light," he said, oblivious to Christine's agitation. After pawing through the utility cabinet in the galley, he came back, flashlight in hand, and paused, gazing curiously at his wife.

"You seem upset, Christine," he said, puzzled by her frown. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes, something's wrong!" she snapped. "Why didn't you wipe your feet before you came tromping in here?"

Both of Spock's eyebrows elevated. "I saw no need," he answered simply.

Christine gave a strangling sound and pointed back toward the engine room. "Out!!" He complied, hearing her mutter under her breath, "Men!" as she began to scrub furiously at the now double trail of prints.

Sapel erupted into peals of helpless giggles. His mother shot a glare his way, but then began to chuckle as well. She ceased her mopping and leaned on the handle. "Oh, what's the use? It's just going to get dirty again when the air system comes on and blows all that dust out. Come on, Squirt. Let's go get our gear inside."

* * *

Within two hours, Spock had the power back on and Christine watched Sapel's reaction with pure delight as the light panels flickered and came on throughout the ship. She almost expected him to make horns at the display and hide under the table. Then he discovered how to turn the light panels on and off and spent several enchanted minutes making the magic work before Christine finally said, "That's enough. If those illumers blow, I doubt there are any replacements on board!" Still, she caught him testing out his newfound toy a few more times.

She left him to explore and marvel at the cabin that was to be his. The bunk still contained the make-shift railing they'd constructed when they'd used it as a crib. Christine started to remove it, then thought better of the idea. Sapel wasn't used to sleeping on an elevated platform and he might just roll off the edge of the bed in his sleep. She decided to leave the railing up for a while until he became accustomed to the raised bed.

Spock walked back up the corridor from the engine room, wiping his hands on a towel he'd found, and this time paused before stepping onto the cleaned area of the main room. Christine gave a little laugh and said ruefully, "Oh, come on. I'm going to have to mop again anyway."

"I do apologize for tracking up your floor," he said, continuing toward her. "It was quite thoughtless of me."

"You had other things on your mind," she conceded and lifted her face up to receive his soft kiss. "It took you a long time back there. What's up?"

Spock looked a bit introspective and answered, "The power pile is still in excellent condition, but the main battery was drained. I'm not sure how much you know about starship mechanics--"

"About enough to work the sonic shower," she admitted.

"Yes, well, when the ship is in starflight, the batteries are constantly regenerated by the energy pulse of the main engines," Spock explained patiently. "However, in dock or when the ship is shut down, any active internal system ... lights, water and air circulation, for example ... run off the batteries. After a long enough period of time, the batteries drain, although it may take year or more to drain them." Again he looked puzzled. "But I shut the ship down completely when we left. There should have been no systems running that would drain a battery like that."

"Did we leave a light on in a closet perhaps? Or some circuit that didn't get closed?" she suggested.

He shook his head. "No. I ran a quite thorough checklist," he responded. "There was one relay that didn't shut off at first, but I adjusted it and it closed. I must do more investigation."

"Other than that, how do the rest of the systems look?" she inquired.

"Very good. I have started up the water and sewage recyclers and the air circulation should come on as soon as the batteries have recharged enough to power them. I have the generators at full cycle. It should take approximately eight point four hours for a full charge to build."

She nodded. "Good. I decided to wait on cleaning the ship until the filters blow clear. I don't think much dust has built up, but no point in doing it twice."

"Logical," he agreed.

At that moment they heard the toilet in Sapel's bathroom flush. And flush again. And flush yet again.

"Oh, dear," Christine sighed. "He's found the commode. I better go stop him before he flushes his socks down the drain and you really have a nasty job on your hands!"

She headed with alacrity for their son's quarters. "Sapel!! Whatever you're doing in there -- stop it!!"

Spock turned to gaze after his wife. "But he doesn't wear socks," he answered futilely.

* * *

It was late when the air circulators finally kicked in and, predictably, spewed a build up of dust from all the vents. The family retreated outside until the cyclers could do their work and so spent one final evening camped around their hearth fire. Christine and Sapel had moved most of the gear inside earlier that day, but she had anticipated their need to use the tent and sleeping furs and had them ready.

The night was clear and chill, the deep black sky strewn with brilliant stars, their brightness muted across one section by the veil of a faintly colored nebula. Long after Sapel had fallen asleep, Spock had patrolled the area of their camp, making certain that no predators lurked, then, once satisfied, he had slipped under the furs with Christine and pulled her close.

For a while they lay looking up at the starry sky, both of them tired from the journey and content simply to lie with one another. "I still wonder if they're looking for us," Christine whispered, her head nestled into Spock's shoulder and one hand resting on his chest.

"It has been over five years now," he answered. "I do not believe that the search would have continued this long. I strongly suspect that we were both declared dead no longer than six months after we disappeared."

She nodded faintly. "I think so, too. Still ... I have a grain of hope left alive in me."

His arm around her shoulders tightened a little and once more they fell silent. Shifting more toward him, Christine moved her arm to lie across his upper body and lifted her face up invitingly. Obligingly, he lowered his and their lips met in a long, languorous kiss.

"It's been a long time," she murmured when they parted.

"Indeed," he answered back. "With one thing or another, we have not had the opportunity to be intimate. It is something I have greatly missed. I was hoping that we might celebrate our return here in a real bed, but..."

"I don't know. Making love out under the stars has its charms, too," she teased.

"It has been a long day," he responded. "Are you sure that you are not too tired?"

She smiled and kissed him again. "I am never too tired for you," she replied throatily and sank back into his arms, her lips parting against his and her tongue seeking entry to his mouth. He allowed her willingly, probing back with his own.

As the kiss deepened, he enfolded her in his embrace and rolled so that he was lying partially above her. When they broke briefly for air, she gasped, "What about you? Are you tired?"

"I will leave the answer to that question to your imagination," he smiled and captured her lips once again. If she hadn't been so preoccupied, she would have known the answer, for she could feel his arousal pulsing through him and suffusing her with its glow.

They were each still clothed, both to ward off the chill of the night and in order to be prepared should they need to react quickly if danger threatened. His hand slipped down her body, pausing to massage her breasts, then pulled up the hem of her tunic, working its way slowly up her thigh until it encountered her loincloth. Moving between her legs, his fingers stroked her through the supple leather, rubbing and teasing until he felt the strap begin to slide against her wetness.

Then his fingers found the edge of the leather strip and slipped beneath it. She was slick with silky secretions, swollen and ready for him, and she responded with a gasp as his fingertips encountered the cleft of her sex and moved to gently rub against the sensitive nub.

As he fondled her and roused her more and more, she reached down to search for the hard shaft filling his own loincloth. It was not hard to find nor to free from its confinement. In a moment, she had shoved his covering to one side and wrapped her hand around the hot column of his erection. He gasped involuntarily as she pumped it and responded by working his fingers more quickly over her swollen womanhood.

For a few moments, they both reveled in the erotic touches of the other, then Christine began to shudder uncontrollably, her back arching up as her whole body tensed and quivered. He watched her face going through its sublime emotions, his fingers still moving in minute circles, then picked up his rhythm once more as she relaxed a little. Even as he did so, she reached down and pulled her loincloth off, leaving her lower body bare.

The action caused a surge of excitement to pulse through him and he took his hand away from her long enough to divest himself of his own covering. Without speaking, he moved into position above her, the fact that they were completely clothed except for their sexual organs lending an air of the forbidden that delighted both of them.

She lifted her arms up readily as he settled against her, his heated rod slipping easily into place between her spread thighs. It took only a few seconds more and he had pushed his way inside her, closing his eyes at the rapture of feeling her body envelop him once again. With a contented sigh, he began to thrust into her welcoming depths, burying his face against her neck as he did so.

Christine lay happily beneath him and opened her eyes to peer dreamily up into the star flecked night sky. Thus she saw the trail of light that streaked across the heavens and disappeared into the north.

"Mmmm ... I just saw a shooting star," she murmured against Spock's ear.

"Make a wish then," he responded, his voice muffled and a little breathless, the cadence of his hips picking up a little.

She smiled and closed her eyes, holding him closer. "I just did," she whispered. "It's coming true right this minute!" Her nails dug into his back and her hips lifted a bit underneath his as she began to feel his building climax setting her own into motion.

Neither of them saw the star that moved across the sky on the same track as the first one, then slow and pause for a long moment, turn in a lazy arc and go back the way it had come.

* * *

Christine found Spock sitting in the pilot's seat of the cockpit, reading laboriously through the Romulan checklist and looking decidedly puzzled. She handed him a mug of tea and settled into the co-pilot's chair. "What's up?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I have gone over every one of these systems but I cannot find the source of the power drain," he answered. "I had thought it was a balky relay but they are all working up to specifications." He sipped at the tea without looking up from the datapad in his hand, scarcely noticing that he was drinking from a real cup and not one carved from stone or wood. "I am currently in the process of testing out every switch here on the control panel in an attempt to locate the drain."

She didn't answer for a moment and he finally looked up at her. "You didn't eat any lunch, you know," his wife commented.

Spock's eyebrow lifted as he realized that he had been at this job for over six hours now. He had been so absorbed in it that time had slipped away from him. "Indeed I did not," he responded. "What about you and Sapel?"

"Oh, we both ate hours ago. I didn't interrupt you. You were buried up to your shoulders in that panel there." Christine's eyes twinkled a little over the rim of her cup. "I never interrupt men when they're working on machinery. It tends to be dangerous."

The other brow joined its mate as Spock stared at her. "I have no idea what you are talking about, Christine," he answered.

Laughing, she reached to pat him lightly on the thigh. "Never mind. It's just a joke. Why don't you take a break, though? That worry crease is starting to become permanent."

"Worry crease? What worry crease?"

She reached up and rubbed the tip of her index finger over the frown lines that had taken up residence between his sweeping black eyebrows. "That one!" she declared.

"Christine," he informed her haughtily. "Vulcans do not worry."

That sent her into peals of laughter. "Of course not," she answered, still giggling. "You merely dwell on a problem until you have worked out a logical solution."

"Exactly."

She gave his forehead another jiggle and then got up. "Well, I'm about to start supper, so don't dwell on this problem too much longer." She left the cockpit and he turned back to the control board, methodically turning on the next switch and beginning the diagnostic program to trace its operation totally.

* * *

Christine!

Spock's voice echoed like a shot through the woman's mind, jolting her with its abruptness. He was within shouting distance, but typically he would not raise his voice to call her, preferring to speak through their mind bond.

She, however, was not a telepath and could not converse with him unless they were touching. She wiped her hands on the kitchen towel that hung from a convenient hook and walked out of the galley and up to the ship's cockpit.

"What is it?" she asked.

Spock looked at her, his face grim. "I found the source of the power drain," he replied.

Christine's eyes widened a little. "It must not be anything you expected," she answered. "What is it?"

In answer he pointed to a depressed lilac button on the control panel, fairly anonymous except for its color and the strange icon etched into its surface. Christine shook her head, not understanding.

Spock continued, "I should have realized what it was long before, but I am still not fluent in Romulan, particularly technical terms and especially when they are represented by cryptic abbreviations and symbols. Do you see the glyph on the button's surface? That translates literally as 'cry in night of empty heart'."

"That doesn't make any--" Abruptly Christine broke off, the meaning hitting her.

"Yes," Spock said. "It's a distress signal. And it's been activated. Quite a long time ago, if it was capable of draining the ship's batteries."

Christine felt her legs going weak and she sat down in the co-pilot's seat. "Oh, Spock! Do you know what this means? We can signal for help!!"

But his expression didn't change and he shook his head. "The circuit has corroded over time. There is still a weak signal being broadcast, but it is very erratic. In addition, there is no subspace transmitter here. This beacon is designed for intrasystem transmission only. Even if we could reactivate it, there is no guarantee that anyone would ever receive it."

"But it was working, wasn't it?" she argued.

"Affirmative. And that puzzles me as well." Spock looked slightly annoyed by the little mystery confronting him. "I am certain that I powered down every single system on this ship when we closed it five years ago. This distress beacon was not activated!"

"Well, obviously it got activated somehow," his wife retorted. Then abruptly her face registered shock and comprehension. "Sapel! That last day, just before we left, he was playing in here. You left him alone for a short time while you finished your checklist! I'll bet anything he was attracted by its color and pushed it. He was just a toddler then and wouldn't know what he was doing!"

Spock nodded. "A logical deduction. And no use asking him about it now. He does not remember being here at all, let alone an inconsequential action performed by a child too young to understand."

"But if it's been broadcasting for five years, why hasn't anyone responded?"

Spock sighed heavily and sat back in the pilot's chair. "As I said, this signal transmits only on a limited bandwidth and in the regular broadcast wavelengths. At light speed, can you fathom how long it would take to reach even the nearest star? Years! Perhaps centuries! And the odds of its being picked up by a passing ship are so astronomical that it would be impossible to calculate."

He brought his dark eyes up to meet hers once more and his face settled into an expression of grim resolution. "And there's something else we must consider, Christine," he said. "Should the beacon be picked up, we have no means of knowing by whom. I believe us to be deep in Romulan territory, but we are likely near its farthest frontier, perhaps even within the edge of the Delta Quadrant. No Federation or allied ship will be in any position to respond. The only two groups who might pick up the beam are Romulans and freebooters. Either way, it means slavery and death for us."

Christine looked distressed. "Do you think it's that bad?" she asked.

"I think it's worse than I think," he answered. "Romulans would be infinitely preferable. With them, we would be taken to an interrogation site and tortured for as long as we lasted ... or until they determined they had wrung every iota of information out of us. Then I would undoubtedly be bartered to the highest bidder as a political or military prisoner. Eventually, I might be traded back to the Federation, but more likely I would end up in a gulag labor camp. You and Sapel would most likely be killed outright as worthless." Relentlessly, he went on, "If we are found by freebooters, they will most probably be slavers. In that case, they might kill me at once and take you and Sapel to be sold on one of the Rim Worlds where such things are either legal or tolerated. Both of you would likely wind up in a brothel, forced to service any being with the cash to pay your owners." Spock paused and his voice softened. "I doubt either of you would live long under those conditions."

Christine had tears standing in her eyes now, chilled to the bone by her husband's words. The vision of her son being prostituted like that constricted her heart in an icy grip.

Spock felt her acute distress and reached out his hand toward her. She quickly slipped her smaller hand into his grip. "I did not mean to upset you so," he said quietly. "I merely want you to understand that our remaining here on this planet is infinitely better than being rescued at any cost. I have long considered this dilemma and would rather we remain here, free, than risk being captured by unscrupulous and savage barbarians who would enslave us for their own profit and amusement."

"I agree," she whispered. "And, Spock? I want you to promise me something. Make me a solemn vow." His brows lifted in inquiry. "If anything like that ever happens ... if we're captured and you think there's no chance for escape ... Promise me, if you get the chance to act..." Her throat seized up for a second, then she forced herself to say it. "Promise me ... that you will ... kill Sapel to save him from that fate."

Spock looked startled for a second, then he nodded gravely. "I vow it, wife. And I will save you as well. I promise."

Christine allowed her tears to slide out past her tightly closed lashes. And you, too, my darling, she said to herself. I'll save you, too.

* * *

The threat of such loss was still pressing upon them that evening after they had put Sapel to bed in his cabin and then retired to their own across the corridor. "You go ahead and take your shower," Spock told her. "I will wait a bit until I am sure Sapel is asleep. He is still not used to these arrangements and might be restless."

The boy had experienced bouts of anxiety the first couple of weeks after their move to the ship. Not only was he unaccustomed to sleeping in an elevated bed, but he had always slept no more than a few yards from his parents. Being in an enclosed room by himself had brought on nightmares of separation. Spock and Christine had found that leaving the doors to both cabins open and keeping a dim light burning in the corridor helped Sapel to feel less abandoned.

But Spock had made one thing perfectly clear to him. If the door to the main cabin was closed, it meant that his parents wanted privacy and that he was not to disturb them unless it was a dire emergency. That term underwent a tighter definition after Sapel had twice interrupted his mother and father to report that the ship's air circulation system was keeping him awake and later that Mooch kept walking around on his bed and wouldn't settle down.

Spock had marched him back across the hall and was gone for several minutes. When he came back to bed, he had an exasperated expression on his face and lay stiffly beside Christine for ten minutes before he began to relax once more.

She thought about that now and chuckled softly as she dropped her robe, one that she had taken from the closet of the long-vanished Romulan woman whose ship this was, and stepped with a sigh underneath the hot water issuing gently from the nozzle in the shower stall. Like all ships, the water supply was finite and had to be recycled endlessly, but she appreciated whatever time she could spend here in the bathroom. After years of washing herself in lakes and rivers or out of bowls of tepid water in the cave, Christine luxuriated as the heated water cascaded over her body. She doubted that Cleopatra had ever bathed in such stunning decadence as she did under this simple spray.

She was still savoring the sensation of it all when Spock slid the door back and squeezed in behind her. The shower was small, not meant for more than one person at a time, but the closeness made his presence all the sweeter. She leaned back against him and he slipped his hands around her, bringing them up to cup and gently massage her full breasts. She could already feel his arousal pressing into her buttocks.

"You are wasting water, my wife," he murmured as he nuzzled her neck, his large hands continuing their gentle rhythmic squeezing of her breasts.

"Mmmmm ... I know but at least we're sharing it," she smiled back, her eyes closed blissfully. She brought her hands up to cover his, encouraging him. He began to roll both her nipples between his fingers, enjoying the feel of them stiffening and extending as a result. His penis echoed their movement, nudging between the firm roundness of her cheeks.

"Give me the soap then," he replied. She passed the slab of fragrant Romulan soap to him and he quickly built a rich lather between his hands. Once done, he slathered it over her body, moving up her neck, across her shoulders, down her stomach until he was just touching the dripping patch of hair at its base. Each time, he made sure that he rubbed the lather thoroughly over her breasts, teasing her nipples with his touch.

She groaned and turned to face him, catching up the soap and rubbing it vigorously between her own palms. When it had foamed up, she set to smoothing it over his chest and upper body, teasing his own nipples until they, too, stood hard. And like him, she washed down his abdomen to the dark hair surrounding his penis, but was careful not to touch the standing shaft that presented itself proudly to her inspection.

Their hands almost simultaneously slipped around to each other's backs, massaging the lather over smooth, curving muscles and down to knead each other's buttocks. The action pulled them tightly together and their lips naturally melded in a passionate kiss, tongues touching and tasting while fingers did their magic on lower regions. Spock's erection pushed into the luscious space between Christine's legs, the heat of his skin like a brand of fire against her sex.

She gasped and pulled away just a little, enough to reach down and grasp him with her soapy hand, the slick lather facilitating the stroking she began. In answer, he quickly slipped his fingers between her hot, puffy labia, fondling her clitoris with gentle, but insistent movements. Bending a little, he captured her mouth once more, the kiss immediately deepening into one of hunger and flame.

She broke away from against his lips, catching her breath as the first precursors of orgasm shivered through her. He felt it and it drove his own excitement up another notch. "Turn around and put her hands against the wall," he instructed her.

Her heart pounding, she quickly complied, bending over slightly as she presented her buttocks to him. He took hold of her hips and positioned himself, seating his long, hard erection into the opening of her vagina, and pressed forward with steady force until the bulbous head abruptly surged past the rim.

Christine gasped out loud once more, bracing herself for his complete entry, but he paused maddeningly at that point, not moving, allowing them both to revel in the sensations engendered by the presence of his maleness just within her body. After a moment, though, she pushed back against him and said, "I'm going crazy, Spock! Please, please ... I want you all the way in me!"

"As it pleases you, wife," he answered in a low, rough whisper, and shoved his pelvis forward.

The thick, engorged shaft slammed completely into her and she gave a cry of ecstasy in response. Unable to hold himself back any longer, he began thrusting steadily, deeply, into her enveloping heat, his hands moving from clutching her breasts, down to rubbing vigorously against her clitoris, and finally to her hips where he anchored her as his thrusts took on an intense, powerful rhythm.

Then, with a groan, he jammed himself as far into her as he could and froze, his flanks quivering with tension as he loosed his flood of lava into her depths. She cried out as well, her own body climaxing in cadence with his.

They stood there immobile for a long moment, then the tension eased and they both slumped a bit. Christine leaned her cheek against the shower wall and sighed, "Oh, that was good!"

"Indeed," he answered, slipping his arms around her to embrace her. "But I believe we'd better get out now. I think our hot water is about to run out."

She noticed then that the water had gone from hot to warm and knew that in a moment it would turn cold. They were both well rinsed of soap by now and she quickly stopped the flow from the nozzle. Turning back around to face her husband, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. When she lifted her lips from his, she smiled seductively, "I certainly don't want you to catch a chill. We'd better dry off and get into bed where it's all snuggly and warm. I think I can assure you that things will heat up again in a very short time."

Spock raised an eyebrow a bit and smiled. "I have no doubt of that, my t'hy'la. I burn for thee even now and I suspect it will take the entire night to douse the flames."

* * *

Sated at least temporarily, Spock lay back against his pillow, one hand resting on his stomach and the other loosely clasping Christine's, their fingers entwining as they rested side by side. She sighed happily and he could feel her contentment rippling through their mind bond, still tingling with the aftermath of the intense orgasm they had both just shared. It made his penis throb speculatively, but he was drained and needful of rest. Later perhaps, for he was fairly certain that the sexual blaze within him had not burned down completely just yet.

The thought of that blaze caused him to turn his mind to another subject, one that he had avoided, but which he now suspected he would be forced to consider and plan for.

Christine sensed his change of mood and looked over at him. "What is it, Spock?" she asked softly. "You're troubled all of a sudden." He did not answer right away, mulling over how best to broach the subject, and she sensed his hesitation, too. "You know you can talk to me about anything." She switched to halting Vulcan. "There are no walls between us, my heart," she said. "I would know you as I know myself." It was a line from an old poem, one that had become a favorite between Vulcan spouses.

Spock glanced over at her and an indulgent smile lifted the corners of this mouth. "Kae'at knal'lur," he answered in Ekili dialect, the origin of the poem. "Kya lailara, ni kae'farr an."

She pulled her hand out of his and punched him lightly in the ribs. "Quit showing off," she retorted. "Bad enough that you can recite the entire bloody poem. You don't have to recite it in dialect, too."

"But the only way to understanding the full meaning of the poem is to hear it as it was written-- Oh!" Spock jerked away, instinctively curling into a ball as her fingers went straight for the ticklish spot she knew to be just above his pubic hair. "Christine, stop! This is not amusing!"

"Yes, it is!" she answered, continuing in her attempts to get past his defenses.

But he wasn't responding as she had hoped. "Stop!" he said again and she understood that he was in too serious a mood to engage in play just yet.

"I'm sorry," she answered, pulling back from him. "Really, honey, what's bothering you? Are you still worrying about the distress signal?"

He took a moment to regain his dignity then stretched back out in the bed. "Partially," he replied. "But it's more than that. Our lovemaking tonight has made me think about the coming months. We have been here almost six years now. Six Terra Two years. It would be nearly seven if we were at home."

A little stab of fear pulsed through her. "Yes, I know," she said. "I've been thinking about that, too." She paused then asked hoarsely, "When do you think it will occur?"

He shook his head. "No later than summer. Perhaps sooner. I have begun to notice you more and more sexually than I normally do. I think you will find that my libido will begin to increase as time goes by, as will my temper and irritability. It is still many months away, I'm certain, but be aware of the changes. It will help us be prepared with the Time strikes."

She nodded. "I know. But something else, Spock. What about Sapel? Both of us will be effectively incapacitated for several days, maybe even a week or more."

"Yes," he answered in a soft, rough voice. "I do not believe that I will tolerate his presence once plak tow begins. I will be irrational and even the presence of a male child may incite me to acts of violence against him. In that state of mind, I might perceive even my son as a sexual rival for your attentions."

Christine pushed herself up on one elbow to peer down at her husband's face. "What would you do at home then? On Vulcan, I mean?" she asked.

"Other clan members would take the children away and leave the mating couple in solitude," he replied. He looked away for a moment then turned back to her. "There is something else that we might consider. It is no accident that Vulcan males undergo the kahs'wan between their six and seventh years. In ancient times, when the father's pon farr occurred again, the older children were considered grown up enough to fend for themselves if necessary. There would soon be a new baby in the household and the parents' attention would be focused there. It was a normal, essential part of Vulcan life that the older child start on the road to independence. Often by their thirteenth or fourteenth year, when the Time struck the sire again, the young man left home and the cycle continued. It is also why Vulcan children were mind-bonded around age seven or eight, so that when Awakening and then finally pon farr came upon the male for the first time, he would not endanger the community."

"Well, we'll have to cross that bridge when we come to it," Christine said with practicality. "But, if I understand you, are you suggesting that Sapel undergo the kahs'wan during your pon farr?"

"I think it may be the only way," Spock answered seriously. "In any case, we should prepare him for what is to come and have a place ready where he can retreat. He will be on his own for several days. I think he will be safer ... from me ... if he vacates the ship totally. In the madness of plak tow, I will have no control over what I do during the delirium."

Christine nodded thoughtfully and yawned. "Let's talk about this later then," she answered and lay back down in his arms, snuggling against him. "Right now, we ought to try and get some sleep."

"Agreed, wife," Spock responded, pulling her close, savoring the sensation of her bare skin pressed along the length of his. "But do not be surprised if your dreams this evening are quite erotic. The flame within me burns hotly tonight and has a long way to go before it dies to embers."

* * *

The unforgiving glare of Vulcan's orange sun reflected in waves off the canyon walls, its heat tempered only by the presence of shade trees and the pool of water caught at the base of the thin waterfall trickling over the high escarpment. Beyond the opening of the canyon mouth, she could see the blistering white wilderness of Vulcan's Forge stretching to the horizon, heat rising in visible layers unto the dusty yellow sky. Christine knew she had never been here before and yet she knew she had. It was familiar somehow. It was a place of contemplation and solitude, an oasis to which Spock's family retreated now and then. As he had done now.

Christine luxuriated in the heat for it mirrored the fire roaring in her bloodstream. Her naked body glistened with her sweat. It trickled down between her breasts and stiffened her rosy nipples up to their full extension, trailed down her back and across her buttocks, dribbled down her stomach and teased her sex like the searching fingers of a lover.

Indeed, that lover waited not far from her at this moment. Spock stood motionless, his dark feral eyes locked into hers, his long black hair moving gently in the light breeze, his body bronzed and magnificent in the golden light. He was not sweating ... yet. It was no more than a pleasantly warm day to him, but the natural sheen of his skin gave him a glow like that of perspiration and Christine could easily imagine how he would look when his exertions did bring forth the precious body moisture. The great salty drops would bead on his face and torso, rolling down to drip on her as he labored, mingling with her own even as his more potent juices combined with hers.

Her eyes roamed over him now, taking in lean but muscular shoulders and arms, chiseled chest and stomach lightly furred with short dark hair, the indention of navel and slight curve of abdomen, the dark pubic hair and well-formed genitals, slim hips and long powerful legs. She liked what she saw and never tired of looking at him. The heat in her body rose and a little smile pulled at her lips. She licked them, conveying an impression of hunger that was only partially feigned.

His eyes were moving over her as well and she noted that, as he did so, his inhalations deepened a bit and his penis began to pulse, beginning its engorgement to its full size. Smiling at the sight, she began to walk toward him, slowly, sensuously, her steps measured and tied to the rhythm of his growing erection. She couldn't tear her gaze from it and her increasing excitement magnified his own. Waves of sexual tension radiated between them, the fever in their blood building with each step she took.

When she stood before him and finally brought her gaze up to meet the deep mahogany of his eyes, neither spoke, too absorbed in their silent inspection of one another. Then she moved into his embrace and slid her arms around his neck, lifting her face up to connect with his in a long, slow kiss. His tongue met hers in a seductive duel and she could feel his erection throbbing between them. She squirmed in delight, rubbing her pubic patch against the sensitive shaft, knowing what the sensation of rough hair against his naked glans was doing to him. Still, it wasn't time yet. She would goad him to a higher pitch with foreplay. They were attuned perfectly there. It was an established game with them.

He raised his head slightly and murmured in his deep baritone, "I saw where you were looking. Have you ever seen a man's cock before?"

"Yes," she whispered back against his mouth, reclaiming it, tongue licking against his lips.

Between kisses, he persisted, "Have you ever touched a man's cock?"

She reached down one hand between them and grasped him, squeezing the thick firm column. "Yes," she answered, with barely a break in her hungry contact with his lips.

He was growing harder from her touch and wanton behavior. He took it a step further. "Have you ever fucked a man's cock?"

She thought fleetingly that she should wonder why Spock was talking like this, using this crude sexual language, when it was so uncharacteristic of him. But it was part of the unreality of this place, the familiar and not familiar, and the thought was swept away on the tide of her rapidly climbing arousal. She began to pump his erection, her fist exerting just the right speed and pressure, still exchanging kisses with him. "Yes!" she answered.

He surged with excitement, with the tightening muscles around his groin. He bent to her, his mouth moving over hers, tongue delving into her mouth. When he broke for air, he murmured in a rough whisper, "Would you like to fuck my cock?"

She began to move her hips against his, rubbing her wet, puffy mound against the heat of his fully extended member. "Yes!" she answered emphatically and seized his lips yet again, devouring them with the fervor of starvation.

He could scarcely contain himself to continue the game one final pace. "Would you like to fuck my cock now?" he managed to ask.

"Yes!!" she responded frantically, bringing one leg up to slide around his hip, opening herself to him, dipping her stance just slightly to give him better access.

Spock had other plans, though, and bore her quickly down into the grass at the water's edge, following her almost as if they were already joined. He was aroused beyond anything he had ever known, his penis ready to explode, its head and shaft already slick with the oily liquid that had seeped from its tip and been spread over him by Christine's stroking grip.

She welcomed him with eagerness, pulling her legs up and spreading herself for him, watching with barely contained excitement as he went to his knees between her thighs and guided the long, thick organ into place. He did not dally or tease her, but mounted her with a swift, hard lunge--

Christine came awake with a start, her body fairly shaking with imminent orgasm. Sweat was rolling off her body onto the bed and it took her a moment to realize that she was lying facing Spock, as he was her, and that he was hugely erect, the organ pressing into her stomach, and that his fingertips were on her face in the meld position.

His eyes opened, nearly glazed, and his breath came quick and rough from his partially opened lips. She didn't think, only acted, and in a moment had shoved him over onto his back. She was on him almost immediately, astride his hips, gasping aloud as the rock hard shaft sank into her, filling her with its heat and thickness.

They began to thrust against one another at the same time, for a few seconds out of cadence, then quickly catching each other's rhythm, plunging into and receiving one another fiercely, as a stallion atop an estrous mare. Spock reached up blindly and grasped her bouncing breasts, squeezing almost to the point of pain, but it only served to excite her further. Her hands braced themselves on his chest, atop his own hard nipples, and her nails dug into his flesh.

In response, he groaned loudly and his hands slipped down to her hips, holding her firm, and his upward thrusts took on an even more frantic beat. His muscles hard as steel, his erection swelled to bursting, he suddenly launched himself up beneath her and, with an involuntary cry, erupted uncontrollably within her depths.

Christine threw her head back and echoed his cry of triumph, her own orgasm tearing through her body and soul like the titanic explosion of a supernova. She couldn't see for a moment, her consciousness focused solely on the expanding light and heat and wetness that was her whole world, on the man beneath her, groaning to completion between her gripping thighs, on the pulsing electricity within her as he emptied himself against her womb.

Then he slumped and fell back against the mattress and she returned to the confines of their bedroom, her hair hanging limply around her face, sweat pouring off her onto him, her arms shaking from weakness as she propped herself still above him. She could feel the fluids within her running down her legs, drenching them both. Her vagina still tingled with electric aftershocks and she could feel the little pulses of his softening penis, still within her, as he too relaxed into exhaustion.

Leaning forward over his chest, she kissed him tenderly, stroking the wet hair from his sweaty face, then exchanged a long, tender look with him. "Wow!" she whispered, smiling.

"Wow, indeed," he replied. "That was, as you say, good!"

"That was, as I say, incredible!" she chuckled. "Did you come up with that dream?"

"Only partially," he answered. "It was a combination of both our minds."

She smiled and kissed him again. "Let's do that again," she grinned. "I could get really, really fond of that canyon setting! Next time, let's do it under the waterfall!"

* * *

In her younger days, before she had decided to go into medical research, Christine had been interested in science in general and in the earth sciences in particular. She had dabbled in geology, paleontology, and meteorology with the enthusiasm of a dedicated amateur and had spent many a pleasant hour tramping through the hills with a rock pick and a specimen bag swinging from her belt, looking for fossils or interesting outcroppings. Thus now, to her educated eye, she could look at the geology of her adopted home and "read" the history of the land around her.

The country where they were currently living consisted of rolling hills as far as the eye could see to the north, west and south. To the east, the uplands dropped at the junction of a long fault zone and leveled out onto vast flat savannah. The plains consisted of alluvial soil washed down from the hills over the eons as well as layers of ancient volcanic ash and light dusty soil called loess, blown in on the prevailing north winds. It all made for a fertile medium in which uncounted acres of rich yellow-green grass grew continually, studded by flat-topped thorn trees that were so similarly formed that it almost looked as if they had been pruned by some master hand.

It was on these grasslands that the vast herds of grazing animals roamed year round and were joined in the winter by the northern herds that migrated into warmer climes. It reminded Christine of Africa with its teeming millions of antelope, zebra and wildebeest, although the animals here were of course very different from those of her home world. Still, the general scene was the same.

The generous amount of meat on the hoof was near enough to their camp that they could have hunted there, but Spock considered it too dangerous. The huge number of grazers also attracted a huge number of predators, the kings of which were the gigantic marsupial lions. Bigger than Siberian tigers, the carnivores were only one type of several, progressively smaller hunters that preyed on the herds. There were four other species of cat that they had identified, as well as vicious hulking scavengers that, in sufficient numbers, were fierce enough to drive even the lions away from a kill. There were dog-like animals that snatched scraps from under the noses of the others, large lizards that ate the refuse left by the more particular hunters, and several types of vulture-like birds that showed up at a kill almost before the blood had soaked into the grass.

So, although Spock and Christine gazed longingly at the plentiful game that roamed the plains, he had could not risk hunting in that direction. Instead, they turned their attention to the hills around them.

Once, millions of years before, this land had been underneath a warm, shallow sea, its oxygen-rich waters breeding teeming number of plankton and microscopic animals called Foraminifera. As on Earth, they generated coats of silica around their tiny bodies and, when they died, those little specks drifted down to the ocean floor. Over the millennia, they built up a limey mud that was eventually compacted into limestone. At some point in time, this whole area was uplifted by volcanic action and the limestone cap rose to overly the entire region. Iron particles gave the granite that solidified out of magma a pink color and it broke through the more fragile limestone in numerous places, its crystals sparkling in the sunlight.

Between the porous overcap and impermeable granite, water seeped into cracks to form aquifers that ate caves into the limestone and broke free in the forms of numerous, ultrapure springs. These in turn fed lush forests of conifers and scrub, which in turn were home to herds of hill sheep and deer. There were predators here, too, of course, but they were smaller and in fewer numbers than on the savannahs. In winter, the herbivores moved lower down into the protection of the trees and this put them within easy reach of the two-legged hunters that stalked them.

Spock and Sapel were away on just such a hunting trip, in search of either a doe or ewe still bearing some fat from the autumn feeding. The males were scrawny from the rut and too tough to make a good meal, but the females would mostly be pregnant and healthy right now, taking advantage of the evergreen foliage in which they hid and fed.

It was a fine winter day, with a cloudless blue sky stretching overhead, and not overly cold, although a sharp wind sang out of the north and bit through leather clothing if it found a meadow over which to race. Christine kept to the shelter of the trees, searching for nut cones and pods that had not been eaten by browsers. There weren't many to pick from, but she still had managed to half fill her basket.

On a rocky hillside about a half mile from the ship, she gleaned through the forest litter, as always, keeping an alert ear and eye out for danger. The trees here were still heavy with ripe, unfallen cones and she found a long branch with which she could knock more down. They fell all around here, pelting her and bouncing away in all directions. When she thought she had enough, she put down her stick and bent to retrieve them.

After picking up all around her, she moved farther down the side of the slope, slipping a bit on the loose scree and carpet of pine needles. The slope steepened and abruptly her feet went out from under her, causing her to slide downwards about ten or fifteen feet before stopping.

She wasn't hurt, although her heart was still pounding from the inadvertent ride she'd taken down the hill. It was when she got to her feet that she saw the slit in the limestone. Upon investigation, it proved to be a tiny cave, not much more than a wide crack in the rock, but it was big enough for one person to stand or stretch out in, and dry except for a seep of water that trickled down one wall and flowed out through the entrance.

Christine stood back and a smile spread over her face. Maybe, just maybe, she thought, she'd found a place for Sapel to go when the time for his kahs'wan arrived.

* * *

Spock caught his son's eye and motioned silently for Sapel to move around to the upwind side of the little group of does. The boy crept soundlessly through the leaf litter, gradually moving into position. As his scent began to drift downwind, the deer became restless, turning their heads and flicking their large ears in an attempt to identify the source of the strange odor. Something said "danger" but the child's scent was nothing they could recognize. Still, their agitation increased and the biggest doe stamped a forefoot and snorted.

The deer began to move away from the source of the unknown danger and out of the little copse of trees in which they were gathered ... straight into the trap Spock had set for them.

As soon as they were more in the open, he stood, drew and loosed all in one smooth, blinding motion. In a heartbeat, the arrow slammed into the side of one of the animals, the impact knocking the doe off her feet with a squawk of surprise and pain. Instantly, the rest of the little herd exploded into a cacophony of bleats and breaking brush, then the forest was quiet again except for the alarm calls of birds and hoppers scrambling to safety and the fading noise of the stampeding deer as they fled.

Spock loped to the spot where his kill had fallen, Sapel joining him almost immediately. "It's a good one, Papa," the boy said. "Still nice and fat."

"Yes," his father answered, squatting to gently work the arrow out of the deer's side. He only had a dozen or so and always took care to retrieve the precious weapons. The flint arrowhead caught on something and Spock drew his steel-bladed knife to cut a slit through the tissues. After a moment, it came free and he grunted as he examined it. "It must have struck bone. I'll have to replace this point."

"Well, we'll eat good on this for a week," his son replied, not at all upset by the broken arrowhead. "Want me to help you gut it?"

Spock wiped the bloody shaft with a handful of dried leaves, then stuck it back into his quiver. "No. You are doing well on hares and small game, but I do not believe you are ready to butcher a deer."

Sapel sat back on his heels and looked pouty. "You never let me try," he complained.

His father gave him a glance out of the corner of his eye then turned back to the gory business at hand. "Watch for predators," he instructed the boy, ignoring his whining.

For several minutes, Spock worked in silence, slitting open the deer's belly and removing the viscera. If they had been nearer the ship, he would have simply slung the carcass around his shoulders and carried it back to their camp, but he had a two-fold purpose for gutting it here. It made for less weight to transport up and down hillsides, and it also gave predators and scavengers something to focus on. If they were feasting and fighting over the guts and organs of the deer, they would be less likely to track down the man and boy as they took their kill back to their homesite.

All while he was working at the bloody task, Spock's mind was turning over the problem of Sapel's kahs'wan. He hadn't broached the subject just yet but Sapel's comment now made him decide it was time. "When we get home," he said, "I will allow you to skin and prepare this deer. I want to see how you do with it."

Sapel perked up. "Really? I know how, Papa! I really do!"

"I am doing this for a reason, Sapel," he answered, turning his gaze seriously on his son for a moment. "It is almost time for you to test yourself, to undergo the Vulcan rite of maturity called kahs'wan."

"What's that?" the boy asked.

"On Vulcan, when a boy reached the age of seven, he goes into the desert alone for ten days in order to test his ability to survive," Spock explained, continuing to work on the deer. "It is a measure of his strength, resourcefulness and maturity. A boy who has completed the kahs'wan is no longer considered a child. He is old enough to take on more advanced responsibilities, to be betrothed to a mate, and to be considered worthy of speaking in family council."

Sapel was distracted for a moment, watching with interest as Spock removed the doe's reproductive organs. The womb held twin fawns, halfway through their growth, but far from being developed enough to survive. One of them moved feebly. Spock looked up at his son. "What is the right thing to do here?" he asked, waiting for the boy's answer.

"Grant them mercy," Sapel answered soberly. Spock nodded once, satisfied with the reply and bent to quickly slit the fawns' throats, then stopped abruptly as Sapel added, "And ask God to forgive us for taking their lives."

Spock peered up at him. "Why did you say that?" he inquired curiously.

"Mama says it sometimes. She doesn't like having to kill things."

Spock's brow lifted a bit and he nodded once more. "Neither do I, Sapel," he answered quietly. "It is against everything I believe in, but it is necessary for survival. We kill so that we may eat, but I sorely regret being the cause of these deaths." He dispatched the little fetus with a swift stroke, then did the same to the other one, although he was not certain it was still alive.

It didn't take him long to have the doe gutted and trussed. Spock hoisted it onto his shoulders and they started back toward home, leaving the offal and the dead fawns for the scavengers. "It seems harsh, I know," he said as they strode along. "But we are not the only ones who will feed from this kill. Nothing is wasted in nature."

"I know, Papa," Sapel responded. After a moment, he asked, "Tell me some more about this ... uh ... thing."

"Kahs'wan," his father supplied. "You will be six in two months. If you were on Vulcan, with its shorter year, you would already be seven and prepared to undergo the rite."

"Did you do it?"

"I did indeed," Spock replied.

"Did you pass?"

"Yes."

Sapel pondered this for a moment then ventured, "Were you scared?"

Spock glanced down at the dark-haired boy beside him. "Yes, cha'i. I was very scared."

Sapel made no answer to that until they came back into the clearing around the ship. Then he paused thoughtfully and asked, "When do I have to do this, Papa?"

Spock hesitated, not yet ready to attempt to explain what was to come. "This spring or summer. I'm not sure which. But you will know the time. Now, help me hang this carcass up so that it can drain. Then you may begin your work on it."

* * *

Truly cold weather set in during the month they called January, heralding its arrival with a winter storm that mixed sleet and freezing rain, all driven before a fierce north wind. Confined to the ship for several days, Sapel began to get bored and cranky at not being able to play and roam outdoors. Mooch didn't like being inside either, but liked having to go in and out even less, something that was necessary for her toilet habits ... that is until Christine had an inspiration and found a shallow pan stored in the engine compartment and filled it with clean sand. After a couple of mishaps, Mooch had figured out the litter box and happily used it thereafter.

Sapel was still bored, though. The ship was small and there was not much to do within its enclosed space. It was a blessing when Spock managed to get the ship's computer system up and running and, in the process of sorting through the stored data, discovered a gaming program. The instructions were in Romulan, but the games of skill were universal enough to be understood by any humanoid species. Sapel happily retired to his cabin, enthralled by this magical new toy suddenly at his disposal.

When Spock came back into the main room, he found Christine in the galley, cutting up tubers to boil for their evening meal. He had worked diligently on the galley stove and gotten two heating elements operational, allowing her to cook more than one dish at a time. She still had to roast meat over an outdoor hearth fire, something impossible in this weather, but there was prepared venison in the storage cooler that would last them several days and she hoped by that time for a clearing in the winter precipitation.

Watching her for a moment, Spock let his eyes roam over her shapely body, clad in a blue tunic and pants. It pleased him that she could wear the clothing left behind by the ship's former occupant, and he found that the softer, more colorful garments brought out her ripe femininity. Her hair hung nearly to her waist in a thick, dark ponytail, so different from the bleached blonde and elaborate styles she had favored on the Enterprise. It was softer, more natural, and her true color so deep as to be nearly the midnight shade of his own.

He liked it that way. He liked what she was wearing, too. Both her rich sable hair and the azure clothing she wore served to bring out the spectacular sapphire blue of her eyes. He was caught by them now as she glanced up at him and smiled, then went back to what she was doing. The silky fabric moved as she moved, following the curve of her buttocks and long line of her legs, stretching across her generous breasts as she reached for something, the neckline cut just low enough that her warm, blushing skin peeked from beneath it.

Spock became aware of a throb of excitement building within him at the sight and he strode softly up behind her. Slipping his arms around her waist and hugging her gently against his body, he bent to nuzzle the base of her neck. She smelled wonderful and he breathed in deeply to experience the perfume of her skin and hair.

For a few seconds, Christine laughed and snuggled back. "My, you're in a good mood this afternoon," she said. "You must have gotten Sapel settled down."

"He is in his quarters playing the computer games I found," Spock answered, his lips teasing up to her jawline and onto her ear. "Why don't we retire to our own quarters for a while?" he asked. "I find myself feeling the desire to play as well."

She chuckled but pulled away from him. "Not now, Spock," she replied. "I'm right in the middle of making supper."

He drew her back insistently. "It will keep. I burn for thee, wife. My heart becomes flame with thy nearness."

For a moment, she was silent then she turned to face him. His arms still enfolding her, he caught her lips and kissed her, long and hungrily. She allowed it, but when he lifted his head, she said, "Spock ... we need to talk about this."

"I do not want to talk," he answered and she noted that there was a slight flush to his skin tone and his pupils were dilated slightly. He kissed her again. "I wish to be within thee, wife," he whispered against her lips. "I hunger to join my body with thine. T'ckh tolol qe i'kisha, aduna..." He bent to her again, but she turned her face away to avoid his mouth.

"That's what I want to talk about," she responded. She attempted to pull out of his embrace, but he held her firmly and caught her lips once more, devouring her mouth, his tongue demanding entrance. She could feel his erection pressing against her and she knew that she had to take control at once. She got her hands against his shoulders and pushed. "Kroykah!" she snapped.

He practically jumped back away from her, the ancient Vulcan command jolting him back to the present. Bewildered, he stared down at her, his breath still coming at an accelerated rate. "What is it, wife?" he asked.

"Spock ... I need to know. Are you going into pon farr?" she asked, her blue eyes searching his face.

"No. That is still several months away," he responded. "I merely find myself needing you this afternoon. Do you no longer desire to have intercourse with me?" His expression was decidedly one of hurt rejection, something she didn't see there very often.

Christine smiled and reached up to caress his face, noting that he needed a shave. "On most days, my love, I'd already have you in bed, but today is not a good day." He continued to stare at her, puzzled, and she went on, "It's the wrong time of the month, Spock. I'm mid-cycle and that means I'm fertile right now. We can't risk having sex for a couple more days. I don't want to get pregnant."

He paused and seemed to take stock of the situation. Then he straightened and she could almost see him regain control of himself. "Of course," he answered in a normal voice. "I should have realized. Your pheromones are stimulating the mating urge in me. And this close to pon farr, the urge is stronger than usual." He looked down at her and one eyebrow twitched up. "I did warn you that my libido would be increasing as the time comes closer." But the subliminal scent of those pheromones were very powerful and he was not yet completely free of his arousal. He peered at her and said speculatively, "There are a number of ways we might satisfy our desires other than vaginal penetration."

She smiled wryly and shook her head. "I don't dare tempt you, husband of mine. I'm afraid that when you got going, you might not know where to stop!"

"Christine, I am fully capable of controlling my sexual functions. I can regulate when and where I ejaculate, you know."

To his surprise, she laughed and a skeptical look settled over her features. "Unh-unh. I've heard every line in the book, including 'But, honey, you can trust me. I'll pull out before I come!' You know as well as I do that there are enough active sperm in pre-ejaculate to fertilize an ovum ... and it only takes one to do the job. No way, mister. You're just going to have to grit your teeth and wait until I say so."

She turned her back on him and started to resume her vegetable preparation. Without warning, he grasped her arm and jerked her back around to face him.

His features had transformed into a mask of fury, his eyes blazing. "Wife, you will attend me!" he hissed between clenched teeth.

Christine gasped in shock, backed against the counter, genuine fear overcoming her. Then, just as abruptly, Spock released her and stepped back, dismay and horror replacing the anger. "Christine..." he whispered hoarsely. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean that! Please ... please forgive me!" All the blood had drained from his face and he looked as if he might faint.

"Spock... What..."

He squeezed his eyes shut, then covered them with one trembling hand. "My hormonal balance is fluctuating. I must meditate and gain control of this. Please forgive me, Christine. Please!"

Devastated by the incident, he turned and strode across the common room toward their cabin. She heard the lock click as the door slid closed behind him.

* * *

For a long moment, Christine stood staring at the bedroom door, wondering if she should go after him or leave him alone to work it out. She decided on the latter. Spock could be an intensely private man and this looked to be something she couldn't help him with ... at least not yet. But it had set her internal alarms jangling and she came to the conclusion that it was time to begin preparations for a time none of them would be able to avoid.

Turning back to her meal preparations, she finished cutting up the tubers and set them over a low heat to cook. Then she rinsed and dried her hands and made her way to her son's quarters. He was sitting on his bunk, diligently working on a computerized game on his viewscreen, concentrating on moving colored blocks into a certain symmetry before invading circles destroyed them.

Christine knocked softly then stepped inside. "Sapel? We need to talk, son."

"Just a minute, Mama," he responded, never taking his eyes away from the screen. "I'm on level 8 and I've figured out a way through it."

"Finish your game later. This is important."

He didn't reply, maneuvering his blocks furiously, and finally Christine frowned a little and said, "Computer. Halt and save game, then close."

"Affirmative," the computer's voice answered and immediately complied. Spock had long ago reprogrammed the voice interface for English and Christine had been thankful for it several times. It would have been awkward if she'd had to struggle through the Romulan voiceprints.

Sapel protested with a loud outraged cry, but his mother ignored it. Instead, she sat down beside him and said, "I'm sorry to interrupt your game, but what I have to tell you is important and I want you to pay close attention to me."

The boy could now feel his mother's distress and was immediately serious. "What's wrong, Mama?" he asked.

Christine hesitated for a moment, trying to decide on the best way to start. Finally, she decided to just say it in a straight forward manner. "Sapel, I need to talk to you about what it means to be Vulcan and to be male."

"You mean about having to do the kahs'wan thing? Papa already told me about that."

"Well, that's part of it, but it's a lot more involved than that," she answered. "I don't think Papa would tell you all of it because it makes him very uncomfortable to talk about it. It's the way he was brought up. On Vulcan, there are a lot of topics people just don't discuss because it's too embarrassing to them. But humans are a lot more open about those subjects and we've learned that it's better to talk about them and know about them than it is to hide them and get in trouble."

She had Sapel's curiosity aroused now. He had no idea what she was talking about just yet, but his attention was now focused on her face.

Christine went on. "Sapel, you know that when our bedroom door is closed, you're not to bother us. Your Papa and I are having private time that adults like to have. It is very, very personal and not a time when children should be involved. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, Mama," he answered, still looking a bit puzzled. "I know about that stuff. Papa explained it to me and why I'm supposed to be quiet and stay away from your room."

"Okay. Then you understand that a husband and wife enjoy being in bed together and getting every close and loving. What I doubt your Papa has told you, though, is that for a Vulcan male, once he's an adult, every seven years he has to go to bed with his wife, whether he wants to or not."

Sapel blinked, bewildered. "Mama ... you mean Papa doesn't want to sleep with you anymore?"

Christine had to chuckle a bit. "No, honey, your Papa and I love each other very much and we love to sleep close to each other. What I'm saying is that, for a Vulcan man, there is a thing that happens to him every seven years. It changes his blood chemicals and his body makes him find a mate if he doesn't already have one. If he's married, then he must be with his wife. It's a condition that has evolved in Vulcans to make sure there are always children to carry on the race. The Vulcans call it pon farr. The Time of Mating."

"And ... you're saying Papa will get like this?" Sapel ventured.

"Yes, that's exactly right. He can't help it and he doesn't like being like that, but he doesn't have any choice," Christine explained. "You will notice as time goes on that he may get short tempered and won't want you around."

"Oh, I won't knock on your door or anything!" Sapel hurriedly assured her. "I promise!"

His mother sighed. "Sweetheart, it's going to be more than that. Papa is going to get very, very angry. All of the time. And he's going to want to be with Mama all of the time, too. And I'm very afraid that I'm going to get the same way. Because of our mindbond, I'm going to begin to feel what Papa is feeling and acting the same way he does. Once the condition begins, it will probably take about ten days to run its course."

Christine hesitated again then said, "Sapel, when the time is fully upon your father, it may be too dangerous for you to stay here. He will be completely irrational and may try to harm you. If we were on Vulcan or someplace else, you would be taken care of by friends or relatives, but here we have to figure out a way to keep you safe." She took a breath. "Papa thinks that this will be the time for you to undergo your kahs'wan. He doesn't expect you to go out and undergo some horrible challenge or anything, just leave the ship until the pon farr runs its course."

"But ... where will I go, Mama?" the boy asked helplessly.

"Well, I may have found the answer to that," she replied with a reassuring smile. "A while back I found a little cave not far from here that would be a good shelter. We can stock it with what you'll need for a week or so and then when everything is all over, we'll come get you. Mooch will be with you, of course, and you can look on this as an adventure. How does that sound?"

Sapel considered it. "Okay, I guess. I don't think I'll like it, though."

She patted him encouragingly. "Well, we'll work on getting things fixed up for you. Now, I've got to check on those tubers. I think they might be about ready to eat."

She got up and started to leave, but was halted by Sapel's querulous voice. "Mama? Will I get pon farr, too?" he asked, his dark eyes holding a hint of fear.

It stopped her in her tracks and she was struck by how Vulcan her son suddenly looked, with his pointed ears peeking through the thatch of black hair and his father's deep mahogany eyes beneath upslanted brows.

"I don't know, baby," she answered honestly. "I really don't know. You're three-quarters human, so you may not go through it. Or you may be fully an adult before you do. Your Papa was 36 when he first experienced it. I think full Vulcans first go through it at about age 21 or 22. It's a long, long time away, in any case."

He nodded and she started out again, but once more he stopped her. "Mama? When I do have it ... who will my wife be?"

Christine felt her heart sink and it took her a moment longer to reply. "I don't know that, either, sweetheart. I guess that's just something we'll have to figure out when it happens." She smiled a little, although it didn't reach her eyes. "Maybe we'll be home by then."

She ducked out and escaped back to her kitchen. Sapel sat quietly for a few seconds, then commented softly to the empty room, "I thought we were home."

* * *

Christine tapped lightly on the door. "Spock? Can I come in? I want to go to bed now."

It was a minute before she heard the lock click and then the door slid open, admitting her. She closed it behind her. Spock was walking back toward the meditation area he'd put together, a quiet corner with a folded blanket on the floor and a small table to hold an animal tallow candle. He was clad only in his loin cloth and leggings and she could see that the muscles in his back were still tight.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your meditation," she said quietly. "But it's late and I'm tired. Will it bother you if I take a shower?"

"No," he answered in a slightly dull voice.

"I'll be quiet, I promise," she replied. As he knelt back down before the little table, she went into the bathroom and undressed, then twisted her long hair up and pinned it. Turning on the shower, she let it run for a few seconds then tested it and stepped under the spray. It still felt unbelievably marvelous to have hot water at her disposal but tonight she didn't spend more than ten minutes enjoying it. The ship's water heating system was somewhat limited and Sapel had already had his bath. Christine wanted to make sure that there was enough left for Spock ... providing he finished his meditations and took a shower tonight.

He was still kneeling before his little shrine when she came out and turned the bathroom light off. Only the candle lit the bedroom area and she could see it reflected off the angles and planes of his face, his eyes closed and his fingers steepled before him.

She had donned the silky apricot sleeping gown she'd found in a drawer and sat on the edge of the bed, running a hairbrush through the length of her waist-length dark hair. All the time, her eyes stayed on the silent form of her husband and she couldn't help but wonder what she could do to ease his discomfort.

He made no move, however, and she finally slid between the sheets and settled down to sleep. It was a good deal later when he slipped into bed beside her, lying on his back and being careful not to touch her. But his presence awakened her nevertheless and she reached out to cover his hand with hers.

"How are you feeling?" she asked softly. "Any better?"

"I have regained control of myself," he answered. "I am sorry that I spoke to you the way I did. I am very much afraid that my ... emotional state may be unpredictable as the time approaches."

"I know," she assured him. "Spock, I'm sorry, too. It was wrong of me, as your wife, to refuse your needs."

"No! No, it wasn't!" he protested, turning to look at her, his eyes haunted. "Your concerns are quite legitimate and logical! You have every right to regulate your reproductive matters. I should have been more sensitive to your feelings and maintained more awareness of myself in order to understand what was happening."

Christine smiled warmly. "Okay, so we're both wrong and we're both right. Let's let it go. Come here, sweetheart. My needs right now are to snuggle up close to you."

She tugged gently at his hand and he rolled over to face her. Lying on her side, he could see the way her breasts pressed together and moved beneath the light-orange silk. He longed to bury his face in the tantalizing cleavage it revealed and kiss the wonderful softness of her breasts, but knew that he didn't dare. It would kindle the barely controlled flame burning within him. Instead, he breathed in her scent and sighed. "You are still incredibly tantalizing to me," he murmured. "I fear that all my meditations may be for nothing."

"Well, as you said, there are lots of ways to satisfy those desires," she answered, stroking his thick dark hair and trailing her fingertips down the edge of his ear.

He reached up and caught her hand. "And that is a sure way to arouse those desires once again," he warned her. "It would be advisable not to touch me in that manner."

She chuckled. "Then where should I touch you?" she asked.

"Merely the fact that you are in contact with me is enough," he answered. "You will test my strength of will."

"Hmmmm ... maybe," she mused, again stroking his ear. "Then again maybe we'll just employ one of those other methods of satisfaction." She let her hand drop down to trail along his shoulder, then down his side to touch his hip. "Ahh, just as I thought. You're not wearing anything. Isn't that tempting fate right there?"

"You know I have only my loin cloth and I dislike wearing it in bed," he responded. "I find it very uncomfortable."

"I know. Still, knowing that you're lying there naked tantalizes me." She leaned forward until their lips met lightly.

After they parted, he quirked an eyebrow up at her and said, "I believe we should stop right now. You are quite correct that you would likely conceive if we made love tonight and I, too, would prefer to wait on that until we have no choice." He paused and his voice softened. "You realize that the chances that you will become pregnant during the pon farr are extremely high."

"Yes. You told me last time that the main thing that ends it is the wife conceiving a child." Her gaze dropped away from his and her lashes hooded her eyes for a moment.

"What is it, t'hy'la?" he asked, noticing her change in mood.

She looked back up at him and attempted a smile. "Oh, I'm just being silly. Pay me no mind."

"I will not," he insisted. "Something troubles you and I ask that you share your thoughts with me."

This time she did smile. "That's the trouble with being married to a Vulcan," she said. "You can't keep anything to yourself!" He merely gazed at her expectantly and she finally sighed and looked down again. "Okay ... the thing is ... I don't want to have another baby. I'm ... I'm afraid something would happen to it if I did and ... and I don't think I could stand it again."

"My wife," he whispered and drew her into his arms, holding her. She clung to him for a long time, then he said softly, "I cannot guarantee that nothing will happen, beloved. I can only say that I will protect you and our children to the last breath that I take. I will do everything in my power to make sure you are all safe and comfortable."

"I know you will, Spock," she answered, still snuggling into the warmth of his chest. "I just keep seeing..."

"Do not think on that," he replied, stroking his fingers through her hair. "None of us could have known what would happen. Nor likely prevented it." But his thoughts were running over and over, chiding him, You should have stayed with them. You shouldn't have left them. You should have stayed.

Spock took a deep breath and hugged his wife closer. "In any case, I do not think we will be able to prevent another pregnancy. Once we slip into the plak tow, we will have no control over what happens between us. I will not emerge from the fever until my body detects the chemical change in yours denoting that a conception has occurred."

"I know. I'm prepared for another pregnancy, Spock. I just don't really want one."

He stroked her hair once more. "Perhaps it will be better here in the ship. It is cleaner, safer and more protected. No animals can get in and you'll be able to have our baby here in a real bed rather than on the dirt floor of a cave."

"Yes, I know..." She was quiet for a while, still in his arms, and beginning to feel sleepy again in the embrace of love he provided. "I talked to Sapel tonight. Told him some of what was going to happen. He'll probably have questions for you."

"Hmmm, no doubt," Spock's deep voice rumbled softly. "I hope I am able to answer them better than my father answered mine. He sent me to the Elders with my questions. I was too intimidated by them to ask them much."

Christine chuckled. "I learned about the birds and the bees from an older cousin, Frankie. They were visiting from California and our folks had gone to a show. He and I were left home alone and, well ... It opened my eyes considerably!"

Spock drew back, shocked. "You had an incestuous affair with your cousin?" he demanded, all his conservative proprieties completely outraged.

"Oh, don't get in a tizzy," Christine answered. "He was a very distant cousin, barely related. I was fourteen and he was sixteen and our folks should have known better than to put temptation in the way of two kids with their hormones in warp drive. No harm done and I never saw him again after they left."

She looked up at her husband's face, loving the angles and lines etched there, the shadow of his day old beard, the way his hair had grown back into a shaggy, coal black cap that fell to his eyebrows, parted around his ears, sat around the clean, muscular lines of his bare shoulders. She caressed his cheek and whispered, "No one has ever made me feel the way you do, Spock. I knew it the moment I first set eyes on you and there's never been anyone else since."

"i'Aduna," he whispered back and leaned down to capture her lips in a warm, heart-felt kiss. She returned it with fervor, but then he lifted his head and peered down at her, a little smile playing about his lips and eyes. "And now, my darling wife, you should go to sleep and let me do the same. Because if we follow this path of thought, you will find yourself the mother of another child before the time is right!"

* * *

"Kh'rat!" Spock cursed as the deer disappeared into the underbrush. The ambush had gone well until the last possible second when the animal had flinched aside even as he'd loosed his arrow at it. The shaft had lodged in the hindquarters and the doe had crashed into the thicket and was gone.

Sapel came running to join his father. "Did you get it?" he asked excitedly. "I couldn't see!"

"I hit it, but it was not a killing shot," Spock replied. He trotted to the point where he'd last seen his prey and searched, but there was no body to be found. "We will have to track it and find it," he sighed. "I sincerely hope that it does not go far. It will be sundown before long."

The day's hunt had been long and fruitless until they'd flushed a small band of deer from their hiding place. Now they were faced with following the blood trail through the woods until they found the wounded animal and put it out of its misery. Leaving their bows strung, but with no arrows nocked, the two set off deeper into the scrubby forest.

It wasn't long before the broken branches and bloody spots on leaves led them onto a game trail. The blood got thicker, indicating that their quarry had slowed her headlong flight, but now the way was easier for her and she was still well ahead of them. They followed the pathway as it meandered between the trees and Spock realized that it was leading them eastward, down toward the savannahs. He had studiously avoided this area, for it was the territory of the lions and he had no wish to confront such formidable killers. But he couldn't allow the wounded deer to die slowly in pain either.

They walked for over an hour and still seemed no closer to the wounded doe. Now and then they would come across a spot where she had evidently stopped and licked her injury, for the blood dropped in little puddles before it went on in dribbles and spots.

Sapel was getting tired and his attention had long since wandered from the trail that Spock was intently following. Thinking about other things, he asked, "Papa, what if we don't find it before dark?"

"Then we shall turn back," Spock answered, his eyes searching for spoor. "Lions or some other predator will take her, but I would prefer that we find her instead."

"Do you think I'll have to hunt like this when I do my kahs'wan?"

"I doubt it. We will stock sufficient food for you for the days you will be away."

Sapel was silent again for a few minutes then asked, "Papa? Are you gonna go crazy again like before? I mean when you get the pon farr thing?"

Spock halted in his tracks and turned to look down at his son. "I do not think this is the appropriate time for this discussion," he said, feeling discomfited at the sudden change of subject. "It is not something I can explain in short answers."

"Are you and Mama gonna ... you know ... be like the animals in the fall?"

Spock's brows lifted slightly. "If you mean rut ... I ... I don't think I'd put it quite that way." The Vulcan was becoming a bit alarmed, not ready at all for these questions. "But ... yes, it's a time when ... when a Vulcan and his wife ... come together many times."

Sapel looked thoughtful. "Mama said you'd be mad a lot and so would she. What will you be mad about?"

With a sigh, Spock decided Sapel wasn't going to let him avoid this discussion. He knelt down so that he was more on his son's level. "Sapel, it is not something that Vulcans like to discuss because it is so very personal," he said. "If we were on Vulcan, you would be sent to the Eldest Ones in the clan because they are the wisest and can best answer questions. However, we do not have that choice." He stopped and swallowed to wet his dry throat. "The pon farr is ... um ... a change in the chemical balance in a male's body, the chemicals that control the need to have sex with a mate. That need puts us in an irritable mood and it just gets worse and worse until we finally mate so much that our bodies wear themselves out. It is a very terrible time to go through and a Vulcan dreads when his time will come. The burning in our bodies drives us into madness for a while and we can't control ourselves." Spock paused and his gaze turned inward. "You are still too young to have reached a need like that, so I don't expect you to understand," he said softly.

"You mean like when my penis gets hard sometimes and I feel like I have to go to the bathroom but I can't?" Sapel asked.

"Yes, something like that," his father answered. "Only it's like your penis stays hard for days and you feel like you have to urinate constantly. For an adult male, the only cure is to have sex frequently during that time." He hesitated. "Do you understand what sex is, Sapel?"

The boy was quiet again, thinking. "It's when a male sticks his penis in a female and bounces on her, right?"

"To an extent. When he inserts his penis into a female and moves his hindquarters back and forth, it makes his penis swell up with blood until it is very hard. It feels very, very good to him and to his mate and finally he has a reaction in which a special liquid comes out of his penis into her vagina. It is not urine. It is called semen and it can start a baby growing inside his mate."

"Is that what you're gonna do to Mama?"

"Yes," Spock answered, hating to have to be so blunt. He was extremely uncomfortable with this discussion but Sapel needed to be told the truth.

Sapel looked a little surprised. "Is Mama gonna have another baby then?" he asked.

"Quite probably," Spock answered. "But we shall see. Now, does that answer some of your questions?" The boy nodded and Spock rose to his feet. "Very well, let us continue this hunt before the light fails us."

Grateful that the topic was closed for the moment, Spock resumed his tracking of the wounded deer. Another half hour of walking brought them out onto a rocky prominence overlooking the plains. The blood trail continued down it and Spock concentrated on finding the deer's spoor on the stony ground.

Suddenly he froze in his tracks and reached back to halt Sapel, keeping him behind him. "Be still," he whispered in a barely audible voice.

Sapel likewise froze, but tried to see what had startled his father. Then he saw it. Two of the big marsupial lions were feasting on the partially stripped carcass of the deer. Sapel could see the stump of the arrow still protruding from her haunch. In her weakened condition, she had been easy prey to the hunters and the predators now growled at each other as they ripped chunks of meat away or cracked bones between their massive molars.

"Back up slowly," Spock whispered. "Quietly."

Sapel began a cautious retreat, still facing the lions. Spock did the same, very slowly unslinging his bow and pulling an arrow from his quiver. His eyes never leaving the carnivores, he said in a murmur, "Nock an arrow. Be ready in case they charge." Sapel complied, following his father's example as they continued to back gradually away. "You watch behind us. Let me shoot, though."

"I can do it, Papa," Sapel mumbled, not being argumentative but merely stating a fact.

"No," Spock answered. He had his bow ready and partially drawn, watching the lions intently. Sapel was nocked and alert as well, his gaze sweeping behind them.

After a few moments, it seemed that they were far enough away that they could turn and get away from the feeding lions. Spock was just swinging away when a roar split the air to the rear and to one side of them. A third lion, smelling the blood, came charging out of the brush and found Spock and Sapel between him and the kill.

Reacting immediately, Spock yanked his bow up and yelled, "Sapel! Drop!"

But the boy didn't drop. He was that very instant pulling his bowstring back with all his might and letting fly his ready arrow. It took Spock less than a second to take it all in and then his own arrow was following the path of his son's. Both slammed into the lion's chest and side at nearly the same time. The predator screamed with outrage and pain, the momentum of the hits knocking it backwards.

"Reload!!" Spock snapped, already fitting a second shaft against his bowstring. Sapel was nearly as fast and they spun in anticipation of a charge by the other two.

But the commotion had startled the two feeding lions and they had disappeared, leaving the carcass where it lay. For a long moment, the two Vulcans stood ready, but when nothing else attacked them, Spock gradually relaxed.

"Stay ready," he instructed his son. "They may come back." When the area remained quiet, he said, "Okay, let's move away from here. There are sure to be many predators and scavengers gathering here in a very short time!"

He shepherded Sapel ahead of him and they carefully retraced their steps back up the game path. The lion they had shot lay dead beside the trail. Quickly, Spock drew his hunting knife and cut the arrows free. They were too precious to leave. Sticking them into his quiver still bloody, he hurried Sapel away from the scene. Even as they reached the cover of heavy brush, they could hear the yipping and quarreling of the first scavengers to reach the site.

* * *

Spring came earlier here in the more southernly latitudes and it seemed no time at all before the first timid greens were pushing their way up through the yellow and brown thatch of the previous year and the deciduous trees were beginning to sprout buds and early blossoms. The limey soils covering the hills erupted into a riot of wild flowers, vast fields of blues, oranges, yellows and whites mingling into a crazy quilt pattern as far as the eye could see.

Sapel took to spending whole days away from his parents, getting comfortable in his little cave and making it his own. It was too small for an adult to enter without difficulty, but perfect for someone his size. The crack widened out a little at the back, forming a tiny room that was hidden by a protruding formation of limestone rock. He stashed his supplies and bedding there, arranging things how he wanted and enjoying his private abode.

At first Christine was worried about him being away, but Spock reassured her. Sapel wasn't that far and was perfectly safe. He had proven to his father that he was resourceful and brave. Moreover, he was doing well in preparing for the kahs'wan and it would do him good to be alone for a while before the time came when he would have to be.

The afternoon was warm and sunny as Spock and Christine waded through the sea of blue flowers, stirring up bee pollen and a few early pollinators in the process. The bees here did not sting and they had no fear of walking in their midst. Indeed, it all added to the mystical quality of their surroundings. Christine had unbound her hair and let it flow freely in the pleasant air, its long sable length shining in the sun. The freshness of the day exhilarated her and she danced away from him, whirling giddily.

Spock stood watching her, enchanted, and began to take notice of the way her body moved underneath her soft yellow dress, taken from the wardrobe of the Romulan woman. It fit Christine snugly and her breasts strained against the cloth, swaying without the encumbrance of undergarments, her nipples peaking up in tantalizing relief. The fuller skirt swirled around her bare legs, offering quick glimpses of creamy buttocks and firm thighs.

The fire that simmered almost continually within his blood began to assert itself and he found his body hardening with the growing need that came more and more often now. Its primal drumbeat began to pound in his ears as he watched her supple movements. The heat within him grew to an inferno as he watched, his erection becoming noticeable.

Christine felt Spock's need begin to echo through their bond and she danced closer, her movements becoming more sensual and provocative. Running her hands up her torso, she cupped her breasts and pressed them together, as if offering them to him, then spun away, flinging up her skirt to tease him with a peek at her naked buttocks.

He reached for her, but she eluded him, staying just out of reach. His face had darkened with arousal now and the bulge in his loincloth was very prominent. Gazing at the evidence of his excitement, she paused and almost let herself be caught, then laughed and darted away. He was panting with the increased demands of his body and stopped to strip off his leather tunic, flinging it away without notice. Shirtless, his whole body appeared flushed as he stalked her once again.

She made another feint away from him, then squealed as he lunged and seized her arm, yanking her back against him. Without speaking, he pushed her down onto her hands and knees and dropped to his knees behind her. She didn't fight but surrendered willingly, her own arousal high, her heart pounding in excitement.

Holding her with one hand, he reached down with the other and yanked his loincloth away, freeing the pulsing engorged shaft. He burned with an intensity that only the onset of pon farr could surpass and his organs were beginning to increase in size, swelling as testosterone pumped into his bloodstream at a rate higher than normal. But he didn't analyze it just now. All he could focus on was the eager globes of her buttocks presented to him and the pink, wet portal of her vagina open to receive him.

With a groan, he mounted her, shoving his throbbing erection deep with a single lunge. She gasped at the ecstasy of it, her own body craving his penetration with a hunger that consumed her. Clasping her around the waist, he pounded into her, the compulsion to mate nearly overwhelming him and feeding back to him full force through their bond.

With a cry, he came, pausing only a moment before the urge seized him again and he resumed his furious thrusts. Beneath him, she moaned and panted, pushing her hips up and back to meet him, the rough driving force of his copulation driving her nearly out of her mind with impending climax. She orgasmed but he didn't stop, her emotional overload only serving to spur him onward.

Holding her tight, he pounded her with an almost animal ferocity and she responded with rapturous groans, again building to a peak. This time, they synced together and, when she screamed and went over the top, he slammed into her with incredible strength, his own climax erupting within her for an endless time.

It seemed that way, in any case, but after a long pause, they both seemed to weaken and collapsed on their sides into the bed of flowers. The fire had passed and they lay enervated in the aftermath of the wild sexual interlude.

"I thought for a while that was it," Christine said after a while, spooned into his embrace.

"That it was time."

"No," he assured her, still breathless. "It will not end so quickly. But it will be soon. Before the month is out, I think." He held her close. "We mustn't stray too far from the ship now. It will be difficult if it comes upon us like this."

"I'll keep an eye on you. When you start throwing bowls of soup around, I'll know it's time to go wait for you in bed," she chuckled affectionately.

"I will endeavor not to express my insanity with food," he smiled back and kissed her neck. "Now, let's get out of this flower patch. I'm beginning to itch! And I think these small yellow ones have thorns!"

* * *

The mountain sheep had baked all night and all day buried in the pit of coals covered over with earth. Now it had reached the peak of tenderness and the family had gathered around the exhumed carcass for an outdoor supper of roasted mutton, vegetables cooked to the side of the barbecue pit, and a rough sort of pie Christine had concocted out of dried fruit they had left over from the winter rations and flour she had ground from the grains they had. It was sweetened with honey and to the three of them tasted better than the fanciest gourmet confection available on Terra. In fact, it was the fanciest gourmet confection available on Terra Two.

Afterwards, absolutely sated, they lay back on their blankets around the fire, gazing up into the star strewn night sky, Spock lazily pointing out stars and explaining magnitudes and other astronomical fine points to his son, who snuggled beside him. In the process, Christine began to pick out patterns and form them into constellations, giving them the names of animals or other things.

"You are being highly illogical," Spock informed his wife in a contented voice. "They are simply random formations, nothing more."

"Oh, don't be a party poop," she answered back, smiling. "Vulcans are no fun at all!"

He looked over at her and one eyebrow went up in answer. But he didn't reply to her playful verbal jab. Instead, he was caught by the way she looked in the firelight, the golden radiance outlining her face and figure, accentuating her curves and femininity. It was especially obvious in the way it highlighted the generous globes of her breasts, the laced top she wore allowing a good deal of cleavage to show in the way she was lying on her side, her head propped on one hand.

"Sapel," Spock said in a low, rough voice, "go to bed."

"Huh?" the boy answered, startled by the sudden change in his father. "But I'm not sleepy."

Spock rounded on him in fury. "I said go to bed!" he roared. "I don't want you here!"

He made a move toward his son to physically enforce his order, but Sapel had already scrambled up and away. Christine had started up, too, taken by surprise as well. But at the same time, she felt the fire of Spock's arousal slam into her through their bondlink and her body responded with immediate excitement.

"Go to bed, Sapel!" she echoed, her eyes locked onto her husband's.

Hurrying to obey, the boy disappeared into the ship, Mooch at his heels, and the hatch slid shut behind him. He'd been warned about Spock's lightning mood changes and did not argue, fearing what his father might do in his increasing states of irrationality.

Spock and Christine had already forgotten him, the imminent onset of pon farr thundering through their veins like a firestorm. The full plak tow was still a few days away, but their mutual need to mate was growing stronger and stronger with each passing hour. It took only a spark for it to ignite and now all either could think of was the other.

Spock crawled on his hands and knees over to where his wife lay back on her blanket, awaiting him, and immediately straddled her hips, leaning down to bury his face between her tantalizing breasts. He kissed and ran his tongue over the top of them, his fingers fumbling with the lacings of her blouse, and then pulling it apart when he had it sufficiently undone. Pushing the leather garment aside, he freed one breast and bent to it hungrily, slipping his hand underneath to lift it clear, teasing the taunt nipple with his tongue and lips before sucking the whole rosy tip into his mouth and working it roughly against the roof of his mouth.

Christine groaned and arched against him, burying her fingers in the obsidian wealth of his hair, holding him in place against her. The bond fed her need and she tried to spread her legs more for him. Without releasing her breast, he shifted position so that he knelt between her thighs and not astride them. This allowed her to undulate sensuously beneath him, her pelvis searching for contact with his.

As she writhed, he bared her other breast and switched to it, hardly missing a beat in his suckling and licking. Then he went back and forth between them for several minutes, pushing them hard together to bring her extended nipples closer to each other. At last, backing off to look at her, he felt an increased pulse of excitement at the sight of her blouse pulled open and her generous breasts naked and flushed from his ministrations.

Moving down between her legs, he stripped away her loincloth and spread her thighs apart, breathing in the odor of her womanly scent, her pheromones sending his maleness screaming for fulfillment. His erection ached as it pushed against his own loincloth, already pounding with full engorgement at her nearness. But he lowered his head and drank in her aroma first, then ran his tongue between the folds of her feminine center, tasting her, kissing and sucking at her eager clitoris, bringing himself to a peak of excitement that threatened to explode before he was inside her. She was already there, moaning as the first of her climaxes shuddered through her at his touch.

He didn't prolong the game for more than a few minutes. He couldn't. The need was too insistent, too strong, and he raised up on his knees and yanked the leather strip from between his legs, exposing his pulsating penis to the cool night air. He was so close to orgasm already that pearly beads of pre-ejaculate quivered on the tip of his manhood and the dark olive shaft practically shook with the blood pounding within it.

Without speaking, he dropped between her wide-spread legs and shoved the heated rod fully within her. And climaxed immediately, groaning as the seed ripped from his vitals and erupted into her. Christine clutched him tightly, legs around his hips, nails sunk into the leather of his shirt, nearly biting through to his skin.

The orgasm did nothing to sate him, only took the instant edge off his arousal, and he began to pump into her with vigor, his erection as hard as ever. She relaxed a bit beneath him, but only to settle into the luxurious state of receiving his thrusts fully, the sensation of rapture easily building up again as she felt him beat against her cervix, so deep were his lunges. He too quickly felt the fire within roaring back up to a peak and it didn't take long before he was slamming into her with a ferocity that almost literally knocked the breath from her lungs with every impact of his pelvis against hers.

The simultaneous orgasm that blasted through both of them nearly sent Christine reeling into unconsciousness as her heart accelerated into a hard, rapid beat and her body screamed for oxygen. Her hips pushed up against his shuddering body, fully open to take him as deeply as possible, and she felt the supernova of physical sensation as his body spasmed and spewed his essence into her like a blast of white-hot plasma.

They hung on that knife-edge of complete rapture for a long, long moment, then both relaxed as one, Spock sinking down to lie in her welcoming arms. She embraced him and kissed his sweaty temple, but still he did not pull out of her and she could feel that his penis, although softened, was still firm. She tingled with the aftershocks of orgasm, her body reacting to his continued presence.

"It's not over," he murmured against her brow, his eyes closed in near exhaustion. "I still feel the fire burn through my blood." As if to prove himself correct, she felt him begin to throb inside her as his erection hardened again.

"Do you want to go inside to the bed?" she asked, stroking the dark hair back off his forehead.

"No, I do not wish to withdraw from you," he answered. "I must be inside you. I ... I need..."

He pulsed within her body and she could feel his body begin to heat once more. "Then let me do this one," she said and shoved firmly at his shoulder. Obligingly, he rolled over onto his back, taking her with him, still joined. Straddling him, she shifted into a more comfortable position, a soft moan of contentment issuing from her throat as his rapidly engorging manhood sank deeply into her once again.

His two previous ejaculations seeped out to coat his shaft slickly and it soothed the slightly abraded feel of his hardness so tight within her yet again. Squirming for a few seconds to set herself, Christine paused and rested her palms against his bared chest, then began to rock her hips gently against his. Through their bondlink, she could feel his need begin to flow into her, the beginnings of pon farr igniting a hunger in him that took her as well.

It didn't take long before her tempo picked up and she was riding him with an eagerness that belied the fact of their previous climaxes. He was breathing hard, his eyes locked on hers, the dark depths like the thin black layer on moving lava, hiding the red-hot intensity underneath. He clutched at her bouncing, exposed breasts, massaging and squeezing the nipples, pulling at them and pressing until the near-pain sent her into the next level of excitement. Pulling her forward, he raised his head and awkwardly sucked on the deep rose protrusions, hard enough to make her gasp and increase her thrusts against him.

Releasing her, he lay back, letting his hands slide down to her hips, holding her against him as she reared back, lost in the ecstasy of their growing climax. She massaged her own breasts, then one hand moved down her stomach and two of her fingers slid between the wet, puffy folds of her labia, rubbing vigorously.

The sight caused an explosion of excitement to surge through him and he inserted one finger to move in conjunction with hers. All the elements of orgasm slammed together in stunning culmination - the feel of his finger and hers together massaging her swollen clitoris, his turgid, throbbing penis buried to the hilt in her gripping, hungry depths, the insistent rhythm of their bodies moving as one. With a desperate gasp, he launched himself up beneath her and burst forth in rapturous release once more, his hot thick flood pumping ceaselessly to fill her and flow out of her to coat them both in his slick heat.

This time, both were sated when the rapture abated. He lay enervated beneath her, his arms trembling around her as she lay forward to kiss and embrace him. "I love you," she whispered against his lips.

"I cherish thee more than life," he answered, folding her against his chest and returning her kiss fully. "My beloved..." He opened his eyes to gaze up at her in adoration and, as he did so, something in his peripheral vision caught his attention.

He shifted his gaze to see what it might be ... and sat upright to stare at the heavens, Christine still astride his hips.

Directly overhead, a tiny point of light streaked through the stars like a burning meteorite, but then disappeared in a rainbow-hued flash that was barely visible. Then all was still again.

Spock shoved at Christine's shoulder. "Get off! Let me up!" he ordered in a frantic voice.

She hurriedly moved and he vaulted to his feet, heedless of his half-clothed condition. His complete attention was on the sky overhead.

"A ship!" he whispered, almost to himself. "That was a ship!"

"What?" She scrambled up, searching in vain. "Where?"

"It's gone now," he said, never taking his eyes from the stars.

"Maybe you just saw a shooting star," she suggested.

"No! I know what I saw!" he snapped back. "It was a ship ... going into warp!"

She searched until her eyes ached. "There's nothing there now," she said in despair. "But, oh, Spock! Do you think they'll pick up our signal?"

"I don't know," he answered, then looked down to find his loincloth and quickly step back into it, seating it into place. She did likewise and then closed and relaced her tunic. He was already staring overhead once more.

Then, before she could act, he snatched up his hunting spear that lay nearby, always ready at hand, and darted away into the darkness, bounding up the slope to the top of the hill that towered above them.

"Spock?" she called after him, but he didn't answer and she only heard the fading sound of his footsteps receding into the night.

* * *

Hurt and angry, Sapel marched into his cabin and locked the door behind him. His first impulse was to throw himself onto his bunk and let his bewilderment and wounded feelings out in the form of tears. Then his mood changed and he shook off the feeling of self-pity. Instead, he felt the strength of empowerment begin to settle over him.

Mooch, sensing his emotional state, curled up close and pricked her oversized ears as the boy looked at his pet and spoke to her. "Papa said I'd know when it was time to go. Well, it's time, Moocher. Let's get out of here."

His decision made, Sapel bounced up off the bed and pulled his pack out of the small closet, beginning to stuff it with the things he wanted to take with him on his quest. Much of his survival gear was already stowed in the tiny cave and it didn't take him long to get his things together.

Opening the door to his cabin, he listened cautiously, but there was no sound inside the ship. His parents must still be outside acting like rutty animals. He felt a brief flash of disgust, then forgot it. It was that Vulcan thing making them do it. "Far" something or other. Dismissing it, he went to the galley and helped himself to some dried fruit and venison jerky and hard biscuits, then went back to his quarters to wait. He didn't dare leave the ship just yet. He'd have to wait until Mama and Papa got done outside and came back into their own room. They were sure to close the door tonight and that's when he'd sneak out. He had a hunch they'd be at it all night and wouldn't even be thinking about him.

Nervous now and tense with the enforced wait, Sapel picked up his game padd and settled back against his pillow, busily working through one of his favorite puzzles. He had fallen asleep long before Christine came back inside, checked on him, and then went to bed alone.

* * *

Sapel frowned deeply, watching his mother walk away, disappearing in the direction of the ship. She had sought him out and found him here in his supposed private place. He had informed her that his kahs'wan had begun and she must not come checking on him. This was his test of manhood and he must do it all on his own.

Christine had smiled indulgently and agreed. Then she had left him, contented that he was in a known place with plenty of food and supplies to keep him out of trouble. "It's time for your Papa's test, too," she told him. "I've got to go get ready now. Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"Mama, quit worryin' about me," he answered, a little annoyance showing. "I'm okay! Go away now!"

And she had, glancing back over her shoulder to smile at him. When he could no longer hear her, Sapel sat cross-legged in the mouth of his cave and pulled Mooch into his lap, stroking her russet fur. "She's never gonna let me be, Mooch," he informed the kit. "If she knows where I am, she's gonna be down here checkin' on me six times a day. We gotta find someplace else to hole up so I can really be on my own." He thought a bit more about his dilemma. "But we can't move our stuff. If she comes and sees it all gone, she'll come looking' again. We'll make it look like we're still here, but we're gonna find someplace else."

His decision made, Sapel jumped to his feet, dumping Mooch out of his lap, and went back to get his spear and arrows. He was well-armed and quite comfortable with this world. He was a native, after all, born and raised here. Now, truly his own man for the first time, he felt a freedom settle over him that was like nothing he'd ever known. For the next week, he could do absolutely anything he wanted without mother or father keeping a leash on him, telling him when to eat or sleep, what to do or not.

Supremely confident, Sapel set off to explore, Mooch scampering along at his heels.

* * *

Vaguely Spock was aware of the passage of the sun overhead from east horizon to west. He dimly felt the cool of morning change into the heat of afternoon and then cool again as the sun sank behind the rolling hills. Darkness came but the only thing he could focus on was the fire in his veins, growing slowly but surely in intensity, rolling out of his gut to engulf his entire body.

Overhead, two of the small moons formed a pale yellow duo as they sped across the sky to the west, the third trailing behind, all three of them at first quarter phase. Behind them, in majestic parade, the constellations followed the same path, marching in procession. Among them moved an errant star, tracking against the flow, tiny and deliberate.

Spock never saw any of it. His eyes had rolled back as the plak tow consumed him, a blaze that built into an inferno and grew into a firestorm. When the sun once more sent a spear of fire over the eastern escarpment, the golden ray struck him full in the face, the final trigger he needed to send his need bursting like a solar prominence from his raging core.

Slowly he came to his feet, breathing heavily, the rage of a thousand generations fueling the conflagration within him. He was burning to cinders, the terrible volcanic heat crisping him from inside out. There was only one hope of cooling his fever, only one way to quench the blaze that caused his organs to distend with liquid fire and ache with terrible need.

He had to find her. He had to bury that fire within her cool, soothing depths. Bury it deep, deep into the pools of her ocean and there give vent to the lava flowing within him. Again and again until he was empty and spent and slaked.

His gaze somehow turned from the horizon to the pathway before him, down the hillside to the length of the silver ship far below.

There. She was there. And she hungered for him. He could feel her in his mind, calling to him. She was there at the appointed place. And the time was now!

His breathing harsh and irregular, his heart beating wildly with the fury of plak tow, Spock started down the hill to where his mate lay ready to receive him.

* * *

Christine had spent a long restless night alone in the ship. Her mind kept trying to think about Sapel and if he was safe, but increasingly her thoughts were only for Spock. She could feel his growing arousal and the building heat in his blood, and it set her aflame as well. She had taken a shower, but ended up masturbating furiously as the sensual feel of the water and soap sliding over her skin proved too much to bear. She wanted him! Now!

Her sexual fervor temporarily sated, she dried herself and her hair, brushing it out free, then donned a loose robe over her naked body and padded to the galley to eat something. She wasn't hungry ... at least not for food ... but she made herself take sustenance. Once he came to her, she wouldn't eat again for several days.

While she forced herself to chew and swallow some of the roasted mutton wrapped in a piece of flatbread, she gathered medical supplies that might be needed and took them back to the bedroom. While she didn't think Spock would need anything other than perhaps vitamins following the pon farr, she knew from experience that she would be confined to bed for a couple of days more. The human body wasn't made to withstand the violence and intrusion of a Vulcan mating, but it could be done. She wished that she had a good powerful antibiotic to ward off any possible infection, but that was as unlikely as the Enterprise swooping down and rescuing them.

There were a few medical supplies left in the ship's cabinet, but they were geared for Romulan physiology, not human, and she was afraid to use any of the drugs on herself. Instead, she set out painkillers that were innocuous enough for both species, towels to put between her legs to stanch the bleeding, and ointments for any cuts and scrapes both of them might acquire.

By this time, her body was again building a tension that she could not ignore. The silky robe against her bare skin was stimulating her once more and the familiar feeling of tightness and wet between her legs was asserting itself yet again. Letting the robe fall open, she ran her hands up her torso and over her breasts, relishing the feel of her nipples expanding outward. Falling back onto the bed, Christine fondled and massaged both breasts, pulling and squeezing at her nipples until they were fully erect.

Her eyes shut, she reached out mentally to her mate. She wanted Spock! She wanted to feel his mouth closing over her sensitive nubs, his hot tongue laving and sucking them and making her writhe in ecstasy. She wanted to feel his tongue against her swollen womanhood, too, dragging up the full length of it, parting her labia to taste her within, settling on the throbbing mound hidden in its depths.

Panting, she reached down and slipped her fingers between her legs once more, her thoughts making them Spock's, stroking and probing her, becoming coated with her secretions, finally slipping up inside her as she bucked in ecstasy.

Through their mindbond, she could feel his answering fiery surge of excitement and that spurred her on. *Oh, now, Spock! Come to me!* she pleaded to him.

*Not yet. Soon. So hot ... need you!* he answered deep within her brain. *I burn for thee! I explode with flame!* But the rest of his thoughts were chaotic, visions of infernos and nuclear reactions within the core of stars.

She was forced to relieve herself and it did little good. The need returned with more and more frequency as his own built to a crescendo through the night. She slept naked atop the bed covers, now mussed with her thrashing, awaking often to console herself again and again, pleading with him to come to her, to take her with his fiery maleness, to fulfill them both. Then she would fall into a doze once more, her hand often lying in place between her legs, ready to rub herself to a climax as soon as she was conscious enough.

When dawn came, she was nearly mad with the wanting of him, her need for their physical joining driving her into a wanton, lust-filled animal. And then she knew -- he was coming for her. Now!! Soon he would be atop her, spreading her eager legs, sheathing his rigid, swollen shaft to the hilt within her, pounding into her with all his might. They would join their minds as well, finally ... finally becoming one as their separate flames melded into one towering conflagration.

Sweat sheening her naked body, Christine could barely contain herself, her body throbbing in anticipation, wet and ready for him. Why didn't he hurry?! her writhing torso demanded. She couldn't wait! She needed him in her now!!

Then she heard the hatch to the ship slide open and close and there was the sound of male footsteps coming through the common room.

He had arrived! She scarcely controlled herself from meeting him there, of pushing him down and stripping him and mounting his hard rod without preamble. But her last semblance of sanity kept her in check. She wanted it here, on the bed, where she had squirmed and dreamed of him the entire night.

The footsteps paused outside the door to the bedroom and Christine lay back against the pillows, spread and ready to receive him.

The door slid open and Christine launched herself backwards against the headboard with a scream.

It wasn't Spock.

* * *

Sapel had spent a rather uncomfortable night crouched in the new shelter he had located. It was another crack in the thick limestone about a half mile from his other camp, but this one was tinier, more irregular and his determination to stay there had proved to be ill-conceived. Although he had gathered firewood and kindling, he hadn't been able to get a fire started. He didn't have a firestarter like his parents often used and he didn't know how to find flint and pyrite to strike a spark. He tried to get a spark going by friction, rubbing the point of a straight stick over and over into a flattened piece of wood, primed with plant fuzz, but his arms weren't strong enough to keep the action going. He gave out long before enough heat was generated to set the tinder ablaze.

So he huddled in on himself and hugged Mooch close to him for warmth, finally falling into a fitful sleep.

Birdsong had awakened him at dawn, shivering in the early morning chill. Mooch jumped out of his arms as he stirred and scampered off to take care of her toilet duties. The boy watched her go and felt the need to do so as well. Walking over to a nearby tree, he pushed aside his loincloth and took hold of his penis, directing his flow against the trunk. The urine steamed in the chill air and for a moment he amused himself by playing the yellow stream up and down the wood.

Laughing, he shook himself clean and then, feeling extremely wicked and free, he left his penis exposed for a moment, thrusting it in mock sexuality in the direction of the tree he'd just wet down. Fleetingly, he wondered if his parents were rutting right this minute. He still couldn't fathom actually sticking his penis up inside another person, and besides there wasn't anyone here on this planet but himself, his Papa and ... his Mama. For the briefest of seconds, he envisioned the time he'd seen Papa on top of Mama, shoving his big, hard penis in and out of her, like when he watched the plains stallions rutting the mares. Mama acted like she was in pain, sort of, but she acted like she was really enjoying it, too.

The thought sent a forbidden thrill through him and for a moment he stiffened in response. His hand on his little erection felt very good indeed, but he was still much too young for any sort of completion and, besides, it was still too cool to leave his genitals uncovered. He finally resettled his loin cloth over himself and, in a final defiant, boyish gesture, he turned and shoved his rear end out toward the tree, farting loudly.

That sent him into more peals of laughter and he trotted back to his sleeping place. His parents would have been outraged by his behavior and given him a stern lecture on proper behavior, but at the moment he could do anything he liked. He was free!

Mooch joined him, snuffling around his pack. "You hungry?" Sapel asked her. "Me, too. I just got some jerky in here. I think there's some biscuits back at the other place. You wanna go get some?"

The kit stood on her hind legs and looked up at him, her black nose twitching and her big dark eyes liquid with interest. Sapel slipped on his water pouch, donned his quiver and picked up his bow. His knife stayed strapped to his waist at all times. That was a rule written in stone by his father. Never, ever go unarmed. You never knew when you'd need a weapon.

He planned on only the short hike down to his supply cache, then he'd come back and eat and continue his exploring. As a result, he left his pack and spear inside the little sanctuary where he'd spent the night.

Invigorated by the prospects of the day ahead, Sapel started back in the general direction of the ship, Mooch at his side.

* * *

"Well, well, well," said the man, slapping his phaser against his belt and advancing on the cringing woman. "What have we here?"

"Who are you?" Christine demanded, dragging the bed coverings over her. "What do you want?"

"Don't matter who I am, darlin'," he answered, sauntering toward her. He was large and dirty, shaggy-haired and bearded, and even from where he stood his stench assaulted her. "I kinda thought somebody might be in here, but I never knew it'd be a hot cunt ready to fuck."

She huddled farther away. "Get out!" she demanded.

"Not yet, honey," he replied, his yellow teeth showing through the scruffy beard. "The cunt reek's so strong in here, it smells like a Risan whorehouse at closin' time. And from what I seen when I come in, it looks like you need a cock in the worst way." He moved closer and began to lean toward her. "Open up and let's see what you got. I might need to eat that muff before I fuck it."

He reached for her and Christine scrambled off the bed and away from him, her abject terror screaming through her mindbond for Spock.

* * *

Spock stumbled and fell to his knees with the power of the mental blast that ripped through his brain. He was halfway down the hillside and now he vaulted to his feet and bounded the rest of the way to the base. There he skidded to a halt and held his fever-fueled anger in check, surveying the situation with amazement.

A humanoid man was prowling around the outside of the ship, examining the half-cured hide that Christine had staked and stretched on a frame, kicking at the firepit ashes, picking up and tossing away various tools. The hatch to the ship was open, but Spock could not see if there was anyone else inside. Christine's terror, however, told him that there was at least one more.

The man finally went and peered in. "Raf!" he called. "Whatcha doing in there? Find anything?" He started to step up into the ship and the move triggered Spock into action. The Vulcan's inherent protectiveness coupled with the fury of the plak tow sent him darting forward, his knife already in his fist.

The man heard him at the last possible second and started to turn, grabbing for the phaser at his side, but Spock was already on him, left hand clamped over his mouth and right hand pulling the blade hard across his throat. The man gagged, fought frantically and tried to yell, all to no avail. Spock's iron grip held him immobile, heedless of the dark red blood spurting over his hands and spattering onto his face and hair as the man struggled in panic.

It was over in a minute and Spock unceremoniously dropped the body to the ground, his attention already turned to the ship. A fiery green haze filmed his vision, the coppery smell of blood sending his deeply-buried killing instincts surging to the fore. The civilized, modern-day Vulcan was gone. In his place was a savage pre-Reform warrior meeting invaders who threatened his home and his mate. He hesitated for a split second at the hatch and then only to take a lightning glance around the ship's common room. Then he leaped inside and made straight for the sounds of a fight coming from the main cabin.

* * *

Sapel skidded to a halt and stared in astonishment at the sight before him. A man! A man who wasn't his father! For a long moment, the mere fact that he was seeing another being besides his mother and father kept him motionless and silent. Then he began to notice more details.

The man had been bending over, peering into Sapel's little cave where he kept his cache of food but now he straightened and turned. Only now could the boy see that the man was neither Human nor Vulcan. He was humanoid in shape and features, but his skin was ridged and scaly, textured like pale leather with deeply sunk eyes and bony features on the skull. Black hair was slicked back and his neck looked too long, with long ridges that ran down to the shoulders, topped with scales.

As Sapel watched, a second man with the same features as the first squeezed out of the cave and stood up.

"Some food, tanned furs, other supplies," the second man reported. "It's puzzling, Dix. If the ship is there, why is someone obviously living in this crack?"

The first, taller man shrugged and his dark eyes swept their surroundings, their cold, black glitter chilling Sapel as he crouched motionless behind a covering of bushes.

"It won't matter one way or the other, once we find 'em," he said in a coarse voice. "If they can work, they'll bring a price. Raf and Wilts' checkin' the ship. Let's look around here."

The second man tossed away a handful of something he'd brought out of the cave and only then could Sapel see that it was several of his mother's biscuits that he'd swiped out of the galley on the night he left for his kahs'wan. They were hard and crusty now, but still very edible.

Beside him, Mooch suddenly perked her ears up and her nose twitched furiously at the scent of the food. Before he could stop her, she leaped out of his grasp and rushed to where the biscuits had fallen. Sapel made an instinctive move to follow her, but then crouched back down. The second man had spotted her and was walking toward her.

"Hey, looka this, Dix," he said, laughing. "Need a pet?"

"Leave it alone, Gural," the first man grumbled. "We don't need no more rats on board."

"No, I bet this 'un'd catch rats," Gural answered. "Hey, little guy, you be a rat catcher, huh?" He bent down to pet Mooch as she gnawed away at one of the biscuits."

Without warning, Mooch's ears laid back against her head and, in a lightning move, she had sunk her sharp little teeth full into the man's outstretched hand, hanging on fiercely as he leaped back with a screech, trying frantically to dislodge the small animal. In a ludicrous dance, Gural hopped and spun, shaking his injured hand wildly as he attempted to get rid of the determined kit.

Finally, he slammed the little body against a tree trunk and the shock made her open her jaws. He slung her away, cursing fluently in several languages. "You fuckin' little zi'ha'lat!" he howled, infuriated. The other man, Dix, was laughing uproariously at the scene. "Shut up, you cockfucker!" Gural ground out, holding his badly bitten hand against him. "It's not funny!"

"Catch rats, will it?" Dix guffawed. "Oh, man!"

Gural growled at him, then snatched his phaser off his belt with his left hand. "Fuck off, you sister-rutter!"

He leveled the weapon at the dazed little animal lying in the grass a few feet away and pulled the trigger. The blue beam hit Mooch full in the side and she disappeared in a flash of scorching light, leaving a smoking black spot where she had been.

"Noooooo!!!!" came a high-pitched scream and almost simultaneously an arrow buried itself to the thatching in Gural's left shoulder. The shaft slammed all the way through, the point sticking out of his back.

The wounded man shrieked and went down, dropping his phaser and clutching at the arrow, writhing in pain.

Dix had his phaser in his hand in the same instant, his eyes locking on the small, dark-haired boy who had popped out of the undergrowth and was already fitting another arrow into his bow. He was shaggy haired and clad in skins, his face flushed with rage and grief, his teeth gritted together.

Dix fired wildly but the boy was already gone, disappearing into the forest. Leaving his injured comrade to fend for himself, the pirate spurted after the feral boy, bent on revenge. Plunging into the woods, he honed in on the sound of a body crashing through the bushes somewhere ahead and set out on a course to head him off.

* * *

Christine lashed out with everything she could, kicking, hitting, scratching, attempting to bite or head-butt her assailant, but he was too big, too strong. Despite the punishment he was taking, he managed to drag her back up onto the bed and get her pinned beneath him.

"You a real wildcat, ain'tcha?" he grinned, his chin smeared with blood from a split lip. "Oh, yeah, I'm gonna enjoy fuckin' you! And I'm gonna fuck you every way I can think of ... even if I haveta beat you unconscious and tie you hand and foot." He laughed harshly. "And that might not be a bad idea anyway!"

He managed to get both her wrists stretched over her head, held in one massive hand, then reached the other one down between them to open his pants. She was glaring at him furiously, panting deeply from her exertions and anger, and she could feel his solid erection pressed against her. Growling, she narrowed her eyes and pinned him with a killing gaze. If he got close enough, she'd go for his throat with her teeth. Maybe she could get to the jugular and do some real damage.

"Don't even try it," he ground out, as if reading her mind. He slapped her hard across the face with his free hand. "I'll knock yer fuckin' teeth out if you bite me! Now, get ready for a real fuck, you cocksuckin' bitch!"

Raf kicked her legs farther apart and made to settle between them.

Abruptly, he was yanked bodily off her and flung across the room, where he crashed into the wall and fell, dazed, to the deck. Before he could register what had happened, a green-faced wild man was standing over him, eyes blazing in a ferocious countenance -- a Vulcan with disheveled black hair, his clothes and face dripping with red blood and gore.

"She is MY mate!!!" the Vulcan roared through clenched teeth, his breath rasping in and out stertorously. "Leave here! NOW!!"

Raf's wits came back in a rush and he slammed a boot into the Vulcan's shin, knocking him back. In a split second, the big man was on his feet, phaser in his fist, aiming at Spock. But the blood fever had driven the Vulcan to murderous insanity and he launched himself up with the speed of a jungle cat, striking the pirate with all his might.

The phaser shot went wide and Spock wrenched the phaser out of his hand, slapping it away. With his inhuman strength, he bore Raf to the deck, his steel knife in a white-knuckled grip, going for the throat. But Raf was nearly as strong and caught Spock's wrist, using his own enormous strength to hold him at bay, his other hand gouging at the Vulcan's eyes.

They rolled, grappling in a ferocious contest of wills and power. At last, Raf wound up on top and managed to slam Spock's fist against the bulkhead, again and again until his grip loosened and the knife fell away. With a triumphant cry, the pirate made a lightning move, locking both hands in a death-grip around the Vulcan's throat, squeezing with all his might.

But Spock was oblivious to the pain and constriction. He was fully within the plak tow and could only see a rival male bent on taking his female. Every savage gene in his long ancestry roared up to send his blazing soul into a full-fledged firestorm, a volcanic eruption of white-hot magma blasting forth from the bowels of the earth.

With a strangled bellow that was more animal than sentient being, Spock seized Raf's throat between his own blood-smeared hands and tightened them in a vise-like grip, slowly and inexorably crushing windpipe, esophagus and spinal cord.

Suddenly aware of his peril, Raf let go of Spock's throat and pried futilely at the steely fingers gripping his own. It was to no avail. Spock flipped him over onto his back and straddled the now frantically bucking man. In a final gesture of victory, he abruptly snapped the pirate's neck, ending the fight as quickly as it had begun.

But Spock was barely aware of it. Getting to his feet, his hands still around the dead man's throat, he dragged the body out through the common room to the main hatch. There, with a beast-like howl, he flung it away to land near the body of the other slain man, lying where Spock had left him.

The fever-maddened Vulcan promptly forget them, slapping the close button as he turned away. All that mattered now was his woman, waiting for him to claim her. His nostrils flared at the scent of her sexual odor and he began stripping off his blood-soaked clothes and dropping them as he went, his arousal throbbing up hard and huge in anticipation.

By the time he reached the bedroom, he was naked and enormously erect, his penis pulsing with hunger and need. He paused for a second in the doorway to drink in her scent and take in the delicious scene before him.

Christine was still on the bed, but the combat and her link to her husband had aroused her own sexual excitement back to the peak it had been before. She lay back and spread her legs invitingly, her genitals swollen and dripping with vaginal juices.

He didn't hesitate further. Marching toward her, he climbed onto the bed and quickly positioned himself above her. His erection was nearly thumping against his abdomen and he lost no time in mounting her, jamming his heated organ into the sheath of her sex.

He erupted as soon as he was within her, both of them crying out with the intensity of his ejaculation. He held rigid for a second, then began pumping into her fiercely and at the same time, his hands came up to dig into her face, finding and locking onto her meld points.

With frantic hunger, she opened her mind to him and let him in, for already the head of his growing erection was pounding against the opening of her cervix and soon would thrust its way through, tying them together until the pon farr had run its course. She would not have been able to withstand the pain of it and he quickly took control of her mind, covering her consciousness with the overlying blanket of his own, shielding her from the savagery and violence of the Mating.

*Husband!* she whispered to him, folding herself gladly into his psyche.

*My wife! Beloved! At last!* He twined about her, meshing their souls together. *I have longed for this time, my precious mate!*

In their dream-world, he thrust into her as she rode his hips, a joyous honey-sweet coupling that filled her with the light of his being when he shot into her ethereal body.

*Spock! Oh, I've wanted you so much! How I hungered for you last night!*

*As I did you, beloved! Oh, let me have you once again! My soul is flame! My heart blazes with unquenchable fire for you!!*

Again their mental selves tumbled and joined, kissing, melding together, becoming one, as he filled her with plasma again and again and again.

And in the darkness of the ship's main cabin, day after day, the two united figures shuddered in their tightly locked position, sweat pouring off both of them and soaking the bedclothes beneath, as his wracked body pumped its fiery seed over and over again into the sanctuary of her womb, while the fire in his blood slowly but surely burned down to embers.

* * *

At first Sapel simply ran, crashing through the underbrush, blinded with grief and anger and fear. He had meant to shoot the other man, too, but had been too slow. The strange man had fired his light weapon toward him, just as the other had done at Mooch, and Sapel bolted in terror. He knew that the man was following him now and his only thought was to stay ahead of him, to get away.

Gradually, however, an idea began to form in the boy's mind, one born of vengeance and survival. He didn't know who or what these men were, but he knew instinctively that they were bad. They were here with evil intent and Sapel decided that he had to save his parents as well as himself.

Deliberately, he slowed a bit and made a lot of noise as he shoved his way through the brush. In response, he heard his pursuer pause and then turn in his direction, following the sound. Sapel grinned in satisfaction and continued to alert the man to his continued flight. The man followed him.

After a half hour, though, there was silence behind him and then the sounds seemed to be going the other way. Sapel loped back until he could spot the odd, scaly man working his way back toward the ship.

Sapel snatched up a convenient stone, popped out of the brush and hurled it at the retreating back with all his might. The stone thunked solidly between the man's broad shoulders and he whirled in fury as Sapel howled at him in mockery and then disappeared again.

"You little fucker!" the man ground out. "You wanna play games, huh? Okay - I'll play!"

He turned and charged toward the spot he'd last seen the boy, but there was no one there when he arrived. Beating the underbrush, he didn't see Sapel rise up a literal stone's throw ahead of him and loose another fist-sized chunk of rock. This one glanced off the man's bony head plates and caused him to roar with pain and rage.

"You fuckin' little bastard!" He shot off in Sapel's direction, but the boy was already running, well ahead of him.

Sapel hit a known game trail and increased his speed until he was about a hundred yards in advance, then he hid behind a tree and peered around it. Well behind him, the man burst out of the bushes and onto the trail. There he paused and looked around, trying to spot his prey.

Sapel jumped out onto the trail and screeched at the top of his voice, dancing around in plain view. It was nearly his undoing, for the man whipped out the fire thing in his hand and lightning exploded out of it. A big chunk of wood blasted out of the tree trunk next to Sapel, causing the boy to dive back undercover in genuine surprise and astonishment. He'd have to be careful, he realized. The man could kill him from a distance with his strange weapon.

But the knowledge only served to strengthen Sapel's resolve. He stuck his head up once again and sent the man a resounding raspberry with his tongue. Then laughing hysterically, he once more raced out of sight. With a curse, the man followed at a run.

The forest was beginning to thin out somewhat and the terrain becoming more arid and rocky, dropping down toward the vast expanse of the savannah. Sapel knew where he was and now his senses increased to greater acuity. Pausing for a scarce minute, he listened and heard what he expected to hear.

Without further ado, he picked out a pinono fruit tree that towered over the game trail and shinnied up it with the agility of a monkey. He was high in the branches when Dix, the man chasing him, trotted down the trail, his black eyes searching diligently for his pint-sized tormenter.

Winded, the man stopped and panted. Finally, he said aloud to himself, "Fuck it. Let the little asslicker rot." He started to turn back the way he'd come.

Sapel let a fist-sized green pinono drop directly onto the man's head, nearly knocking him senseless as it impacted with the force of a large rock.

Dix cried out and clutched at his head, then looked up, his eyes searching the foliage. "Still playing games, huh?" he said. "Well, I got you trapped now, you little hen'tig!"

He pointed his phaser up into the tree and took careful aim. But Sapel was already in action. Seizing another of the hard pinono fruits, he drew back and threw it with all his might, not at Dix but over the rim of the little ridge that dipped down just in front of them.

There was an abrupt yip of pain and then that was swallowed up with an outraged chorus of full-throated roars. Dix whipped around in surprise and cried out just as a full-grown marsupial lioness charged over the hill, her ears back flat and her eyes blazing. Behind her a second lioness appeared and then a third.

The man tried to run, but got no more than ten paces before the first predator had tackled him, sinking both dagger-like teeth and long, lethal claws into him, taking him down with her 300 lb. weight. He screamed in pure terror, then the other two lions were on him and the scream was cut short as he was torn apart in their savage fury.

Sapel turned away from the scene, unable to watch the carnage. He had no choice but to listen, however, as the three ferocious beasts fought over the carcass.

The boy closed his eyes and finally tears began to well up and pour down his pale cheeks. He was shaking almost uncontrollably with shock and grief, but clung doggedly to his perch high above the scene of the kill. Long into the night he listened to the lions squabble and feed, knowing he would have to stay up here until they were well gone.

Hugging the thick branch on which he was propped, Sapel wept ... for Mooch, for his own part in the scaly man's death below, for himself and the trauma he had undergone this day which had started as a lark and adventure. He desperately wanted his mother and father, but knew they would not come. He could feel through his inherent link that both were alive and well, but he was shut out of their thoughts, for they were sunk deeply into the Mating now and would not be released from it for several more days.

Shivering with cold, Sapel watched and waited for the lions to leave the area so that he could return home to safety. Grimly, he realized that this truly was his kahs'wan ... his test of manhood and survival.

* * *

With a groan, Gural dragged himself upright, although his head swam from the pain in his shoulder and black spots whirled before his eyes. He rested, allowing the dizziness to fade somewhat. He wasn't sure what day it was. Had one day passed or two? He'd been in and out of consciousness so much that he'd lost track.

The crude arrow was still lodged firmly through his upper torso and it felt as if it had penetrated bone when it had slammed through him. Worse, it had shattered the breastplate communicator in his suit and, without it, he couldn't be located by the ship. Of his three companions, there was no sign. Had they left him here? That didn't seem likely. He functioned as the navigator of their small group and thus was valuable.

He remembered Dix going chasing after the wild little boy who'd shot him, then the fiery pain had taken him down into blackness. It was twilight when he'd next come to, his upper torso swollen and throbbing intensely. Blood had soaked through his shipsuit and left him nauseated by its smell and the agony of movement.

"Dix!" he managed to call, but there was no answer, only a distant grumbling and snarling sound. He'd pulled himself along until he neared the ship they'd come to explore, then he'd recoiled in terror.

Raf and Wilts were both lying dead on the ground outside the grounded ship. Raf's head lolled at an unnatural angle and Wilts had been nearly decapitated by a deep cut across his throat. Worse, some scavenger things were fighting over the bodies, ripping at the cadavers and at each other. The blood-soaked clothing he wore suddenly made him freeze in horror. Thank the Fathers he was downwind or the pack would already be on him.

Carefully, he made his way back to the little cave in the limestone cliff and managed to squeeze himself inside. He'd found his phaser and stuck it back onto his belt, then wedged himself into the relative safety of the cave. There was a homemade spear propped against the back wall and he appropriated this as well.

With the coming of night, more scavengers arrived on the scene and the harrowing sounds of carnage echoed through the blackness. It wasn't long before his own scent was discovered and his cave was besieged by hungry predators trying to get at him. He burned them down until the power pack in his weapon sputtered and died. Then he used the spear to keep them at bay until dawn sent them back into hiding.

He'd passed out or slept then out of sheer exhaustion and weakness. It seemed to be mid-day when next he woke. Cautiously, he drew himself out of the cave and listened. All was quiet, save for faint birdsong and the gentle rush of wind in the tree tops.

Dix had still not returned to find him and Gural has a sinking feeling that he too was dead. Using the spear as a prop, the Cardassian managed to pull himself back to the vicinity of the ship. There was no sign of his two shipmates. Only bits of cloth and metal were scattered around the scene of massacre. One bit of metal caught his eye and he hastily dragged himself toward it. He bent, managing to pick it up with his good hand, and brought it up to eye level.

It was a breast comm, dented with toothmarks, but still seemingly functional. Swallowing to wet his dry throat, Gural pressed the activator and was rewarded with a chirp of opened circuits. "Ulli..." he croaked.

"Ulli here," replied a female voice. "Gural, is that you? Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to contact you for hours! Where's Dix?"

"I think he's dead," the pirate answered hoarsely. "Raf and Wilts, too. Can you lock onto me? I'm hurt. Need med..."

He hadn't finished his sentence before he felt the tingling sensation of a transporter beam engulf him. In seconds, he was standing on the small transporter pad of his ship.

A female Cardassian came from behind the console, her dark eyes wide with horror at his blood-stained clothing and the arrow protruding from his shoulder. "Great Gods! What happened?!"

"We were attacked ... savages down there," Gural murmured and felt the world wheeling about him once again. Ulli caught him underneath his good arm and supported him as she helped him get to his cabin.

"I can't treat this wound," she said, worried. "It's already going septic. I've got to get you to a base site or trade ship that has a proper infirmary."

"Then do it!" Gural snapped, wincing as he settled onto his uninjured side, trying not to jiggle the shaft of the arrow.

"What about Dix?" the woman asked.

"Fuck Dix!" the pirate growled. "He's dead anyway ... or will be. It's too wild down there. There's people but they're maniacs! Completely savage. Let's just get out while we still can."

Ulli fitted a pillow to his back, making him more comfortable. Then she knelt and caressed the bony ridges of his pale face. "You know I never wanted us to fall in with Dix and his cut throats anyway, my love. Look where it's led us. We can make a clean break from here. Start a new life."

Gural closed his eyes for a moment under her soothing touch. Then he looked back at her and said, "We can make plans later, wife. For now, get us underway! I don't know how long I can stand this thing in me!"

She pressed her face plates to his and then whirled and ran to the cockpit, where she sent the little cargo ship out of orbit and streaking away back toward home space.

* * *

*Awaken to me, my beloved,* Spock's voice whispered in the depths of her mind. *You know that I burn even yet for thee.*

In their mental universe, he stroked her lithe body as it twisted in the air, weightless, trailing his fingers down over her breasts, across her stomach and to her thighs.

*I want your mouth on me, s'hy'la,* she whispered back, arched in ecstasy. *Lick me! Suck me! Oh, Spock -- I'm on fire!*

He complied readily, parting her long legs and moving between them to the hidden treasures there. They were wet and glistening with the honeyed flow of arousal and he hungered to savor their sweetness. His hands gently clutching her hips, he bent to taste her succulent folds, teasing his tongue up the velvet valley until he encountered the hot nub of her pleasure. There, he sucked it into his mouth and played the tip of his tongue over and around it, causing her to groan ecstatically.

After a few minutes, though, she sent him a reciprocal thought and he obligingly changed his position, moving his body up to float over hers, his dark head still lowered between her thighs, eagerly lapping her nectar. Above her, his own legs spread slightly apart and she reached to stroke the long, hard shaft of his erection and its attendant full, greenish pouch.

*I cherish thee, husband,* she thought to him in Vulcan. *I find thee beautiful in your manhood. I love to touch thee so.* Her nails raked lightly over the thick flesh and she watched his scrotum draw in slightly in response. Laughing, she pulled his body down to her and fitted her lips to the egg-shaped globes within the wrinkled sac, sucking gently, prodding her tongue against them and wriggling them about.

He moaned and writhed, sending them tumbling slowly. *Thee fills my veins with lava, wife!* he sighed. *I need to be inside thee once more!*

Her laughter rang back to him. *Not yet! Thee must ready my body to take thy lava! I am only half roused!*

He needed no further urging, but bent back to the sweet job he had begun, kissing and laving her with his tongue, delving into her secret places with its tip, tickling those most sensitive of areas until she felt her own blood-fire scream in readiness.

But she was not idle during this. Grasping the provocatively throbbing column of his sex, she brought it to her lips, kissing the burning head and snaking her tongue out to lick away the too eager droplets collecting there, working the tip into the slit to search for more. His entire penis jumped in her grasp as she did so and she was rewarded by a flood of creamy pre-ejaculate. Sucking it down eagerly, she took as much of him into her mouth as she could fit, gently pumping the base of his erection in her fist.

He groaned loudly and she could feel his hot breath panting against her clitoris. *Wife, you undo me! The lava boils within my loins and must erupt NOW!*

He pulled away from her and reversed his position relative to her, an easy aerial maneuver in their weightless state. Now facing her, he seized her buttocks and positioned himself between her widely spread thighs. His penis pulsated visibly, the shiny green head dribbling pre-cum, as he brought his hips up to lodge his penis into the slot of her vagina, thrilling at the sight of his intensively virile manhood penetrating the core of her femininity. Gripping her harder, he slammed in to the hilt, making her arch back with a rapturous sigh, and began pounding into her with all his might.

She reached up to clasp her full, buoyant breasts, rubbing and squeezing them until the rosy nipples stood high and swollen. Training his sight on them, he thrust with increasing fervor as he felt his gut gather for the latest in a seemingly endless series of orgasmic releases. With his mate moaning and writhing, Spock reached the threshold of ecstasy and felt his head spin in vertigo, even as his penis blasted its load of semen into the hot, clutching depths of Christine's hungry body.

And then suddenly his perspective whirled and changed ... and he abruptly found himself lying atop the trembling, sweaty body of his wife, tangled in the sheets of their cabin bed, his fingertips still pressed hard into the meld points of her face, his penis still buried within her, quivering its last reflexive pulses of sperm into her womb.

But something about her had changed. It was a subtle message only his hormones could detect, read through the inflamed skin of his penis embedded within her. It was a chemical change that told his brain no more mating was required. Its purpose was served. Sperm had found ovum and conception was accomplished. Christine was pregnant.

Pon farr was done. The blood fever had cooled. And as a result Spock felt his erection fade for the first time in the long hours of coitus. As the blood flowed back to other parts of his body, he felt incredibly weakened, near collapse, but he first assured that Christine was still within the recesses of the deep mind meld, oblivious to the injuries her body had sustained. He brought her up to a level of sleep and left her there, departing from her mind.

Then, as his penis shrank to normal size and pulled away from her cervix, he shakily withdrew from her body, noting that he was raw and abraded from the hours of intercourse. His genitals were covered with semen and mucous, his blood and hers, but he was too tired to clean himself just yet. At home, there would be an attendant to take care of that, a relative or trusted friend, but here they were on their own.

Christine would need to be attended as well. She was leaking blood from her vagina and would be unable to walk for a few days as she recovered. A Vulcan woman would be stronger, but a human was simply not made to withstand the rigors of pon farr.

Spock settled beside her, beginning to sink into the slumber of utter fatigue. Aching all over, he managed to draw a blanket over their bodies, then surrendered to sleep, his hand spread protectively over her abdomen, covering the new life within her, as yet merely a tiny ball of cells busily dividing again and again and again.

* * *

Spock awoke slowly, his mind still fogged from the aftermaths of pon farr. Beside him, Christine still slept deeply and he took a moment to nuzzle his face against hers, moved beyond words with his love for this woman. She stirred, but did not wake, and he finally forced himself to get up.

His body ached as if he'd been severely beaten and he stank from days of sweaty coupling and the dried fluids that stuck to his genitals and thighs. Stumbling to the bathroom, he closed the door and turned on the shower, allowing the water to run for a moment so that the spray would not be cold. While it ran, he took an inventory of himself ... and was alarmed at what he found.

His body was bruised and scraped in such a way that he appeared to have been in a fight. But how could that be possible? Christine might have reacted to the Mating with an aggressive, sexually charged response, but he didn't think so. There were bruises around his neck as if someone had attempted to strangle him.

He simply did not remember anything between meditating on the hill top and awaking from the plak tow.

Still puzzling over this, Spock stepped into the shower and could not repress a little moan as the hot water hit him. It felt unbelievably wonderful, but he refused to allow himself to simply stand underneath the nozzle. Reaching for the soap, he lathered himself and scrubbed his body clean, paying particular attention to his still painful sexual organs. Then he bent his head underneath the spray and soaped it as well, working the suds thoroughly through his shoulder-length black hair.

Abruptly he pulled his hands away and stared at them. The shampoo lather was pink. With a sinking feeling, Spock pulled a strand of hair through his fingers and watched as accumulated blobs of red dissolved.

It was blood. Human blood.

My Fathers, he wondered to himself. What did I do to her?

Quickly, he rinsed his hair and finished his bath, shutting the water off and stepping out in one fluid motion. Hurriedly drying himself off, he roughly toweled his hair and then used his fingers to pull the tangles out of it. Then, still naked, he returned to the bedroom where his wife slept peacefully amid the rumpled, soiled sheets.

Spock sat on the side of the bed and gently shook her. "Christine, wake up." She moaned and tried to turn away. "T'hy'la, please, I need for you to wake up!"

One bleary blue eye opened to peer at him , then shut again. "Lemme sleep," she muttered. "Tired."

He persisted. "Christine, this is important. I believe that I injured you. I need to examine you for wounds."

Another groan, but she stretched, her eyes still shut, and the action dragged the sheet away from her bare breasts, the rosy nipples peaking up invitingly. Any other time, he would have taken the invitation, but not now. He was drained of all sexual interest following the intensive mating, plus he knew that she had not yet realized how she sore she must be.

Flipping the sheet away, he exposed her body and saw for the first time the bruises covering her thighs and lower torso. There were finger marks on her breasts, too, which must have been his, although he didn't remember grasping her so hard. The sheets beneath her were soaked with blood and her pubic hair was crusted with blood and semen.

But he could see no injuries that might account for his own state. "I need to turn you," he said and maneuvered her onto one side so that he could see her back. Again, there were bruises and her buttocks had a film of bloody mucous from the discharge from her vagina, but again no obvious injuries.

"God, I hurt," she said as the full feeling began to return to her. "Is it over, Spock?"

He allowed her to lie back flat and reached to caress her face. "Yes, t'hy'la, it is over now."

"Am I...?"

He nodded. "You carry our child within you," he said softly. "The plak tow ended as your body chemistry changed."

Her eyes closed and tears leaked out between her lashes, although he couldn't tell if they were from sorrow or joy or simply relief. She reached up and put her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her, and he gathered her for a long moment in his embrace. Then he pulled away and said, "I must tend to you. You need bathing and attention. You are bleeding from the violence of the intercourse."

"I need to pee, too," she said. "Help me to the bathroom. I think I'll be okay for a few minutes and you can change the bed while I'm in there."

He did so, supporting her as he guided her to the toilet, then left her to strip the bloody sheets off the bed and stuff them into the ship's small recycler. He checked on Christine, then came back and drew the cleaned linens from the unit, quickly putting the sheets back on the bed. It took no more than about five minutes and he immediately returned to the bathroom.

He started the shower again then helped her into it. She braced herself so that she could stand and he quickly washed her, cleansing her gently but thoroughly. He didn't wash her hair. It would take longer than her limited strength would endure, then he dried her off and helped her back to bed.

The Romulan woman who had been the mistress of this ship had left a full supply of hygiene and feminine-type products. Although Romulans, like Vulcans, did not experience a monthly cycle the way humans did, she had been a fastidious woman and there were things that resembled absorbent pads. Christine worked one of these between her legs as Spock retrieved a gown for her and helped her slip it over her head.

Then she lay back gratefully and sighed. "I feel better now," she said, then concern covered her face. "Is Sapel all right?"

"He is not here," Spock answered, pulling on fresh clothing from his limited supply.

"Oh, Spock!" Christine exclaimed, starting up. "Haven't you checked on him? Oh, my poor baby!"

"He is alive and well," Spock assured her. "I feel his presence through our bond. In some emotional distress, but I believe he came through his kahs'wan quite well."

"Oh, go and find him, Spock! I can't stand the thought of him being out there any longer!"

"That is exactly my intent," he answered, pulling on his leggings and securing them. "But it was necessary to attend you first."

"Hurry!" she implored him.

Spock was torn between several pressing needs. First and foremost was to locate and bring Sapel home, then feed all three of them. Neither he nor Christine had eaten in several days and his body was demanding food now that the ordeal of pon farr was over. He was sure she felt nearly starved to death.

But also important was discovering what had occurred during the time he was lost in the plak tow, where the blood had come from and why he was so bruised. The bedroom was disarrayed, but that could have been due to the insanity that possessed him. A male in pon farr was often violent and highly emotional. Furniture often suffered from the excesses of his mental state.

Moving out into the common room, Spock saw a trail of clothing stretching across the common room, where he had stripped as he made his way to his wife's bed. That caused an eyebrow to twitch up and he bent to retrieve the dropped leather garments, then froze in horror.

His shirt was stiff with dried blood, practically soaked in it. His knife sheath was lying in the middle of the room, but the knife was missing. He looked around, but did not find it, and that caused his mind to whirl as he turned over all possibilities. He must have battled an animal, he decided. In his furious mental state, he could quite easily have gone one-on-one with a predator.

Bringing the clothing back into the bedroom, his frankly puzzled expression caused Christine to sense something amiss. "Spock? What is it?"

"Something happened while I was in plak tow," he answered. "I don't remember what. But my clothes are covered with blood and so was I when I took my shower. It's not your blood, though."

She shook her head. Her mind, too, had been so filled with the fire of mating that she could only remember that something had been wrong. Something frightful here in this room. Something was here... No, someone...

Abruptly, like a blow, her memory returned and she cried out as tears of fear and shock erupted. "Oh, God, Spock! There was a man here! He tried to rape me and you came and fought and killed him!!" She began to hyperventilate in her terror and Spock instantly dropped the clothing he held and rushed to pull her into his arms.

She cried hysterically for several minutes, clutching at him while he sent soothing thoughts through their bond. But, truth be told, he was immensely shaken himself. Snatches of memory filtered back to him as well, mere threads and flashes that he had thought must have been fever delirium. Now he recognized them as true memory and he felt panic stealing over him as well.

Ruthlessly, though, he crushed the fear. "It is all right now, t'hy'la," he told her firmly and his strength anchored her, bringing her back down. "I must go and find Sapel. I will voice lock the ship's hatch so that nothing can harm you while I am gone." He drew back and wiped her tears away with his fingertips, holding her gaze with his calm, steady eyes. "Do not attempt to get out of bed. You are quite weak and may injure yourself if you do. Am I understood?"

She nodded, still sniffing. "Just find him, Spock," she answered imploringly. "I want us all together again!"

"I will return shortly," he promised.

As he rose from the bed, something caught his eyes. A silvery object was lying nearly out of sight near the dresser unit and he picked it up, both his brows shooting up in surprise.

It was a phaser, an older model Starfleet issue hand weapon. Checking the setting, he noted that it was fully charged. He brought it back to his wife. "Keep this with you. It will make you feel safer."

Christine turned the weapon over in her hands. As a Starfleet officer, she'd been fully trained in phaser use, but hadn't shot one since her commissioning. Medical personnel seldom needed to. But now she was grateful to have it. "What about you?" she asked. "Would it be better if you had it?"

"Perhaps, but I wish you to feel protected while I am gone." He held her gaze again for a moment, then kissed her softly. "I will return as soon as I can."

With that, he was gone and after a moment, Christine heard the hatch open and close again. And even from the bedroom, she could hear the magnetic lock seal.

* * *

Once outside the ship, Spock found himself frozen in place, surveying their living area in horror. It was obvious that some terrible form of carnage had occurred here, for the ground was soaked with blood and buzzing with tiny flying insects sucking the precious fluid from the soil. Bits of shredded clothing were littered about, but there was no sign of any bodies. Scavengers had thoroughly scoured every scrap of bone and flesh.

Chilled by the sight, Spock took a cautious step forward, his senses alert for any signs of danger, but the only sounds were the light breeze in the treetops and birdsong. Going farther, his eyes searched the area. A few bright bits of metal glinted in the sunlight and he identified a belt clasp, the snap off a pocket flap, and the mangled circuits of a breast communicator. Then he saw something that made his heart leap and he rushed to retrieve it.

There was another phaser lying half buried beneath a bush. Like the one he'd found on the ship, it was an old issue Starfleet model and, again, it was fully charged. It was also splattered with dried blood and Spock wondered if it were he who had been the spiller of that blood or some animal. He had a sinking feeling that he knew the answer.

Nevertheless, he stuck of against his belt, a growing sense of unease quickening his pace as he hurried in the direction of Sapel's little cave. He could still sense his son through their mental link, but he didn't know where he was. The boy was in some distress, but it didn't seem life threatening.

As Spock neared the area of the cave, he slowed and then paused to survey the area. Again there were signs of a struggle and there was blood on the ground, but it was unclear to whom or what it belonged. The blood was reddish, but that meant nothing. Sapel had red blood but so did the fauna of this planet. And, if the area around the ship was any indication, it was highly likely that the invaders had been human or humanoid. Iron-based blood was quite common in this area of the galaxy and the vulcanoid species with copper-based systems were in the minority.

There was no sign of the boy or his pet anywhere near the cave where he should have been. Spock visually searched the entire area, then called loudly, "Sapel!!"

There was no answer and he tried again, shaping his hands around his mouth to act as a megaphone. "Sa-PEL!!!"

Again only silence greeted him and Spock began to feel a note of panic building within him. He forced it down and tried something different. Closing his eyes for a few seconds, he concentrated on the mental link with his son and sent, *SAPEL!!*

*Papa!!* came back the startled reply.

Relief washed over Spock like a cold wave. He concentrated once more to broadcast clearly. Vulcans were touch telepaths and it was difficult to do a free sending like this. *Where?* he managed.

A picture came back to his mind, one he recognized as the territory of the marsupial lions. Worried once again, Spock send an order that Sapel stay where he was and then he set off in that direction in a long lope that ate the distance between the two locations.

Near to his destination, Spock slowed to a walk and again his senses tuned themselves to any danger. Almost without thinking, his hand went to the phaser at his hip and he brought it up, ready to fire. It felt both very natural and a bit strange to be holding a modern weapon once more, but at the moment finding Sapel was foremost on his mind.

Creeping along the game trail, Spock moved silently, as quiet as the animals he was hoping to avoid. As he came into a clearing, Sapel's voice suddenly called, "Papa!"

Spock looked up and spotted his son high in the branches of a pinono tree. Before he could speak, though, Sapel cried, "Lions!!"

Spock saw them at almost the same instant, two big lionesses and a half-grown one coming over the hill toward him, heads down and ears flattened. He didn't hesitate, but jerked the phaser up and fired. The beam exploded the dirt directly in front of the predators and the three gave almost simultaneous squalls of surprise and disappeared back the way they had come.

Spock waited a moment to be sure they were gone, then approached the tree. "It's all right, Sapel. You can come down now."

Shakily, the boy descended until he was just above his father's head, then let go and dropped into Spock's strong arms. "Papa!!" he exclaimed and his face crumpled as he threw his arms around his father's neck. "Papa ... Papa..." was all he could say for a few minutes amid his deep sobs.

Spock held him close. "Are you all right? Have you been hurt?"

"I'm ... okay," the boy sniffed, then broke out in a fresh bout of weeping. "But Mooch!! Oh, Papa, they killed her!!"

"Who killed her?" Spock pressed gently.

"Men! Bad men!"

"How many?"

"Two."

"Where are they?" the Vulcan insisted, needing to know if the invaders were still here. "What happened to them?"

Sapel drew back from his father's shoulder and wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand. "I shot one of them ... with an arrow ... and then the other one ... he chased me down here ... and I climbed the tree ... and the lions got him."

"Did they kill him? Are you sure?"

Sapel nodded. "Three days ago. I been up the tree ever since. I couldn't get down because the lions were still here."

Spock hugged his young son close. "I didn't see anyone else around. I'll get you back to Mama and then I'll search to see if there are any others still here."

Sapel didn't want to get down and Spock was disinclined to force him to. With the boy's legs wrapped around his waist and his arms around his neck, Spock carried Sapel back up the trail to the vicinity of the ship, all the while keeping his eyes and ears open for danger.

"Papa? I'm hungry," Sapel murmured, his head on his father's shoulder, fast-approaching sleep evident in his voice.

"Did you eat anything during your kahs'wan?" Spock answered softly.

"Some jerky the other day, then all there was was some pinono fruit," the boy replied. "Most of it was green but there were a few left over from last year. They were pretty bad."

"I can imagine," his father said. "I will feed all of us when we get home."

Sapel didn't say any more, but his grip slackened and his head lay heavily against Spock's neck. His exhaustion had caught up with him and he slept.

At the edge of the clearing, Spock paused and thoroughly looked and listened for any sign of danger, but there were none. He crossed to the hatch and spoke the voice command, only feeling safe once he had his son inside and the door closed and locked behind him.

"Spock?" Christine's voice drifted anxiously from the main cabin.

"Yes," he called and Sapel stirred, wakened by the voices.

The tall Vulcan strode through the common room and into the room where his wife lay still in bed. But she started up, tears springing into her eyes, at the sight of her child. "Sapel!"

"Mama!"

The boy wriggled down and ran into this mother's arms, both of them heedless of his filthy condition. Spock watched the reunion for a moment as Christine and Sapel chattered and wept, paying no attention to anything the other was saying. After a moment, Spock turned away and headed for the galley. He was starved and exhausted, still barely recovered from the pon farr and he hoped that he could find enough for all of them to appease their raging hunger.

* * *

It had been over a week. Spock had forbidden Christine and Sapel to leave the ship while he thoroughly scoured the countryside for any sign of the intruders who had so threatened their lives. He had gone back to the lion's territory and searched, finding the dead man's blaster, which was of a configuration Spock had never seen before, and some detritus from his clothing.

At Sapel's cave, he found more blood and signs that a number of creatures had either died or been wounded here, all falling prey to the predators and scavengers that roamed the area. Nothing went to waste in this wilderness and there were only the vaguest hints that anything had ever lived here. Inside the little cave, though, Spock located a spent blaster much like the other one and a dead power pack. The man here didn't give up without a fight. He presumed this had been the one Sapel had shot. The boy's bow - broken - was lying nearby in the bushes.

Of Mooch, he could find no sign. From Sapel's description, he hadn't expected to, for he was sure that the pirate had shot her with his weapon set on full-charge kill. He doubted she would have felt anything. That, at least, was a small consolation, although it did not ease the heartache of his son or wife, both of whom desperately missed the little animal. Deep inside, Spock sympathized more than he could say. He too had lost his beloved pet, i'Chaya, on his own kahs'wan and had never found any other creature that could quite take the sehlat's place.

Now, ten days later, Spock had finally conceded that the pirates were truly gone but, like a man who has had his house burglarized, he remained watchful and fearful of their return. Where the invaders had struck once, they were likely to hit again. He finally allowed his wife and child to venture out, but kept them in the vicinity of the ship. He wanted them where he could keep an eye on them and close to cover, should danger return.

Spock himself took up a guard post on the hill above the ship, near the same spot where he had meditated during his pon farr. From here he could see the valley and hopefully spot anyone who might approach. He knew, of course, that should the freebooters return, they were likely to appear in larger numbers and materialize aboard the little ship before anyone knew what was happening.

It made him nervous and all the more concerned. He had sat here on the hillside for four days now, forcing himself to forego sleep, eating only sparsely, alert to anything. Coming on the heels of the rigors of pon farr, Spock was riding dangerously near his breaking point.

Christine was intensely aware of this as she climbed up the hillside to where her gaunt husband sat, his eyes bloodshot and rimmed with green, his face ashen despite the deep bronzed hue from constant exposure to the sun. He was sitting with his forearms folded across his upraised knees, his face expressionless, his eyes almost glazed with fatigue, but at her approach he snapped alert and his brows bunched together a little more.

"Christine!" he said in a hoarse voice. "You shouldn't be up here. You are not recovered."

"I'm fine, Spock," she answered and sat down beside him. "I'm still a little sore, but I'm rested and ready to go again." She gazed at him intently. "You, however, are about to collapse! You haven't had any rest at all since this whole thing started!"

"I cannot rest," he answered bleakly, letting his gaze roam back to the expanse stretching out before him. "If they should return--"

"You'd be too exhausted to do anything," Christine stated. "Spock, you're killing yourself by degrees up here and there would be very little you could do if they did come back." She slipped her arm through his and snuggled closer to him, shocked for a second at the degree of fear she felt emanating from his psyche. Then she reached to caress his unshaven face and turned him to look at her. "Darling, I'm frightened, too. It's logical that you feel this way. But it's not logical to react to that fear by self-defeating actions."

Spock quirked up a brow in response, but some of the old mischief began to show in his dark eyes once more. "Indeed, wife?" he answered.

Christine couldn't repress a smile. "Don't you remember what I told you a long time ago? The reason we're on this planet is because the Romulans wanted us dead." Her blue eyes hardened with determination. "I will not oblige them by dying ... and neither will you! We've got a child who needs us and another one on the way. And I will not, I repeat not, lose this one! We've got things to do and plans to make!"

Feeling his heart overflow, Spock put his arm around his wife and hugged her to him. "You are indomitable!" he answered. "Are you certain you do not have the spirit of the Vulcan Mothers within your katra?"

"Nope, but I do have the blood of pioneer women in my veins," Christine replied, thrilling to the feel of her husband's arms once again. "When my ancestors moved into the Ohio River valley, it was virgin wilderness. And when their descendants emigrated to Martian Colony One, it was nothing more than a few pressure domes on a rock plain. And when the first settlers went on out into the stars in the first primitive warp vessels, my ancestors were there, too."

She pulled back and gazed into the depths of Spock's dark brown eyes. "Someday there will be settlers on this planet, too. Federation settlers. And we'll have been here first. Hell, we may even be here to meet them!"

There was such fierce determination in her face that Spock was hard-pressed not to allow a laugh of joy to erupt. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed her, then drew back, a little smile playing on his lips. "I believe that we shall, my wife. I truly believe that we shall."

"Then don't sit up here and starve to death," she responded. "I've got supper ready. Come and eat." She got up and tugged on his hand. Dutifully, he rose to his feet, surprised to find that he swayed a little from exhaustion. "And after you eat," Christine continued, "you're going straight to bed!"

"Yes, my wife," he answered with a hint of amusement in his voice as they started down the hillside.

Spock couldn't help glancing around one more time, checking that all was as it should be, then followed Christine down to the little Romulan ship lying below. He still had many issues to consider -- whether they should stay or go, the men he had apparently killed in the fury of his plak tow, the trauma his wife and son had endured, where the future led -- but Christine's logic was inarguable. He wouldn't solve it by killing himself the way he had been.

His wife turned and held out her hand to him and he gratefully took it in his. Her energy and spirit flowed into him through their bond and they turned to face that future together.

END OF PART SIX