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 SEVEN

"BEGIN AGAIN"

The lull in the storm came so suddenly that they were all taken by surprise. Sapel looked up at the logs of the ceiling, which a moment before had been threatening to fly off, and asked, "Is it over?"

"No," Christine answered, hugging her two smallest children against her. "No ... it's the eye. It's passing over us."

"What eye?" ventured T'Jenn, huddling in her mother's arms. Her baby sister, T'Kai, was fast asleep, milky drool trickling down her chin from her position against Christine's bared breast.

"The eye of the storm," the woman answered, listening to the unnatural quiet.

Her middle child stirred and got down, going over to press against the sturdy thigh of her tall, dark-haired father. "Can it see us in here, Papa?" she whispered timorously.

Spock bent and picked her up, cradling the five-year-old in his arms as she clung to his neck. "No, t'cha'i," he replied softly in his deep baritone. "It's not an actual eye. It is simply called that. A hurricane swirls around a center point and it makes a calm spot where the wind doesn't blow. It will only last a few minutes, though, and then the wind will come back harder than ever."

His daughter buried her face in the long black thicket of his hair. "I don't want it to, Papa!" she whined, her muffled voice frightened. "I'm afraid!"

Spock patted her back gently. "We are safe here in our home, T'Jenn. The wind cannot reach us here."

"But I want it to be over!" she responded, still muffled.

"It will be," he assured her, "but not for a few hours yet. By morning it will have passed."

The child made another frightened moan, but seemed content to stay within the protection of her father's strong arms.

"Can we go out and see what it looks like, Papa?" asked Sapel, intrigued by the weather phenomenon.

"No, that would not be wise," Spock replied. "The eyewall will return suddenly and you might be caught outside. It is best to stay within sanctuary."

"Aww, I'll be careful!" his eleven-year-old son protested.

"No!" Spock said firmly.

Sapel subsided. Despite his show of bravura, he was intensely frightened, too. He vaguely remembered another storm like this at their sea side home but he couldn't quite remember when. And then it came to him.

There had been a storm of this magnitude on an early summer night five years before, when his mother had labored in the dark cabin to expel her newborn infant from her protesting body ... and had very nearly died in the process.

* * *

Spock felt himself explode with rage as he watched the other man working away atop his wife. Christine lay passively beneath the stocky human, a smile on her lips as she looked up into his sweating face, then she casually turned her head to gaze at Spock.

"Well?" she said. "Am I yours or his?" The human looked his way as well and laughed.

The Vulcan roared as the burning in his blood became a firestorm and he surged forward in fury, his knife already in his hand. He fell on both of them, the razor-sharp hunting blade sinking again and again into flesh and bone, splattering red gore, heedless of whether it was male or female. Blood flew and drenched him, and then he dragged the man off his mate, taking him onto the floor beside the bed, the knife once more sinking repeatedly into the flailing body.

With a final howl of vengeance, Spock plunged the knife deep into the man's throat, grinding it against sinew and cartilage until the human invader moved no more, a red tide pouring from the gaping wound across his throat.

Spock dipped both hands in the draining lifeblood and rose, turning to the naked woman who still lay waiting before him. Climbing between her spread thighs, he smeared the blood up over her breasts, up her throat and finally over her face. Then he set himself and plunged into her, slamming into her hard and deep, bruising her. Sinking his gory hands into her thick blonde hair, he gripped so tightly that tears formed in her eyes but she did not waver her cool, steadfast gaze locked onto his fevered one. More incensed than ever, he pounded into her brutally, feeling his orgasm near.

As at last he felt his gut release, he ground out, "Mine!" and, with the first explosion of semen into her depths, bent his head and sank his teeth into her jugular, feeling her blood spurt hot into his throat--

With a cry of alarm, Spock bolted awake, sweat rolling off his naked body and soaking the sheets clinging to him. Beside him, Christine started awake as well.

"Spock?" she asked blearily, still in the grip of interrupted deep sleep. "What's wrong?"

He sat up, burying his face in shaking hands. "Nightmare," he mumbled, still trembling. "Another ... another nightmare."

Christine sat up as well, slipping her arm around his back. "The same one?"

"More or less," he answered, getting control of himself. "The man ... one of the men I killed ... raping you..." His voice broke and he took a moment to gather himself. "All the blood. I was reveling in it ... and in hurting you. It wasn't your fault! Why am I dreaming this?"

Pulling him closer, Christine leaned her head against his. "Sweetheart, dreams are very deep and complicated manifestations of the subconscious. Don't worry about it right now. I'm not making light of this but it's the middle of the night and I'm too brain-fuzzed to talk." She yawned hugely. "Lie back down and try to go back to sleep. It will be all right. We'll work this out in the morning."

Still troubled, Spock settled back against his pillow, comforted as Christine took him in her arms and cuddled him against her warm, soft body. He slid an arm across her waist and pulled her closer. "I am sorry I woke you with this," he said quietly.

She stroked his hair, soothing him as if he were a child. "Shhhh... Sleep now, love."

Spock closed his eyes and released a long, deep sigh against her neck. But he did not sleep, although her even breathing told him that she did. He lay quietly for two more hours then could not stay still any longer. Rising and quietly dressing, he took up his hunting spear and left the ship.

Dawn found him on his favorite perch on the hillside above the ship, his fingers steepled before him in meditation. This must be solved ... today. He could no longer go on with the conflicts in his soul and the violent dreams ripping him apart at night. An answer must be found ... and found before he slept again.

* * *

As the midday sun beat down upon him, here on the crest of his hill, Spock closed his eyes and turned his face up to the welcomed warmth. It was high summer here on the savannahs, a time of sweltering temperatures, no rain, and a west wind that sucked any moisture out of the ground. Spock reveled in it. If he let his mind drift, he could almost imagine himself back on Vulcan, with its soothing heat and dry desert air.

He sighed and opened his eyes again, turning his gaze out over the endless yellow plains that stretched away to the east, dotted by thorn trees. The brilliance of the sun caused his inner nictating membranes to slide into place, damping down the glare and sharpening his vision. Far away, a dust devil spiraled and danced through the heat shimmer of the afternoon, one of the few things moving at this time of day. There was a general lethargy that lay on the land during the heat of the afternoon and he was again minded of Vulcan and the rest periods in late day, when all things sought the shade and waited the coming of evening.

Spock did not do so here. It was never as hot on Terra Two as the summers reached on his home world. The red-orange glare of Lashark ... of Eridani ... could kill even those acclimated to it. Nothing moved during the peak of the afternoon heat on Vulcan. Nothing.

Not so here. Away in the distance, Spock could see legions of animals grazing ... bovine-like beasts in vast herds, thousands of the little mesohippus-type horses, their gold and brown coats disappearing against the buff-colored grass. Horned deer-like animals in all sizes and with fantastic arrays of antlers crowing their heads. Occasionally the elephant-sized tree-browsers like prehistoric ground sloths, placidly rearing up to strip the leaves from the ubiquitous thorn trees.

A menagerie enormous enough that Spock could have kept his family fed forever ... were it not for the multitudes of predators that were there also. A hunting party, a village, could have hunted successfully there, but not one man, one pregnant woman and a small boy.

There were simply too many carnivores on those plains to make it feasible. They ranged from the fierce lions, down through several species of progressively smaller "cats", two or three varieties of canids, and raptor-like birds that were big enough to carry off a calf ... or a six-year-old boy. There were ground-dwelling birds, too, nine feet tall when they stood to their full height, that more closely resembled bipedal dinosaurs than avians. They were flightless, but possessed of incredible speed and vicious claws that could rip out the belly of an animal before it could register its attacker's presence.

The rivers and waterways weren't safe either, for they were home to twenty-foot reptiles that lay submerged and watchful of prey. Spock had seen the crocodile-like animals completely dismember a buffalo within minutes, then sink back down to digest their meal and await the next one.

No, the savannahs of this planet were entirely too dangerous for three people to venture onto them. The game there was tempting, but Spock had no desire to risk all for the sake of a fat buck. He would keep his family here in the rocky hills where game was a bit more scarce, but so were the predators.

And then there were those other predators. His sense of personal safety violated by the pirates' invasion, Spock worried ceaselessly about his wife and child. He had very nearly lost his family and they had all been fortunate that only four had beamed down to investigate the site. He knew without a doubt what had drawn them -- the distress signal that had been broadcasting all those years, set off by Sapel in his baby's innocence.

Were there others out there, homing in on the signal wave spreading out through space? When they arrived, as they surely would eventually, would they be Romulans or more slavers? Spock worried further that two of the pirates were not from races he recognized. The ones that he had killed were both human but they were well outside of Federation territory and undoubtedly owed allegiance to no government or authority other than themselves. But the ones Sapel described sounded almost reptilian. The only space-faring reptiloid race Spock could think of were the Gorn, and these invaders sounded almost human in configuration.

He shook his head, the light breeze teasing his long black hair across his face. It had escaped the thong that normally kept it tied back into a tail falling in an inky cascade down his back, but the wind had loosed it. He absently tucked it back behind one pointed ear, too deep in thought to bother with the errant strands.

The dilemma that had been triggering his nightmares and which had set him here on this hillside since dawn boiled down to one of safety versus comfort. They had grown very content in the ship, taking for granted hot water and security behind metal walls and living again with the little amenities of 23rd century life. Spock had quickly appreciated the comfort of making love to his wife in a real bed, wrapped in soft sheets instead of coarse furs, feeling a mattress give slightly beneath him rather than the unyielding floor of a rocky cave.

Christine had been happier than he'd seen her in a long while, as well. It pleased him to hear her humming to herself as she prepared their meals on a galley stove rather than over an open fire, or to see her beauty brought out by a robe of Romulan silk rather than leather clothing from skins she had tanned herself. And Sapel had quickly taken to the delights of the computer's databank of knowledge and games. He could hardly bear to leave the world he had found in its tapes and disks.

Could he take them all away from that? Spock pondered, staring resolutely across the expanse of terrain before him. It was a very unpleasant world out there, full of dangers and death. Christine was beginning to feel the early effects of her pregnancy. It would be hard on her if she were forced to travel at a time when she was nauseated and fatigued, her body grappling with the demands of a part-alien fetus developing within her. She needed the quiet of their bedroom when morning sickness overcame her and she lay like one dead, willing her rebellious stomach to settle.

Sapel was struggling, too, with the aftermaths of his kahs'wan and the loss of his beloved pet. Mooch had been a cherished companion and to see her life ended so brutally would have been hard on an adult, let alone a child. It was a harsh lesson in growing up and Spock regretted that his son was forced to face it so young.

And he himself was haunted by the two murders he had committed in the madness of his pon farr. Never mind that the men were bent on capturing all of them and that Spock had saved them from the slave pens of the rim worlds; he had killed in fury and insanity. He too needed time and solitude to work through his own trauma. Could he turn his back on this little haven in the wilderness? They had all felt safe here and he baulked at setting off once more into the unknown.

But Spock knew he was lying to himself, even as he mulled over those thoughts. They weren't safe here. Not anymore. They had been found by the very people he had feared and something deep within his soul convinced Spock that they had to get away from here ... quickly and forever. No matter what it took. They had to get away.

* * *

Christine raised her head blearily from the pillow as Spock strode into their cabin and began to pull their few belongings from the room's storage locker. She had been lying here most of the day as her morning sickness stretched into the afternoon, refusing to completely go away. Sapel was playing quietly in his room and Christine had been enjoying the restful quiet until now.

"Spock? What are you looking for?" she asked, puzzled by her husband's atypical behavior.

"Nothing," he answered cryptically, allowing their clothing to form a pile on the floor.

She sat up, still holding a cool, wet cloth to her forehead. "Then what are you doing?"

"Packing. We are leaving here."

"What?!"

"I said--"

"I heard you. What's going on?"

He emptied the closet and moved to their dresser drawers without answering. Exasperated, Christine got up and went to him, catching his arm.

The agitation and fear that washed over her made her gasp and fall back in alarm, momentarily forgetting the nausea she had been experiencing. "What...?" she whispered, her eyes wide with terror.

Spock halted his actions and turned to her, feeling her own emotions sweep back at him through their link and at last forced himself to take control.

"I have meditated this entire day," he said, his deep brown eyes intent on her face. "Throughout it all, one conclusion kept leaping out at me. I cannot say whether my Ancestors are speaking to me on this matter or if it is what you would deem 'intuition'." He paused for a second, half expecting her to remark on his choice of words, but she remained silent, her gaze fixed on his face.

Continuing, he said, "Christine, everything within me says to leave this place. To get away. I cannot pinpoint the danger except to say that I fear your attackers will return, this time in force. What I am feeling is akin to panic. Perhaps it is an irrational fear--"

"No, Spock," she answered, her face paler than before. "One thing I have learned in my life is that, if your instinct is telling you to be afraid of something, you should listen to it. There's a difference between courage and foolhardiness. More people have been killed because they ignored their instincts than those who faced down legitimate fear."

One eyebrow quirked a bit and a little smile lifted the corners of his lips. "You are a philosopher," he answered.

"Maybe. What do you need me to do?"

He reached up to trail his fingertips along her cheek. "First, how are you feeling?"

Christine shrugged. "Like I need to puke most of the time, but I'll do what I have to do."

"I am sorry I cannot allow you to rest in a quiet bed," he replied, genuine regret in his voice. "I know your pregnancy is subjecting you to unpleasant side effects."

His wife shrugged again. "Kaiidth," she said in Vulcan. "No use crying over what can't be avoided." She looked up and sighed. "What do you want me to do?"

Spock stroked her hair and bent to kiss her lightly on the lips. "Get Sapel and the two of you pack as much as you can carry. I will be doing the same. If there is anything at all that you simply cannot bear to leave behind, then work it in. But remember... Once we leave here, we will not return. Ever."

"Understood." He started to turn away but again she caught his arm. "Spock? Where will we go?"

He again looked thoughtful. "Sea Home," h e said. "My ... 'instincts' tell me to go to the sea."

He saw a flash of fear go over her face. "You know what Sea Home is like in the summer," she answered. "The insects and the ... sea monsters, I guess you'd call them."

"It will be autumn by the time we get there," Spock replied. "I don't believe the insects will be a problem. As for the so-called sea monsters, I think they prey primarily on the sea mammals that come to our beach in the spring. If we are cautious, we should have no problems with them."

Christine nodded and looked down at the floor for a moment, remembering the near fatal incident when one of the plesiosaur-like sea creatures had nearly snared Sapel. "I hope you're right, Spock." Tears formed unbidden and she suddenly felt very weary. Sinking into her husband's strong arms, she laid her head against his chest. "I'm so tired of moving, moving, moving. I wish we could find one spot and stay there."

"So do I, beloved," he whispered back. "So do I." He held her for a moment more then pushed her gently away. "Now, we must hurry. I want to be away from here by first light."

* * *

His growing sense of urgency driving him, Spock had them away from the ship by the time the eastern sky had begun to grow dim. Sapel shed tears of fear and bewilderment, but shouldered his little pack and marched dutifully beside his mother. He understood all too well why they must leave, his memory vivid with the trauma of the events of just a month before. Moreover, he could feel his father's emotional state seeping through their familial bond. And it was also here that he had lost Mooch, something he could only barely stand to think about. He hated this place passionately and was almost happy to leave it.

Christine had packed as much of the medical supplies and easily transported foods as she could squeeze into her backpack. The little feminine luxuries had been foregone easily, although she did find room for one particularly lovely blue gown, light and soft as spider silk. Spock had liked to see her wearing it, but she was taking it for another purpose ... at least ultimately. It would serve as a warm, delicate wrap for the new baby, much softer than anything she could manufacture out of pelts.

Her morning sickness grappled with her constantly but she fought it down with a determination akin to Vulcan stoicism and forged on through the growing dawn. She almost blindly followed in Spock's footsteps, trusting in his better night sight to guide them. It wasn't light enough just yet to allow her to see their surroundings well.

And Spock led them south along the easiest route he could find while still maintaining some speed. They were still in territory they knew and, as the sun peeked above the horizon, she realized where he was taking them. It was a small grotto in the hills, a place where a spring seeped out of the limestone and flowed down to a water hole. There was some danger from animals coming to drink, but enough shelter that they would be safe.

Here Spock stopped and shrugged out of his heavy pack. Christine and Sapel gratefully did the same, Christine sinking down to lean against hers and close her eyes, working to quell her queasy stomach.

"T'hy'la?" Spock asked, bending over her.

"I'm all right. Just give me a minute," she answered.

He nodded and reached to pull one of the phasers out of his own backpack, sticking it in his belt. "Rest here a while," he said, straightening. "I won't be gone long."

That made her look up at him. "Gone? Where?"

"Back to the ship," he responded, his face grim. "I have sometime I need to do there. I shall be back shortly."

With that he turned and strode away, back in the direction they had come, his long-legged gait taking him quickly out of their sight.

* * *

There was a palpable air of desertion around the area of the crashed Romulan ship. Nevertheless, Spock's sense of unease made him pause at the end of the clearing, watching and listening for any sign at all of danger. He had seldom felt such an overwhelming feeling of apprehension and he was more nervous than he could find logical reason for being. But something urged him to hurry, to do what he had come to do and then to get away, back to his family.

At last, he darted forward, across the cleared living area and up into the open hatch. There he paused again, but the ship was deathly quiet. He had planned already what he needed to do and without further hesitation, he made his way back to the engine room. All systems were completely shut down. He'd made sure of it this time. Now he was about to make certain that they would never be started again.

Pulling his phaser from his belt, he set it on a level that was just below "kill". It would generate intense heat, but was not quite at the level for full disintegration. Then, with a grim set to his face, Spock lifted the phaser and fired at the engine panels.

Sparks flew as the components exploded under the sun-bright blast and flames roared up as the plastics and wiring underneath caught fire.

Spock backed away from the heat, then hurried up the corridor to the parallel sleeping cabins. He stepped into Sapel's room first, taking a quick glance around to make sure the boy hadn't left anything, then fired at the bed. The sheets burst into flame quickly and spread with speed. Spock was already across the hall, in the room he had so recently shared with his wife.

There he paused once more, for a second letting the memories wash over him. So much had happened here, both good and bad. The nights of love and passion, the violence and sexual madness of the pon farr, the barely-remembered murder of a man who had invaded the sanctuary of his home.

Something caught Spock's eye, a bright glint of metal lying atop the dresser that Christine had left there. It was a ring, some of the jewelry that had belonged to the Romulan noblewoman who had owned this ship. The ring was of a silvery substance, with a light green stone set into its surface, flush with the metal. Nevertheless, it shone brightly and Christine had been attracted to its simple beauty.

Spock picked it up and tucked it into a secure fold of his tunic, then retreated to the doorway. There he stopped and sprayed the bright beam of the phaser over the bed linen and carpet, setting them ablaze.

The ship was filling with smoke as the fire spread and he rapidly made his way to the cockpit. The phaser made short work of the control panels, the instrument panels and switches bursting under the beam's power. The pilot and co-pilot's seats erupted in flame and blazed up quickly.

Satisfied, Spock ran for the main hatchway, pausing for a scant second to make sure the coast was clear. Then he leaped free of the burning ship and dashed for cover.

His escape was not a moment too soon for, barely had he left the ship when roaring flames filled the common area and exploded through the hatchway. Flashover had nearly caught him as fire engulfed the interior of the ship and took every flammable substance within her.

He watched until the heat drove him farther back, then he turned and ran, unsure suddenly if there was anything highly explosive within the ship that might prove catastrophic. Indeed, there was a small explosion near the stern, but nothing that was significant.

He was well away when the black roiling smoke had climbed high enough into the blue sky to dim the rising sun and spread its pall across the eastern plains.

* * *

"Mama, look!" Sapel exclaimed, pointing.

Christine stood up and immediately saw what her son was gaping at ... a tall column of dark smoke billowing up into the clear morning air and wafting eastward on the prevailing wind. "What in heaven's name...?" she started.

There was a rustling sound and Spock appeared, winded from his mile-long jog but looking relieved nevertheless. He plopped down, his back to the rock face, and gulped, "I need water!"

His wife immediately handed him the water bag and he spent the next few minutes sipping small amounts. Even parched from a run, his Vulcan upbringing prevented him from drinking too much too fast.

Christine waited until he had caught his breath, then demanded, "What happened?! Is the ship on fire?"

He nodded, taking one last mouthful of water and letting it slide down his throat. "I set it afire," he answered. At her startled expression, he added, "I decided to make sure that, should anyone ever trace that signal back again, they would find only a burned out hulk."

"But if it's rescuers..."

"It is more likely to be pirates," he interrupted. "I would rather we live as we are, for the rest of our lives, than be taken by slavers."

His dark eyes held her blue ones for a long moment then she nodded. "I agree," she said softly. "Are you rested? Then we ought to get moving."

"Indeed," he replied. He stood and peered down at his wide-eyed son. "Do you need a drink, Sapel? Or to relieve yourself before we get started once more?"

"No, sir," the boy answered, still staring at the distant column of smoke. "Did you really set it on fire, Papa?"

"Yes. Here, get your pack fitted on." He held the bundle while his son slipped his arms through the straps and adjusted it. Then Spock helped his wife to don her pack and shouldered into his own, hefting it into place and seating it comfortably.

He and Christine both turned for a last look at the home that had nearly been the end of them, then they all turned their faces toward the south and set out through unexplored territory.

* * *

The ship was still burning at midday, although not as fiercely, when two figures shimmered into existence not far away. Both were Cardassian, a man and a woman, both of them with blasters drawn and ready to return any attack launched against them. The man's left shoulder and upper arm were heavily bandaged but his right hand wielded his weapon smoothly.

When they had ascertained that all was still, the two relaxed a bit and stared in awe at the smouldering ruins of the Romulan yacht. "What happened here?" the woman asked her companion.

He shook his head. "I don't know. It looks like they were attacked and the ship deliberately destroyed. Who do you think..."

The Cardassian woman glanced at her mate apprehensively. "I don't know. There weren't any other operations in this sector before ... but it's been a turning and a half since you were hurt here. Somebody could have moved in on us."

The man showed strong teeth clenched together. "Fuck! I wanted that little bastard that shot me, too! Now I've missed my chance!"

"Maybe not," his mate replied. "Whoever got them is bound to be headed for border space. It's the closest place they could sell them and turn a profit. It wouldn't take much to make inquiries and get our eyes to keep a lookout for barbarians up for sale. Elxer owes me a favor. He'll know what's going on."

The male Cardassian nodded and his mouth spread into a lop-sided grin. "Ulli, I would be lost without you." He activated his communication device and spoke into it. "Tarak, beam us up. Somebody beat us to the punch down here. Get ready to warp out for Bellasana as soon as we're aboard."

The hum and tinkle of transportation sounded through the clearing, and then there was only the sound of burning duraplas and sagging metal struts as the ship collapsed in on itself.

* **

With every step south, Spock felt the burden lift from his shoulders. It no longer mattered that the physical pack he carried was larger and heavier than either of those borne by his wife or son. The psychological load was dissolving like morning mist and, for the first time in weeks, he knew freedom and peace.

Their path led them deeper into the hills that rolled in gentle wooded folds to the horizon. It was better watered here, springs of incredibly pure water bubbling and seeping from cracks in the limestone that capped the hills, the trees more dense than on the arid plains to the east. Undergrowth was sparse and the travelers moved at an easy pace below the leafy canopy that shaded them from the harsh summer sun.

Nevertheless, Spock pushed them until they were about ten miles from the ship, then finally called a halt for rest and food. Christine was exhausted, her pregnancy stretching her endurance very thin. Twice along the way, she had been forced to turn aside and vomit, her nausea getting the best of her, but after a few minutes she had insisted they keep going. She had vowed that she would not restrict their flight to safety and she had kept her promise. Now, however, she gratefully shucked her pack and sat down to lean against it, her eyes closed.

Sapel dumped his pack and knelt beside her, placing his hand on her forehead. "Mama?" he asked. "You okay?"

She opened her eyes and smiled at him. "I'm okay, sweetie," she answered. "Just tired, that's all."

Spock brought her water and crouched down, helping her manage the unwieldy bag. "Slowly, t'hy'la," he said as she took a sip. When she had drunk, he poured a bit into his palm and bathed her sweaty face with it. "There. Is that better?"

She nodded. "Would you get me a piece of bread, Spock?" she asked, closing her eyes again. "I think it will help me settle my stomach."

"I'll get it, Mama!" Sapel interjected and leaped up to retrieve a piece of their cracker-like bread from her pack.

Spock stroked his fingertips along her cheek. "We'll camp here, aduna . Once I get the tent set up, you can rest and sleep. I'm afraid you didn't get much last night and I have forced you to walk much too far today."

Too fatigued to protest, she nodded. "That would feel good," she murmured.

Sapel returned and handed her the bread. "Here, Mama. Do you want anything else?"

His solicitous manner brought yet another smile. "Thank you, lovey. No ... you just help Papa get camp set up, okay? I'll feel better once I rest a little bit then we'll have some lunch."

Both her men left her to nibble on the cracker and sip a little water to wash it down. She felt a bit guilty at not helping them, but they were managing just fine and she made herself sit and watch. Spock unrolled the bullhide tent and he and Sapel had it raised into a protective canopy within ten minutes or so, a shelter from any weather that might blow up, but with ventilation space around the bottom to allow for cooling air flow. Then Spock assigned his son to gather firewood in the immediate vicinity, admonishing him to stay within sight since this area was new to them. Sapel obeyed scrupulously, still too affected by his recent kahs'wan to risk venturing away from his parents.

Within another half hour, Spock had a small blaze going in a ring of hearth stones and was heating water for tea. As it came to a boil, he laid down their sleeping hides inside the shelter of the tent and urged Christine to lie down. She protested that she was feeling much better now, but she did slip off her moccasins and let her bare toes enjoy the comparative cool underneath the trees. The simmering heat of the day was beginning to be felt but was at least moderated by the thick foliage above them.

They dined on journey bread -- wafers of grain and fruit pounded together -- and smoked mutton, then divided between them one small disk of a cookie-like treat that had been in the food saver of the Romulan ship. Neither Spock nor Christine had any idea what it was, but it was sweet and crunchy and they all loved the flavor. There was maybe a dozen left and they had packed those along with their other foods.

Afterwards, Sapel's own fatigue caught up with him and he lay down beside his mother underneath the tent, quickly falling into a deep sleep. Christine soon found it too hot to share the bedspace with her son and came to sit beside Spock under the shelter of a huge oak-like tree. He had long-since removed his shirt and shoes and was clad only in fringed leather leggings and loincloth, enjoying the summer heat and sleepy quiet of the woods. His black hair spilled over his muscular bronzed shoulders, their slightly verdant patina seeming deeper here in the emerald shade and filtered sun.

He looked up as she approached, his eyes ebon beneath his sweeping dark brows, and smiled at the sight she presented. During their hike, Christine had been wearing clothing similar to his, but the building afternoon heat had compelled her to strip down to halter and breechcloth, leaving her all but naked. Her long sun-streaked hair braided into a single plait that fell to her waist, her skin tanned to a warm chestnut, she was almost ethereal as she glided through the shadows, ripe with womanhood and fertility, but not yet showing the evidence of her pregnancy.

Spock felt his heart pound with the knowledge that this beautiful creature was his mate and carried within her the child of his seed. His katra sang with joy and hers answered back in full measure. As she settled beside him, Spock slid an arm around her bare shoulders and pulled her into a loose embrace, content that she should choose to rest at his side.

She snuggled and sighed, "Mmmmm ... It's been too long since we did this."

"Indeed," he answered. "The past few weeks have not been conducive to quiet afternoons. I find this most pleasurable."

She laughed softly at his formality, then their conversation trailed off for a while, both of them dozing lightly in the heat. After some time, leaning into the wonderful security of his arms, Christine became aware of a low but increasing tightness deep within her, centering in the core of her womanhood and radiating outward. The warm masculine smell of Spock's skin and the rise and fall of his bare chest beneath her resting palm served to strengthen the feeling, his maleness radiating from him in almost tangible waves and causing her to smile a little in response as her body identified and answered it. With a sigh that was both contented and sensual, she flexed her fingers into the dark hair on his chest and moved against him.

Perceiving her change of mood at once, Spock opened his eyes and peered mildly at her, sending back a speculative impulse. It was response enough to encourage her. She snuggled closer against him and began to slowly and softly move her hand over the firm pectoral muscles lying beneath her palm, tickling her fingers through his chest hair and finally down to glide almost negligently over his hardening nipples.

"I thought you were experiencing nausea," he commented softly.

"It's all better," she replied. "The food helped a lot."

"I see. Still it might be wise to allow it to remain quiet. I would hate to agitate it once again."

"Mmmm... I'll let you know if things get too stirred up." She shifted a little and lifted her face up in invitation, one that he accepted with barely any hesitation. They kissed softly, exploring with gentle probing of tongues and movements of lips, not yet passionately or urgently, merely with adoration and familiar intimacy.

When they parted, Spock asked, teasing her, "What about Sapel? I do not wish to awaken him."

"Then we'll just have to be quiet," she replied, her arm slipping up around his neck to pull him back to her lips.

He complied, gathering her closer with both arms around her and allowing the flame of desire within him to gradually increase. At the base of his groin, he felt himself begin to stir, his penis starting to throb and lengthen, responding to the desire he felt emanating from her soul. He shifted slightly, easing the angle at which he was sitting, and Christine moaned a little against his mouth, her hand slipping down to rest atop the hardening bulge in his loincloth. It further inflamed her arousal and she sighed.

"Oh, yes..." she whispered, caressing the tantalizing hardness of his building erection. "You can't know how much I want you!"

"Yes, I can," he murmured back, his lips tasting her mouth again and again. "Do you not also feel my need for you, my wife?" He opened his emotional shields to her even more and allowed the flame of his need to sweep over her.

Her answer was a groan and she reached to loosen his loincloth, sliding her hand underneath it. He caught his breath as she touched him then grasped his length, its tip now pressing against the leather barrier, stroking her hand again and again over him from head to base.

He responded to her intimate touch by pulling at her halter top, moving it aside to free one breast. Quickly, he clutched it, gently squeezing and massaging it, then bent to bring the firm, creamy globe to his lips, engulfing the rosy crown fully in his mouth, working her turgid nipple against his palate.

Christine groaned once more and threw her head back, arcing up to give him better access. He sucked harder at her breast, one arm still around her back and supporting her. Her arousal surged up through their bondlink to collide with his in a spiraling maelstrom of emotion and need and her mind filled with sexual images, hot and sweet memories of the many times they had groped and coupled and filled one another with flame.

His breath escaped in a moan against her breast, his mind immediately sending back his own best remembrances. It was fuel to their growing fire and she responded by shoving aside his loincloth, freeing his now fully erect penis, stroking it madly toward completion.

"No," he managed to gasp, reclaiming her lips in swift, hungry kisses. "Softly, t'hy'la. Softly."

She slacked off, returning to the slow but insistent caress of before. As they kissed, Spock moved his hand down to her own loincloth and pulled it to one side. His fingertips quickly found the swollen wet lips beneath and sank into the heated folds, setting up a circular massage around the tumid little nub he found there.

She wriggled in arousal and began to move her hips in response, then gasped as her body responded with the first surges of orgasm, searching instinctively for penetration. He backed off a bit, not wishing her to climax just yet.

*Oh, please, Spock!* she pleaded in his mind. *Oh, now! Please! I need you in me!*

For a second, he studied her mental and emotional state, assessed her physical being to make sure his actions would not harm her, then knew that he had no wish to prolong their joining either. Taking hold of her upper arms, he gently lifted her astride his hips and, with an immediately comprehending smile, she settled down upon him. As he took hold of himself and steadied his erection, she further pulled aside her leather breech strap to bare herself for him and sank onto his ready manhood, sheathing him to the hilt within her.

The entry of his solid heat was too delicious for words and none were needed between them. She settled fully onto him, savoring the sensation of fullness, even as he reached for her temples and opened his mind completely to hers, binding them together into one.

The firestorm of their combined need sent them both rapidly to completion, whirling aloft in the spiraling updrafts and finally exploding together in a cacophony of sparks and pyrotechnics of fused sexual passion. It was some minutes before the conflagration waned into embers and they came back to themselves, still joined, panting with the aftermath of rapture.

Christine leaned forward and rested her forehead against Spock's. "Oh..." she sighed. "Now I do need to sleep. I'm worn out!"

He smiled and caressed her cheek. "I have something for you first," he answered.

That brought her upright, still sitting astride his hips, his faded erection still buried within her. "Something?" she repeated, clearly puzzled. "What?"

Spock reached down to the little leather pouch he wore next to his knife, where he carried spare arrow points and fire flints and other small necessaries. From it he produced the silver ring he had retrieved from the Romulan ship and held it up for her to see.

Her blue eyes lit up at the sight of it. "But I left that..."

"Yes, I know." His manner grew serious and his gaze caught and held hers. "Christine, I know that among your people it is the custom of bonded mates to exchange tokens to symbolize their joining. A ring is the most usual token in your culture. We were never formally joined in ceremony but you have been the wife of my heart since you came to me during the first pon farr I experienced here. I had nothing to give you then to symbolize our joining. I wish to do so now."

Her breath had begun to come in short, shallow gasps and her eyes had grown bright with a film of tears. "You don't have to give me anything, Spock. You know that."

"But I wish to," he replied and took up her left hand, sliding the ring onto her third finger. As he did so, he looked back into her eyes and said softly, "Christine Marie Chapel, with this ring, I thee wed, and take thee as my lawful wife until death do us part."

Tears were now truly spilling down her cheeks and she whispered in return, "Spock cha'Sarek, son of the House of Surak and master of my heart and hearth ... I take thee as my lawful husband and pledge myself to thee ... until death do us part."

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him long and full, until she finally broke for air and the joyous laughter that bubbled out of her. "Oh, Spock, I love you!" she exclaimed, hugging him fiercely even as he was doing the same to her. She kissed him again, radiating passion and love, and she felt within her the response of his body to her ecstatic state.

Without releasing her, he rolled them over into the leaves, adjusting his position above her. Then he began to move slowly against her, a glorious consummation to their newly spoken vows, a bridegroom taking to him with joy the bride of his heart and soul.

* * *

They traveled south at an easy pace, accommodating Christine's nausea and fatigue. When she felt up to it, they walked as long as she was able or until they found an area that suited them for camp. Then they might camp there for several days in order for them all to rest and for Spock to hunt and replenish their food supply. Along the way Christine and Sapel gathered fruits and plants, refilled their water bags at springs and clean flowing streams, and marveled at the new types of animals they saw.

The landscape had gradually changed as they moved south, the rocky hills gradually smoothing out into a more arid region, almost desert-like, and the amount of game dwindled as a result. The flora was no longer lush and thick, but took on the characteristics of all plants that must survive in a dry region. They were spiny and small-leafed, long bereft of fruit or succulence here at the end of the summer season, offering little in the way of food.

Of the fauna, very little moved during the day. However, at twilight, rabbit-like browsers appeared from underground dens to graze on the limited vegetation, and miniature goats came down from the rocks to drink and nibble at the scrubby trees that grew in thickets wherever there was a water source. They looked to be well-fed, despite the sparse pickings, and more than one had fallen victim to Spock's swift aim and bowshot.

There were predators in this area, too, and the main one seemed to be a small relative of the big marsupial lions that roamed the plains farther north. At least they looked cat-like, from the few glimpses they had caught of them. The little carnivores were rarely seen, but their spoor was often visible in the mornings along with evidence of a kill -- some fur, bloodstained sand, signs of a scuffle. Christine had seen one of the cats at sunrise just the previous morning and was struck by its beauty. It was too far away to view clearly, but she could make out that its coat was golden and covered with black spots. Then it had disappeared among the rocks.

On this particular evening, Spock had gone to check a snare he had set near one of the rabbit warrens and Christine was enjoying the evening breeze that sprang up every day as the day's heat lifted. It still held the blast-furnace temperature of the day, but it was a dry heat, one that felt oddly soothing. It spiraled up into thermals over the low hills and dozens of graceful, hawk-like birds came to ride the upwellings, searching in the last rays of the day for the rabbits that would emerge to forage.

Christine was enjoying the hawks' spiral flight as she waited for her husband's return. Nearby, Sapel was moodily practicing his marksmanship by repeatedly shooting his quiver of arrows into a fleshy cactus-like plant that was currently substituting for more satisfying prey.

He had said little during their journey and Christine had been watching him closely. The loss of Mooch and the trauma of his kahs'wan had changed her son in subtle ways. On the one hand, he seemed more grown up, somehow more mature, if that was possible in one so young. But on the other, she had many times seen the glint of tears on his cheeks as they walked, his face stoically Vulcan, but his eyes those of a wounded human child who had for the first time lost a cherished companion and did not know how to deal with it.

He wouldn't talk about it, either, the Vulcan part of him locking it away inside his soul and shrugging off her attempts at comfort. In private, she had expressed her concern to Spock but he, though likewise troubled, had advised her to allow Sapel time. "Grief is a personal matter," he answered, thinking back over the many, many losses that had punctuated his own life. "A person must grieve for himself. You cannot do it for him, my wife. Each of us walks his own pathway. Though we may accompany them for a while, ultimately we each walk alone."

Christine still wanted desperately to comfort her son, but he rejected any coddling right now. Spock was right. Sapel would have to work this out for himself. He would talk when he was ready and she would have a ready ear when he did.

The sound of footsteps drew her attention and she looked up to see Spock come striding back into camp, his strung bow over one shoulder and a brace of rabbits dangling from one hand. He held the other hand lightly pressed against the chest of his wrapped jerkin but she thought nothing of it. He often collected plant foods and stuck them inside his shirt for easy transport. He appeared to have found quite a lot today.

She came to take the rabbits from him. "Nice fat ones," she commented, holding them up. "Good hunting?"

"Yes," he answered, propping his bow against the tent and hanging his quiver from one of the poles. "There is a huge warren site there. There must be dozens, maybe hundreds, living in those rocks. We should be able to trap more than enough to sustain us until we move on."

"Well, I'll just get these cleaned up and roasting for supper," she smiled back, then noticed that he was still holding his hand over his chest. "Did you find some fruit or tubers? Let me get these rabbits started and I'll fix those, too."

"No, it's not tubers," Spock answered with a mischievous little twinkle in his dark eyes.

Christine paused, staring at him in a puzzled manner. "Not tubers?"

"No. Sapel! Come here! I have something for you!" the tall Vulcan called.

The boy looked a curious as he dutifully collected his arrows and came back to where his parents were standing. "You got something, Papa?" he asked. "What?"

"This," Spock answered and reached underneath the front wrap of his jerkin. What he drew out was a fist-sized ball of golden fluff and huge green eyes.

For a second, absolute delight and wonder spread over Sapel's face and his mouth widened in a grin, then abruptly the expression vanished into a dour scowl. "I don't want it!" he declared and whipped around, stalking away.

Christine stared after him in dismay, then turned back to her husband, reaching out to take the tiny creature he was still holding. "Oh, Spock! Where did you find it?" She cradled the trembling little animal against her, stroking it soothingly.

It was a hunting cat cub, not much bigger than a Terran domestic housecat kitten. Its fur was thick and sand-colored, already showing the black spots that would develop in splendor later on. Its ears were hugely oversized, the mark of a desert animal, black and with tufts of hair sprouting from their tips. Its eyes were gold-green and seemed too big for its ravishingly pretty little face.

Spock smiled as Christine cuddled the baby and comforted it. "There was a hunting cat raiding my rabbit snares. I attempted to drive it off, but it stood its ground and then charged me. I had no alternative but to kill it. Once I examined it, I discovered that it was a female with this baby in her pouch. I couldn't very well leave the cub to die, so I brought it back." He sighed and looked in the direction his son had gone. "I had hoped that Sapel might accept it as a replacement for Mooch."

Christine followed his glance then looked back at him. "He's not ready yet," she said softly. "He loved Mooch very much." Her gaze dropped to the cub in her arms, its trembling slowly beginning to abate. "Well, I want you, sweetie-pie," she announced. "You are absolutely gorgeous!"

She looked up into her husband's face then stretched to kiss him. "Thank you, Spock. You're right. You couldn't leave this baby to die. I'll watch over it while I clean those rabbits. Why don't you go see how Sapel is doing?"

He nodded. "Agreed, wife." He turned and walked away, following the direction Sapel had taken.

* * *

Sapel was huddled atop a rocky outcrop when Spock approached him. Hurriedly, the boy wiped his face and straightened his expression into a semblance of normality.

"Walk with me, Sapel," his father said and continued on at an easy pace among the scrubby thorn plants now stretching long shadows in the evening light.

Sapel quickly scrambled up and caught up with the man.

Spock had paused and was standing with his hands clasped loosely behind his back, looking out over the vista of desert stretching before him. The boy stood quietly with him, wondering if he was about to receive a lecture about rejecting the kitten.

After a long silence, Spock commented, "It is logical to grieve when someone of importance to us dies, Sapel, but you must also realize that grief will not bring them back."

"I know that," the child answered grudgingly.

"It is part of the cycle of life. Every living thing reaches the end of its existence. That is how it should be."

"But Mooch didn't just die, Papa! She was killed!" Sapel burst out, then subsided again. "She would still be here if..."

"If she hadn't attacked that invader," Spock finished for him evenly. "If she hadn't followed you back to camp. If she hadn't accepted food from you in the first place back after the tornado. If ... if ... if ..." Spock looked down at his son and added with some compassion in his voice, "Cha'i, there are no absolutes in life. Things do not depend on 'if'. If that hunting cat hadn't been raiding my rabbit snares, if she hadn't charged me, if I'd let her have our food ... then she would still be alive and her cub would still be in its mother's pouch."

"I know," Sapel answered, looking down at the ground. "But I want Mooch back, Papa! I don't want a dumb ol' kitten."

"Son, I did not bring the kitten back to take the place of Mooch," Spock answered earnestly. "I brought it back because I was responsible for killing its mother and that made me responsible for the baby's welfare. I do not belittle your love for Mooch. Far from it. I understand all too well how you feel now."

Sapel looked up at him, surprised. "You do?"

"Yes. When I was your age, I had a pet whom I cherished. He was a Vulcan animal called a sehlat and his name was i-Chaya. He had been my father's ... your grandfather's ... before me and he was my guardian and friend." Spock gazed down at his son, noting suddenly how much the boy resembled himself as a child. "On my own kahs'wan, I went into the desert for my survival test and i-Chaya followed me. It was fortunate that he did so, because I was attacked by a lion and i-Chaya fought it to save me. In the process he was mortally wounded and he died. I have never forgotten him or that his actions saved my life."

Sapel sniffed and looked down at his feet again. "That was a long time ago, though."

"But to me it is as fresh as if it happened yesterday," Spock answered softly. "I ... loved i-Chaya, just as you loved Mooch. But life went on and I had to go on with it. It did not mean that I ever forgot my friend. You will never forget Mooch. But it is time to move on now, Sapel."

"I suppose," the boy muttered.

"Good," his father nodded. "Now, I believe that your mother could use some help. We have two nice big rabbits to clean for supper and she would like some tubers chopped as well. Come."

"Yes, Papa," Sapel answered in a subdued manner, as they turned back to camp.

* * *

"The night sky is really beautiful here, isn't it?" Christine asked softly as Spock came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. She settled comfortably back against him but continued to scan the star-flung heavens.

"Indeed," he answered, his deep voice rumbling soothingly against her as he too lifted his face upward. His eyes, however, always searched for something else ... a point of light moving in too regular a fashion or exhibiting motion that was not found in nature. Tonight he found only the brilliant dusting of stars.

He relaxed and turned his attention back to the woman in his arms. "You are really beautiful here, as well," he said, bending to nuzzle her hair.

She laughed softly. "Not anywhere near it," she protested. "I'm starting to get bloated and fat."

He let his hands move down to her belly, spreading across the slight roundness of her abdomen. "Not anywhere near it," he teased her. "Your pregnancy is not even apparent yet."

Christine laughed again. "It is to me," she answered, but let her hands rest atop his. She became more serious as her attention focused inside herself for a moment. "What do you think it will be, Spock?" she queried in a hushed voice. "What do you want it to be?"

"I have no preference," he replied. "My wish is only that we have a healthy child and that you both remain safe and well this time."

"Whatever it takes," she whispered. "I mean it. I'm not going to lose this one! I ... I couldn't stand it again."

She turned in his arms and buried her face against his chest, partially bared by the wrap of his sleeveless jerkin. Gathering her close, Spock held her securely, loving the feeling of her lashes tickling the hair on his chest and her warm breath teasing his stomach.

After a few moments, Christine raised her face up to look at him and he could see that her cheeks glistened with moisture. Tenderly, he wiped her tears away then leaned down, meeting her lips in a gentle, meaningful kiss.

Her arms tightened around him and the intensity of the kiss deepened as he felt her lips parting slightly against his. Almost tentatively, their tongues touched, then came together more hotly and aggressively. Pulling her even harder to him, Spock lost himself in the sweetness of her mouth and felt at his center the familiar tightness begin to form.

"Let's go back to camp," she murmured when he raised his lips from hers. "I just want to lie in your arms and make love to you and then fall asleep afterwards next to you."

He nodded and kissed her again. "I find that most agreeable, as well."

Taking her hand, the two walked slowly back to their campsite, enjoying the cool night air and each other's company. Sapel was deep asleep, wrapped in his sleeping furs. The kitten, nicknamed for the time being "Scruff", had crept underneath next to him and was curled up in her pseudo pouch, next to another living being.

Quietly, so as not to waken their son, Spock and Christine stood beside their bedding and, with kisses and searching hands, disrobed one another, each loving the sensation of the other's body against their own. When they were both naked, Christine slipped between their furs and waited for Spock to join her.

In the peaceful darkness, he slid in beside her and drew her back into his arms, resuming his exploration of her mouth with his tongue, his hands roaming over the smooth contours of her body until finally coming to rest on the firm globe of her breast. Her nipple was hard against his palm as he lightly massaged, then let his fingers stroke down to the firm, erect tip of her breast, pulling and rolling it gently. She sighed against his mouth as he did so and he felt her arousal intensify as her emotions flowed through their bond.

It caused his own growing excitement to build as well and in response his manhood stiffened even more between them. She wriggled against it and another little sigh escaped her. Spock moved his lips down her throat, nibbling at her skin, feeling the pulse of her heartbeat, then he lowered his head to her full, firm breast, flicking his tongue over the rosy areola and extended nipple. In response, she arched her back, thrusting more towards him, and he took her into his mouth, sucking gently and working her against the roof of his mouth with his tongue.

She groaned and her hips moved rhythmically against his, causing her pubic hair to rub along the hard length of his penis, now probing into her stomach. He started as a new surge of arousal hit him, causing an involuntary moan on his part as he suckled her. Lifting his head from her breast, he drew her back into a deep, absorbing kiss, their tongues fencing fiercely with one another. She continued to grind against his pelvis and now he could begin to feel her wetness flowing up to coat his shaft as she rode him.

Reaching down, he seized her leg and lifted it over his thigh, opening her, then his fingers slipped between them, sinking immediately into the wet, slick cleft of her sex. Her lubrication coated his fingers copiously as he stroked her and she jerked reflexively each time he reached and fondled her clitoris.

"Oh, Spock, now!" she breathed as she flexed against him. "Oh... now!"

He was more than ready. Taking his pulsating penis in hand, he guided it into place between her legs, sliding the head down her wet slit until it lodged into the opening of her vagina. She moaned softly again and thrust her hips toward him, and he was immediately inside her. Pushing his hips forward, he sank deeper within her, savoring the wonderful sensation as her body clutched him like a hot glove.

Rolling her onto her back, he gave another shove and buried himself to the hilt in her depths. He held there for a brief moment, allowing them both to full feel their joining, then he began to move, thrusting with increasing fervor. Her hips came up to meet his rhythm, her own climax beginning to build as her nails dug into his tense back. It fed his own rearing orgasm and his thrusts became more intense, more arduous, as he swelled to rock hardness within her.

One hand moved down to grasp her buttocks cheek and hold her firmly against his pelvis as he pounded into her, his breath coming through clenched teeth as he reached the limits of his endurance. With a final almost savage slam into her tight depths, he felt his gut release and an instant later he erupted within her, groaning as pulse after pulse of his hot essence gushed into her.

Christine was arched up below him, shuddering as her own climax hungrily received his flow, her whole body trembling as she frantically gripped his body to hers. It seemed to last forever as they hung there on the pinnacle of rapture, then both began to descend. Breathing began again, bodies relaxed, and, with a final thrust, he was done.

Gently he drew out of her and bent to kiss her as he did so. "Sleep now, my beautiful one," he whispered and settled down beside her, drawing her into his arms. She smiled and kissed him back, but her eyes were already closing and almost immediately, her sated body slept.

* * *

"This is no good," Spock said, coming to a halt. He was dirty, sweaty and covered with scratches on every exposed surface of his skin, leaving him laced with a fine green network of oozing scrapes.

Behind him, Christine and Sapel were in no better shape, identical to his condition except that their scratches bled crimson instead of emerald. Only Scruff, scampering among the thorn bushes in their wake, seemed thoroughly at home. Indeed, the nearly impenetrable brush was the hunting cat's home and she eagerly followed the myriad scents that wove among the thick branches.

Spock turned back to his wife. "We must turn back. We cannot get through here."

"I whole-heartedly agree!" Christine answered, wiping her grimy face on the hem of her tunic. It did little more than smear the dust and sweat into a thin layer of mud. "Okay, then ... to the rear -- MARCH!"

The three started back the way they had come, forcing their way once more between the low thorn trees and spiky desert plants through which they'd been traveling most of that day. As they had gone further south, the landscape had become more hostile, until all that seemed to grow were the thickets of twisted, stunted trees, their thin leaves hiding within their deceptively pleasant shade thorns more than an inch long. Worse, the trees swarmed with bad-tempered ants, ready to defend their homes at the lightest brush of an interloper.

It had been a miserable day's travel until Spock finally called a halt. He had hoped that they would be able to follow the hills all the way to the sea coast, but this desert region had intervened. There was no water to be had here and the plants all jealously guarded their own stock, swathed by thick, tough bark, the inevitable thorns and their armies of biters.

Spock had finally given in to the logic of turning east across the plains toward the big river he knew was there, then following it south until they reached Sea Home. He had been reluctant to do so, however, for he did not want to expose his family to the dangers of the teeming plains. Now it seemed he had no choice.

That night, they camped beside the last little creek that flowed out of the hills and Christine tended their wounds as best she could. She was now about four months pregnant and her initial nausea had passed, along with the terrible fatigue that accompanied it. As her second trimester began, she was feeling energized and fit, her appetite back with a vengeance, and her attitude vastly improved.

"Ow!" Sapel yelled, flinching as his mother dabbed a wet chamois against a particularly deep scratch. "Mama! That hurts!"

"Hold still," she replied, peering closely at the wound. "There's still part of a thorn in there. Spock, would you sterilize my knife in the fire for a moment, please?"

"What?!" Sapel responded in panic as his father moved to comply. "What are you gonna do??"

"I'm going to get that thorn point out," Christine answered calmly, her medical persona fully in charge. "Otherwise, it will fester and turn septic."

"Nooo!!" the boy wailed, trying to jerk his arm back out of his mother's grip. She held him firmly, however. "It'll hurt!! I don't want you to!!"

"It won't hurt, Sapel," she retorted, her brows coming together a bit harder, "unless you fight and make it worse. Now, just hold still. This will only take a minute."

"Noooo!" Sapel struggled furiously as Spock knelt beside him and handed Christine her steel hunting knife.

"Sapel! Stop fighting me!" She sighed and looked at her husband. "Spock, hold him for me. That thorn has got to come out."

Spock calmly took hold of his son's arm and held it immobile, his vast Vulcan strength like an iron vice. "Sapel, be still," he said in a soft, deep voice that commanded the boy's attention. "You must comply with this. Your mother is our healer and she must be obeyed."

Sapel froze in incipient terror as Christine bent over the scratch and gently teased the thorn point out of his flesh. It only took a few seconds, then she straightened, holding the knife for him to see.

"There," she smiled. "All that fuss over that." She indicated the tiny, dark bit of matter on the tip of the blade. "I know it doesn't look like much, but it would have hurt a lot more in a couple of days when your arm was swelled up with pus and I really had to cut into it."

Feeling foolish, Sapel shrugged and pulled away from Spock's grasp, his father now willing to free him. "I guess..."

"Do you have any other scratches that hurt?"

"On my leg," the child admitted.

"Let me see."

Grudgingly, Sapel stuck his right leg out and Christine examined the long red line streaked across it. "Hmm ... that was a deep one, but it's clear. No thorn bits. I need to clean it and then you're all done." She did so and released her son to finish his supper and get ready for bed. "Now, Spock, it's your turn."

"I have no injuries worth speaking of," he answered calmly.

"Nope. Don't give me that. You were on point through that brush," his wife responded. "Skin those clothes off and let me look at you."

"Really, Christine, there is no need..."

"Strip!" she ordered, then softened her tone. "Then you can look me over as well. I know I've got a few places that need tending."

"Very well." Spock took off his jerkin and leggings, already barefoot after shedding his moccasins when they had set up camp. Christine examined him closely, peering with concern at a cluster of angry, green pustules on his left hand and forearm.

"Those are ant bites. Not much I can do but let them run their course," she mused. "They'll be really sore and itchy for a few days, but they should heal okay. Be sure and keep them clean so they don't get infected."

"Of course."

"The rest of your scratches aren't too bad." She straightened. "Okay, my turn. Take a good look at this place on my side. It feels like there may be something in there."

She had long ago shed her traveling clothes and was clad only in halter and loin cloth, the outfit she normally wore in hot weather. Spock did a cursory check of her scrapes and bites, finding them minor, but then turned his attention to the inflamed wound partway around her back, low on her left ribs.

"Turn to the light more," he instructed her and bent for a closer look. "There is indeed 'something in there'!" he commented. "There is nearly a whole thorn embedded. Little wonder that it is bothering you."

He took her knife, cleaned it and held it in the fire for a moment, then after letting it cool, he turned back to Christine, who was still bent awkwardly to allow him access to the thorn wound. "This may hurt," he said quietly.

"I'm ready. Do it."

She did her best not to flinch and he was as gentle as possible, but it took several minutes before he was able to extract the long thorn from under her skin. "I'm afraid that may be quite painful for a few days," he said as he straightened to show her the quarter-inch long needle of bark.

"I have some crushed kaolin left in my med kit," she answered. "Make a thick clay of it and plaster it over the wound. That should draw out any infection and serve as a bandage."

He followed her instructions, mixing a little of the powdered clay with water until it formed a slick brown-gray sludge. This he carefully daubed onto her wound and left it to dry. "Do you have any left?" she asked. "Good. Put that on Sapel's two worse places and, if there's any left over, smear it on those ant bites."

Spock did so, then washed his hands in the little stream by their camp. It was dark by now and he settled back beside his wife and son around their campfire, ever vigilant of their surroundings. As Christine dished out their meager supper of roast rabbit and bread, they listened to the awakening sounds of the savannah night. There were distant roars and barks, peeps and whirrs, hooting calls and answering chirps. The participants of this symphony were mostly unknown, but Scruff sat rigid and attentive, her huge ears pricked as she took in each sound, her huge green eyes round and dilated in the dark.

Christine clicked her tongue softly and the kitten turned toward her inquisitively. The woman tossed some of the less desirable bits of rabbit toward her and the cat pounced on them, pinning them instinctively before settling down to gnaw at the bones with a contented expression.

Christine turned back to face her husband. "Well, where to tomorrow?"

Spock gave a light sigh and looked out across the dark prairie. "East. We seem to have no choice unless we intend to go all the way back to the northern valley. However, the herds will already be migrating in this direction. It would make little sense to return there at this time of year."

"No, we'd be coming down this way in any case," Christine agreed. "How far do you think it is to the river?"

Spock was silent for a moment, attempting to calculate with a distinct lack of information. "Difficult to be precise. I would estimate two days. Perhaps three. I do not wish to tarry as we cross the plains. I want to be across them as quickly as we can."

"Then we need to make an early start. I'm beat anyway." She glanced over at her son, who was stretched out on his stomach watching Scruff working at getting the last bits of meat off a bone. "Sapel, you get ready for bed soon. We've got a long walk tomorrow.

* * *

Two days had brought them nearly all the way across the plains to the wide river that meandered southward toward the sea. They could see its sinuous line snaking across the savannah still some miles away, its course lined with trees that had taken root along its waterway. Immediately to their south, outcroppings of craggy rocks pushed their way up above the grasslands, forming islands in the waving yellow sea through which the family waded.

Spock, leading the way, was busy pondering whether they could reach the river by nightfall or even if they should attempt it. Behind them, the red sun was resting on the horizon line and sending long purple shadows stretching out before them. The eastern sky had not yet begun to darken, but it would within a half hour or so. Already he could see the creamy disks of the three moons of Terra Two rising, full tonight. That meant that the plains would be well lighted this evening and hunters were sure to take advantage of the situation.

Around them, the herds of antelope and horse, bison and the huge browsers that looked like ground sloths were beginning to bunch into their night time configurations, readying themselves for the predators that must already be moving out to begin their search for food. Spock turned back to estimate the distance to the river and decided it was too far tonight.

He halted and waited for his wife and son to catch up. "We'll make camp," he announced. "Those rocks over there look like a good place." He pointed toward the large outcropping bulking up in the gently fading light. Before it was a smaller , smoother boulder rearing its grey hulk out of the grass. Spock started toward it. "You and Sapel go on to the hillock. I want to get a better vantage point to sight the river. I believe we should be able to make it well before noon tomorrow, but I want to be sure."

Christine hefted her pack and headed to the craggy, rocky hill, scanning it for a good spot to camp. Sapel trudged after her, weary from the miles they had covered and anticipating what they would have for supper. Spock moved off toward the boulder, his strung bow in hand, but with no arrow nocked. Overhead, flocks of little birds were swirling in to roost high on the outcrops, disappearing into holes and cracks, twittering madly as they carried on their evening conversations.

Spock looked up at their fluid acrobatics and smiled a little, fascinated by the way the flock stayed together through all its twists and turns. Watching the birds, he paid little attention to his surroundings, enjoying the peacefulness of the early twilight.

Without warning the grass in front of him erupted into a bulky, bawling grey form that thundered off toward the big boulder before he could register what had occurred. What happened next took place in less than a minute.

In the same instant that Spock leaped back in shock and Christine and Sapel jerked around, startled by the noise, the huge grey boulder heaved itself up out of the grass with an angry bellow and swung in Spock's direction, revealing a monstrous animal like some Pleistocene nightmare. It was the size of an elephant, built vaguely like a moose, and sported a pair of vicious looking nasal horns on its long muzzle, one after the other, like a rhino. The smaller animal galloped behind it, still bawling, and it was immediately evident that this was a cow and calf. Spock had blundered into the little one in the long grass.

He made a move to back away, knowing enough not to run, but the cow had spotted him. With a deep, full-throated snort, she lowered her head and charged.

Christine screamed and darted toward her husband, hampered by her heavy pack and pregnant body. Spock saw her out of the corner of his eye and gave a harsh cry of denial that was directed both at his wife and at the rampaging cow, all the while scrambling frantically out of the animal's way, his right hand fumbling desperately for an arrow in his quiver.

"Yiiiiii!!!" Christine screeched, waving her hands in the air to distract the beast away from Spock and give him time to get away.

It worked. Confused by the noise and motion, the huge animal faltered in her charge and her eye pinned the yelling woman. Perceiving Christine as another predator, she lowered her head once more, changing course in mid-gallop.

"Christine, no!!!" Spock yelled. He was running now, nocking an arrow onto his bow as he plummeted through the long grass. A vision out of hell had flashed across his memories as soon as the cow had turned toward his wife -- a replay of the horror they had experienced four years before, when Christine, pregnant with their second child, had nearly been killed by a bison and had lost the baby as a result.

Not again! Not again! his mind clamored at him and he let the arrow fly.

The shaft sank deep into the cow's right shoulder and she swerved with a startled, angry bellow, biting at the source of the sudden pain. Behind her, the calf was still squalling at the top of its voice, the pandemonium further whipping the injured cow into a murderous frenzy.

"Christine, get to the rocks!!" Spock ordered, already setting another arrow onto his bowstring.

"Run, Spock!" Christine pleaded in return, her legs shaking so hard that she wondered how she could still stand.

"Mama!!!" wailed Sapel in a curious echo of the baby creature's caterwauling.

It was too much for the mother rhino to take. Driven to uncontrollable fury by her calf's cries, hurt by the arrow lodged into her shoulder and confused by the two shouting creatures that she could not identify, the cow charged the closest thing she could find.

Spock tried to dive out of the way, but the cow moved with incredible speed for something her size. The thunderous mountain of a beast caught him in the left hip and flung him high into the air, her primary horn goring him deep and snapping the femur with a sickening, audible crack.

Spock shrieked in pain and landed hard about ten feet from the cow. Christine screamed and scrambled to get her own bow in hand before the cow could trample the wounded Vulcan.

Sapel beat her to it. His little bow didn't have much power and he was too far away to do much good, but the arrow he sent thunking into the cow's left foreleg distracted her enough to keep her off his father for a few more minutes. It was enough time for Christine to draw and hit the beast in the left flank.

The maddened cow whirled to that side, snapping at the thing biting her, powerful jaws making quick work of the arrow shaft.

And then all hell really did break loose.

Up out of the grass behind the bawling calf sprang a long, tawny shape of teeth and claws and gold-eyed danger. The rhino calf squealed in sheer terror and bolted as it tried to escape the lion.

In an instant, the mother forgot her puny tormentors and whirled to defend her offspring, launching into the attacking lion with the power of a freight train. The lion snarled and backed off a little but did not give up the pursuit of its prey. The cow got between them and charged, head down and deadly nasal horns brandished, but the lion dodged her and leaped after the calf once more. In a flash, the mother spun and thundered in pursuit.

For a hair-raising moment, Christine watched the combatants, then, when it was clear that their battle was moving rapidly away, she ran as fast as she could to where Spock lay groaning, clutching at his broken, mangled left leg, his hands vivid green from the blood pouring out of the wound. Sapel hurried after her, cradling the terrified Scruff inside his tunic, close to his body.

Christine was shucking her pack even as she fell to her knees beside her husband, her eyes already assessing the damage and her medical training kicking in. "Spock! Oh, God! Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"My leg!" he groaned, his teeth clenched. "Broken..."

"I see that," she answered, quickly but gently examining him. "Fracture of the femur. Deep puncture wound. I've got to get that bleeding stopped."

Swiftly, her mind searched for what she could use as a tourniquet and just as quickly summed up their meager supplies. Then, without a second thought, she shucked her tunic and untied the leather halter she wore underneath, leaving her naked from the waist up. Snatching one of the small arrows from Sapel's quiver, she set to work, in short order fashioning a tourniquet, near Spock's hip socket, above the wound, using the arrow as a pressure control through the knot.

"Get my phaser ... out of my pack," Spock directed her breathlessly. "Didn't have time..."

"Sapel, get it," Christine commanded her son as she worked over her husband to stabilize the bleeding.

Rapidly, Sapel complied, pulling the weapon from his father's backpack.

"Okay, keep tight watch," Christine ordered, not taking her attention from her job. "If anything comes close, shoot!"

The boy took up the vigil, his eyes anxiously scanning the grasses and watching the lion and rhino battling.

"Should've had it out ... already," Spock hissed, his face screwed up with pain. "Didn't ... think..."

"Shush," Christine said tightly. "Let's get this pack off you." She maneuvered his arms through the straps and laid him down. "I need to splint this leg with something and get you somewhere safer."

"Use one of the bows," Spock answered, breathing hard. "Then get me ... to the rocks. Blood ... lions will come..."

"I know. We'll have all sorts of predators here soon." Christine retrieved her bow and then hurriedly dug through her own pack, pulling out the blue Romulan gown she had put away so lovingly. "This will do for the moment." Her gaze softened and she stroked her husband's pale, sweaty face. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. This is going to hurt ... a lot!"

"I know," he panted. "Proceed."

Christine took a deep breath and set to work, straightening Spock's leg and tying Sapel's bow onto it with the blue gown. During the process, Spock groaned despite himself and broke out in a sweat before she was done. Loosening the tourniquet to allow blood to flow into the leg, then expertly tightening it again, she said, "Okay, can you stand? I can't carry you, honey. You'll have to help me."

"Yes ... give me a moment," he panted and closed his eyes, gathering his strength.

While he did so, Christine slipped her tunic back on but left her pack lying in the grass. "Okay, let's give it a try." She squatted down and helped him to sit, getting her shoulder underneath his right armpit and bolstering his awkward attempt to rise.

It took them several tries before she finally got him up, balanced on his right foot. Even then, he swayed dizzily and turned even paler beneath the wan greenish tint of his skin. After a moment, he swallowed and nodded. "All right."

"Sapel, keep a sharp eye out," Christine admonished her son. "Keep us covered."

"Yes, Mama," the boy answered, the nervousness clear in his voice, but his gaze continually swept over the grassland all around them, the phaser he held ready to fire.

Thus began a long, painful journey to the rocky outcroppings nearby, a walk that should have taken only minutes but turned into a slow, agonizing hour of Christine bodily supporting Spock as he made short, jarring hops along on his good leg. Each impact jolted through him and he had to stop frequently to gather his control again and again before continuing.

It was fully dark by the time they reached shelter and Christine eased her husband down to rest, only the three full moons providing any illumination. Sapel breathed a sigh of relief, then was shocked when his mother ordered, "Stay here and protect Papa. I've got to go back for the packs."

Spock started in alarm. "It is too dangerous. Leave them."

"They have all our supplies," she stated adamantly. "I won't be long." She was gone before he could protest further.

In truth, it wasn't far and she had soon returned with her own pack. From it, she retrieved her own phaser and started back for Spock's pack, disappearing into the darkness.

Tensely, Spock scanned the night for her return but even with the moonlight aiding his night vision, he could not see her. The evening had quieted somewhat, the battle between the lion and rhinos ending as quickly as it had begun. He couldn't tell what the outcome might have been. Significantly, though, he could hear no sounds of feeding or the usual squabbling of predators fighting over a kill. It worried him quite a lot that this sound should be absent from the evening symphony.

With stunning suddenness, the night lit up with the blue lightning of a phaser shot and there was the immediate squall of a wounded lion. Another shot split the darkness, closer this time.

Then Christine was hurrying into their company, dragging Spock's heavy pack in her left hand and holding the phaser ready in her right. Behind her came an angry growl and once more she fired a bolt back the way she had come. The lion trailing her roared in pain and leapt away, the darkness swallowing it.

She stood for a long moment, waiting, but apparently she had scared away the predator. Still, she stuck her phaser into her belt before turning to see how Spock was faring.

"That was very foolish," he chided her weakly. "You could easily have been killed."

"I need some light," she replied, ignoring his comment.

"You need to rest!" he interjected.

Christine sat back on her heels and sighed wearily. "Yes, but I don't have that option right now. I've got to make a fire -- quickly!"

She got up and poked around the rock bases, finally coming back with a small stack of dried brush and weeds. These she piled together and once more drew her phaser, setting it on heavy stun setting. The heat from the bolt ignited the tinder and a little blaze leapt into life. Satisfied, she turned to her son.

"Sapel, put Scruff down. She can take care of herself. There's a lot of sticks and stuff lodged up against that rock face. I need for you to collect it and stack it up here so we can keep a fire going. Be careful, though. There may be animals hiding in there."

"I'll be careful, Mama," he answered and set to work.

Scruff followed him, prowling around the brush with interest, her huge black ears pricked and her nose twitching as she caught scents in the tangle of litter. Abruptly, a little gray form exploded from the twigs and the hunting cat reacted with lightning speed, pouncing in a blur of action. There was a tiny squeak and then the half-grown kitten had a limp little body danging from her jaws, unknowingly making her first kill. Instinct sent her to the edge of the firelight, where she lay down and proceeded to devour the mouse she had caught.

The three people had watched dumbly, then Christine looked down at her husband, her brows lifted delicately. "Well, looks like we won't have to worry about keeping Scruffy fed."

She turned back to examining Spock's leg, plying the tourniquet. The bleeding had slowed but was still seeping out in a steady, dark green trickle. Christine shook her head. "Spock, I don't have anything that will help with this," she told him bleakly. "I'm sorry." In the firelight, her eyes glinted with tears.

Spock barely heard her. Already he was sinking down into a healing trance, his own survival instincts taking over. "No matter..." he breathed. "...so tired ... must rest..." He sighed deeply and his head lolled back. "...heal ... wake ... three days..." Then he was gone, lost in the coma of kan'sorn.

* * *

He was drowning, struggling toward the surface, fighting for air. The current kept trying to pull him back under to its black depths, its inexorable grasp relentless. Spock made a supreme effort and broke through the surface, gulped a chestful of oxygen and rasped out desperately, "Chris!!"

Then he was yanked back down. Another monumental effort, another fast breath and another cry. "Hit me!! Chris!!"

He could scarcely breathe, the pressure around him greater than he could bear. "Chris!!" he pleaded again and panted frantically.

Pain exploded against his left cheek, knocking his head to the side. It wasn't enough. Another blast, this time against his right cheek, flinging his head back the other way. He began to struggle up again. Left, right, left. With each successive blow, the pressure lifted, the smothering darkness cleared.

Abruptly he could see and breathe and, with a reflexive movement, he caught his wife's hand as it descended once more. "No. Enough," he sighed. "Thank you." He let her go.

Christine bent over him, her face covered with anguish, tears in her eyes. "How do you feel?" she asked softly, stroking away the pain she had inflicted on him.

He closed his eyes in weariness. "My leg is still extremely painful," he answered. "I seem to have fever and I feel extremely weak."

She nodded in understanding. "You've been in the healing trance for three days. I set your leg and stitched it as well as I could, but it's extremely swollen and there's some infection. You're very sick, Spock."

He worked his tongue in his dry mouth. "Water," he rasped.

Immediately, she brought the water pouch up and placed the opening against his lips, dribbling water for him to drink. "Not too much now," she cautioned him. "We don't have much left. There's no water here. I need to go to the river, but I didn't want to leave you alone."

He swallowed and indicated he'd had enough. "We cannot stay here in any case," he said. "I am better now. We can continue south."

"Spock, you can't even walk," Christine retorted, half in exasperation.

"In a day or two, I shall be strong enough. Find me a tree branch sturdy enough to act as a crutch," he responded doggedly. "Our progress will be slow, but it shall be progress. But now ... is there anything to eat? I am quite hungry."

"There's some roast rock hare," she answered. "I'll get it." She got to her feet and started toward the fire, then paused and turned back with a little smile. "Scruff caught it! Her hunting instincts have really come alive! She's kept herself and us fed with her kills!"

Then Christine had moved away and Spock took the opportunity to close his eyes once more, already exhausted by the brief activity. Still groggy from the kan'sorn, his mind was nevertheless turning to the way ahead, working on the problem of finishing this journey south to Sea Home.

* * *

Step by agonizing step, the miles fell behind them. Sometimes the way went smoothly and they could cover a good bit of distance. At other times, Spock's pain overwhelmed him and they were forced to camp for a week or so before he felt strong enough to continue.

Christine had fashioned a sturdy crutch for him out of a forked three branch and, with its help, he was able to hobble slowly along, resting his weight on its length. However, it was impossible for him to carry his pack, the heaviest of the three, while he did so and Christine couldn't carry it either. Her advancing pregnancy, now beginning its fifth month, precluded heavy loads in any case. But they needed the supplies he bore and could not afford to ditch them.

Thus she had devised a travois of sorts on which she could drag both his and her packs. Sapel still carried his own. Spock had protested vociferously when Christine had cobbled the travois together out of branches and their bison-hide tent, but she had pointed out the logic of such a device and the desperation of their situation. Unwillingly, he had backed down, unable to refute her argument. However, he absolutely forbade her to pull the travois more than five miles a day.

The command was, in any case, soon proved moot. They never made more than three miles on their best days. Spock simply could not travel more than a mile or so before his strength gave out and he was forced to stop and rest.

Their first attempt at travel had taken them to the river and there they had stayed for nearly four days. It was not a good place to stay because of the predators that frequented the waterside, waiting for prey animals. And the river here was populated by large, ferocious reptiles that lurked beneath the surface until something came down to the shoreline to drink.

In addition, the water was muddy and not very potable, but there was nothing else to drink. Sapel cautiously filled a water bag while his mother stood guard over him, phaser drawn and gripped with both hands, her hard blue eyes anxiously scanning all around them, ready to fire at any danger. Once back at their little camp, she let the water settle in one bowl, then carefully poured the clear water off, leaving the sludge in the other. She boiled the clear water to sterilize it, then poured that into a water bag. Then she would start the whole process over again.

Eventually, their water bags were full of usable water. It still tasted pretty muddy and nasty, but beggars couldn't be choosers. The only other choice they had was to drink straight out of the river and none of them relished that option.

When Spock was stronger, they continued to follow the river on its course southeast. They limped along for a month this way, always hoping that they'd reach the woodlands and hills that they must cross before they reached the sea coast and Sea Home. But day after day, the river continued through the grasslands and the hills on the horizon seemed as distant as ever.

Finally, the river took a turn back to the west and Spock called a halt to that day's frustratingly slow travel. When Christine had freed herself from her burden, she came to stand beside her husband, looking up into his worried face.

"Spock? What's wrong? Are you in pain?" she asked.

He shook his head, his forehead still furrowed. "I don't remember the river taking this bend," he said. "I am certain that it maintains a fairly consistent southeast course."

She wiped the sweat from her brow. "Maybe you've just forgotten," she suggested, not sounding very convinced herself. "It's been a while since we were this way."

"Christine, there might be minor variations in a river's course due to floods, but not to this extent." He shook his head and swallowed. "This cannot be our river. It is another one that I did not know existed to the west of ours."

With something like desperation, Spock scanned the nearly featureless horizon, his gaze following the craggy hills on one side and the plains on the other. Then he said something that chilled Christine's soul.

"I do not know where we are, Christine. We are lost!"

* * *

There had been nothing for it but to go on. Following the course of the waterway they had dubbed the West River, the little party slowly and painfully made their way through the uncharted territory. Spock had formulated a mental map and reasoned that this newly discovered stream must eventually flow southward into the sea. If they followed it all the way there, they should be able to turn eastward and continue along the shoreline until they eventually reached Sea Home. How far that would be, he didn't know but in any case they had little choice.

They had trudged along for five days, she pulling their travois and Spock hobbling along on his crutch. Sapel had brought up the rear with Scruff ranging freely around them. The boy and cat were both hunting as they went and had begun to supply an essential part of their food supply, each day bringing in a hare or fat bird or some other small game. With Spock unable to hunt, it helped substantially.

Tonight it had been a strange little animal that resembled a large lemming or hamster. Scruff had caught it and brought it proudly to her master. She had received the entrails as her reward. The rest had gone into a stew that Christine liked to call "mish-mosh" because it was generally made of whatever they had or could find.

"We didn't cross a second river on our way to the Ship," Christine pondered that evening by their campfire, finishing off her soup. "We should have since we're on the west bank. How could we miss knowing of another river?"

Spock looked thoughtful, his supper already consumed. Now he reclined with his injured leg at the most comfortable angle he could find. "I have been giving it some consideration. I believe that this river has its source in the many springs that flow out of the hill country behind us. We have crossed numerous dry creek beds along the way and I believe they contribute to the river's flow in the rainy season. However, the springs provide its major headwaters. We traveled to the north of its source when we approached the Ship and thus never encountered it previously."

Christine nodded. "Logical," she acknowledged. "How are you doing? Need to have your bandage changed or anything?"

"I am well," Spock answered. "The fracture appears to be healing slowly although I am still experiencing considerable pain from the puncture wound. There appears to be a low level infection that worries me. We may have to set up a camp someplace soon that will allow me to initiate another healing trance. However, my chief concern is for you! It still disturbs me greatly that you are pulling such a load on a daily basis. You are not resting properly."

"It's really not that heavy," she answered. "Honestly. And I'm not subjecting myself to anything that's straining me! I have no intention of losing this baby!"

That made his expression soften some as he gazed over at her. "Do you feel that all is well? Is the child developing normally?"

Christine smiled lovingly at her husband. "As far as I can tell. I haven't been sick or had any pain. In fact..."

She set down the stone bowl she held and scooted closer to her husband. "Feel here," she directed and took his hand, placing it against her rounded abdomen. The preternatural heat of his palm was wonderful against her skin and she closed her eyes with a contented smile.

Spock let his gaze play over her blissful expression then his attention was jerked back to her body. Something had rippled underneath his hand, a tiny flutter, and he gave a little laugh of joy. "I felt it move," he whispered.

"I know," Christine answered, her blue eyes shining happily. "It's pretty quiet during the day, but starting to get really active at night when I settle down."

They sat engrossed in the private little show for some time longer, directing their focus to their tiny life within the woman. Sapel came over curiously. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Come here and feel your baby brother or sister move," Christine invited her son.

The boy squatted down and placed his hand where his mother directed him. After a minute, he felt the flutter as well. "That feels weird," he commented, drawing his hand back. "Is it really moving around inside you?"

"It is indeed," she smiled. "It's only about that long--" She measured out about two inches with her thumb and forefinger. "--but already a real baby. It will be growing and growing over the next few months. In just a few months more, there will be four of us."

"I hope it's a boy," Sapel responded, sitting back on his heels.

"Why is that?" Spock asked, curious.

His son shrugged. "I don't know. So we'd have more hunters, I guess."

"Girls can hunt, too," Christine informed him, amused.

"Yeah, I 'spose. Maybe you can have a girl next time. Well, I'm gonna go to bed now. G'night."

"Good night, sweetheart," Christine replied.

"Sleep well, my son," Spock added.

They both watched as the boy went to roll up in his bed furs and turn his back to the fire. After a little while, Christine looked at her husband, her face now serious. "Spock," she said in a low voice, holding his gaze steadily. "What Sapel said about next time... I don't want there to be a next time. No more after this one." She looked into the campfire, its light painting her face in oranges and ambers. "I'm getting too old. I'm 40 now. Or I would be on Earth. I know I still have a lot of child-bearing years ahead of me, but I don't want any more." She looked back up anxiously. "Can you understand that?"

Spock reached out and grasped her hand. "T'hy'la, you do not have to apologize or be afraid that I will be angry! Except for my times of pon farr, it is entirely your decision."

She glanced down again, her voice beginning to tremble a bit. "It's just that ... this is my fourth pregnancy since we've been stranded here and I've lost two of those babies. And ... and I'm afraid I'm going to die giving birth... And it's so hard ... so hard to find food and to protect..." She dissolved into quiet tears. "I'm sorry."

Spock drew her into his arms and held her until his leg ached so that he had to shift a bit. "Here, let me lie down." He settled onto his back and she snuggled into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. Flipping the sleeping fur over them both, he held her close to him, savoring her warmth and softness. "Christine, you are my cherished wife. In Vulcan society, in between Times, the wife dictates how often or even if sexual relations occur. She may opt for frequent relations with her husband or she may decide on complete celibacy. It is her choice entirely. We will abide by your wishes in this matter."

"I don't want celibacy, Spock," she answered softly. "I love making love with you. Having sex with you is too incredible for words!"

"Indeed," he murmured in return, nuzzling against her forehead. "Neither do I wish to cease our physical relations. I find being with you intensely pleasurable and stimulating."

"But we just need to take strict precautions so that I don't become pregnant again after this baby is born," she continued.

"I will make certain that you do not," he assured her.

She raised her head to look at him. "How?"

That made his brows lift. "Um ... I believe the expression is ... 'we will cross that bridge when we come to it'. Now we both should sleep if we intend to travel again tomorrow."

She chuckled and settled back down. "Hmmm... I think in the Middle Ages on Earth they used to make condoms out of sheep skin," she murmured. "Maybe I'll see if I can come up with something here. Have to figure a way to hold it on so that it doesn't come off... Maybe we can keep it on with a tight string around your cock."

She could feel the little start of alarm that went through him and radiated out through their bond. "Perhaps," he replied uncertainly.

Christine laughed again. "Don't worry about it now, hon. It will be a long time before we get to that point. Good night."

"Pleasant dreams, my wife," Spock answered but lay awake for some time thinking. Envisioning sexual intercourse with a sheathing fastened securely around his penis with a tight cord sobered Spock considerably. He had the feeling that just the prospect would dampen his sexual appetite enough to curtail any need for such a thing at all!

* * *

Autumn caught up with them eight days later, sweeping in from the northwest in the form of low gray clouds, borne on a chill wind and dropping a cold, heavy rain. The weather had been almost oppressively humid, although there was a perceptible temperature drop from the weeks before. It was still hot, but not scorchingly so.

The cold front found the travelers working their laborious way through the grasslands that bordered the gradually widening river. They were on the coastal plain now, still many miles from even a glimpse of the sea, but feeling within sight of their destination. Christine was becoming anxious to find a way to cross the river, fearing that they would find themselves in a marsh or tidal area unless they turned eastward before too long.

But there appeared no way to get to the other shore. Too wide and deep to wade or swim, the river was impassable. As each day went by, Christine grew increasingly fearful that they would have to turn back and retrace their steps, a journey that would be as deadly as attempting to get across this stream ... because Spock simply could not survive it.

He had been pushing himself relentlessly, his face grim and taut, jawline set against the increasing pain in his injured leg. He estimated that the sea was only about 25 miles away and he was determined to make it. His leg would, however, had begun to fester, swollen and filled with pus. The low infection he'd complained of over a week earlier had continued to develop until he hobbled along in a fog of agony each day. After a mile or so, he would be forced to stop and rest and Christine would tend to his injury as best she could. The tiny arsenal of medicines she had gotten from the Romulan ship were long since depleted. She could do little more than clean the green-crusted injury and keep the foul exudate flowing out of the wound site, taking its poison with it.

She had been arguing urgently with her husband for several days as well. "Spock, please! We need to set up a campsite and let you rest! We have got to get this under control!"

"Not yet... not here..." he answered through clenched teeth against the pain. "Just a little farther..."

"Much farther will kill you!"

"No," he insisted stubbornly. "I can control the pain." His voice dropped to a whisper and it was almost as if he were speaking to himself. "I am a Vulcan... There is no pain..."

And so they had gone on. But now Spock was nearing the end of his endurance. The flesh around the injury had begun to darken ominously, shot through with livid streaks of green. She was terrified that blood poisoning or even gangrene had begun to set in. Spock was unnaturally pale otherwise, his face drawn into an almost skeletal appearance, his eyes sunken and lifeless. When she touched his skin, his body temperature nearly scalded her, so high was his fever. And still he refused to stop his dogged forward momentum.

And then the rain caught them, drenching them in minutes with its pelting downpour. Christine saw Sapel stuffing the shivering little hunting cat into his tunic, then she herself pulled her son to her in a futile attempt to shelter him. They hurriedly caught up with Spock, his head bowed and water dripping in a steady stream from the hair hanging across his face.

"We've got to find shelter!" Christine shouted above the drum of rain and grumble of thunder. "Do you see anything ahead?!"

Wearily, Spock lifted his face and peered through the torrent. "There is nothing," he answered in a dull voice. "I see only that stand of trees."

Christine wiped the water from her eyes and squinted. Ahead, like gray giants immobile in the storm, stood a grouping of massive boles, trees such as they had never encountered before. They were of middle height, perhaps 20 feet at the crown, but their trunks were far, far out of proportion to that height. Each one must have easily measured 40 feet in circumference, almost twice as wide as they were high.

"They almost look like African baobabs," Christine commented. "Well, any port in a storm! Maybe they'll offer a little bit of shelter. Better than standing out here anyway!"

She urged her son and husband toward the odd copse, laboriously dragging the saturated travois behind her.

* * *

The canopy of interlacing baobab crowns lessened the rain but did not stop it. In the midst of the giant trees, Christine paused and looked around, wondering what to do next. Spock decided that for her. Standing shakily beside her and clutching his crutch for support, his head bent against the rain, he seemed to crumble before her eyes and fell face first, as if the last of his strength had simply melted away.

"Spock!" Christine threw off the travois harness, dropping to her knees beside him, turning him over onto his back.

He was unconscious, his cheeks flushed a too-verdant hue and his skin unnaturally warm to the touch, despite the rain trickling down his features in rivulets. Frantically, Christine attempted to revive him, but to no avail. Whether he had slipped into kan'sorn or had fallen senseless from fever, she could not tell, but she did know that she had to get him into shelter as soon as possible.

Sapel had hurried to his mother's side when he'd seen his father fall and, as he bent over the still form, Scruff leaped from the protection of his tunic and scrambled away toward a long, narrow fissure in the trunk of a nearby baobab. The boy made a grab at the hunting cat as she ran for the trunk, then he let her go and turned his attention to his parents.

"We've got to find someplace dry!" Christine exclaimed, her thoughts racing desperately.

Sapel suddenly got up and ran to the gigantic tree where Scruff had disappeared. Crouching down, he peered into the opening, a rent about four feet high and two feel wide at the base. Then, just as suddenly, he was splashing back to his mother.

"Over here, Mama! Scruffy found us a place!" he cried.

"What?" Christine was confused.

"That big tree. It's hollow inside. I think we can all get inside it."

"At this point, I'm willing to try anything!" she answered. "Help me with Papa."

Together, Christine and Sapel managed to drag the unconscious Vulcan the short distance to the enormous tree trunk, then the boy ducked and slipped easily inside. "There's lots of room in here, Mama," he called.

"All right. Careful now."

It was awkward, but it did not take long to maneuver Spock's limp form through the opening and into shelter. The hollow trunk proved to be surprisingly spacious. It was about eight feet in diameter and reached above their heads about twelve. The darkness inside was tempered by the gray light coming from the "door" as well as a smaller hole in the bark above them, which was situated so that it provided ventilation, but still kept out the rain. Dirt and leaf litter had blown in to form a dry, comfortable flooring and it was this blanket of dry leaves that Christine hurriedly packed around Spock to keep him as warm as possible.

Then she ducked out and retrieved the packs from the travois, stuffing them inside their make-shift shelter. The travois itself, made from the bullhide tent, she propped against the trunk outside the door, forming a sort of awning that kept the rain from blowing inside and blocked the wind. Then she came back to dry off herself and see to her husband.

"Sapel, unroll my sleeping fur. I know it's wet, but it won't be soaked clear through."

The boy did as told and together they pulled the fur over Spock's body, tucking the driest end around his throat. He had begun to shiver and Christine laid her hands against his face, worried at the amount of heat he was generating. "He's burning up with fever," she commented.

Pulling the blanket away from Spock's thigh, she bent to peer at his wound, wrinkling her nose at the putrid smell of necrotic flesh. Even in this light, she could see that the injury had burst open again and pale green pus was flooding out over the blackened skin. Already the stink of gangrene was filling the hollow of the tree trunk and Christine knew now without a doubt that she had only two options ... amputate her husband's leg and risk him dying of blood loss and infection ... or do nothing and allow him to die of blood poisoning and infection.

But whichever she did, Spock would die. She had lost the battle to save him.

The knowledge overwhelmed her with despair and Christine sank down to lie beside him, pulling her husband's gaunt form tightly against her, burying her face in his shoulder and giving in to the tears that hovered silently in the background. After all they'd been through on this world ... the love they had shared and the fights that had nearly torn them apart ... the children they had conceived and had buried ... the joyous carefree days when everything went right and the horrible anguish-filled nights when everything went terribly wrong ... after all that, she was actually losing him!

Mingled with the grief came the horrible wrenching fear of helplessness and vulnerability. Christine's mind turned wildly ahead to the future, where the prospect of a life without her beloved Spock loomed like a black cloud. How could she provide for Sapel and herself and the new baby to come? What if something went wrong during the birth and they both died? How would Sapel survive alone? He was just a baby himself!

Panic gripped her and for a moment she hovered on the edge of hysteria, then Sapel's voice brought her back. "Mama?" he ventured, frightened at the sight of his mother clutching his father's limp body and weeping frantically. "Is Papa...?" He couldn't say it. His terrified eyes finished the sentence for him.

"No ... no..." She sat up and held her arms up. Sapel immediately went into her embrace and held his mother tightly, pressing his head against her bosom and allowing her to pull his trembling little body against her.

Christine wiped the tears from her face, getting control of herself once more. "He's still alive, baby," she whispered. Oh, God, please keep him alive! she prayed as she rocked her son gently. Please, God, I know he doesn't believe in you, but please, please believe in him! Keep him alive, Father, please!!

Tears of desperation rolled down her face once more and the two of them sat for a very long time, listening to Spock's shallow breathing in the dark, enclosed space. Dimly, Christine was aware that the rain had stopped and only the sound of faintly dripping water broke the quiet afternoon. Unconsciously, she had begun a death watch on Spock, waiting for the end to come.

The light streaming in from the opening high above them dimmed for a second then shone once more. Christine blinked, wondering if a cloud had passed, and was about to dismiss it when a barely audible sound drew her attention upward.

Sitting on a ledge next to the opening was an animal, one of the lemur-like creatures she and Spock had always called "hooters" because of the piercing sound they made at night. This one sat peering intently at the little group, its gigantic golden eyes fixed on the man lying beneath the fur robe, his life ebbing away. The hooter's nose wrinkled at the smell for a moment, then using handholds that Christine couldn't see, it began to climb down toward them.

Scruff hissed and ducked behind Christine, staring at the creature descending the wall. "Mama?" whispered Sapel, but his mother didn't answer, frozen in place.

The lemur reached the floor and quietly squatted beside Spock, gazing with fixed interest at the Vulcan. For a long moment the creature didn't move and Christine was able to get her first really good look at it. It had moved bipedally for the two or three steps between the wall and Spock's bed, although it didn't look as if this was its constant gait. It had a long prehensile tale that appeared to balance it and both hands and feet sported opposable thumbs, useful for moving about trees. The creature was covered with a dense cream-colored fur, although its face, ears, hands and feet were naked and a dark chocolate brown. Its gigantic golden eyes dominated an attractive primate face.

Abruptly, the lemur reached out and touched Spock's face, laying its hand across his eyes. Christine gave a start, then stopped herself, waiting to see what it would do.

After another minute, the lemur stood and leaped away cleanly to the wall, scrambling with easy speed up its handholds and out the opening. A little dazed, Christine and Sapel released their tension and Scruff ventured out, her gaze on the opening above.

"Well," said Christine almost rhetorically. "What was that all about?"

Scruff uttered a scratchy meow that seemed to precisely echo the woman's question, and Christine laughed in spite of herself, fondling the hunting cat's fur.

"What was it doing, Mama?" Sapel asked.

"I don't know. It almost looked like it was evaluating Papa's condition, didn't it?" She shook her head. "It was probably just curious about him, though."

There was a sudden scramble above them and this time Scruff dived into the safety of Sapel's tunic. "Ow!" he complained. "Watch the claws!" But he was too intrigued by what followed to pay much attention to the cat.

The lemur had returned ... and this time it had brought reinforcements. Following after it was a larger, stockier creature, squeezing through the opening and descending the wall with a little more difficulty and caution. It appeared a good deal older than the lithe one and, once it had reached the floor, Christine could see that the fur on its cheeks grew out and downward in a sort of ruff and that this hair was more gray than cream.

The old one moved with dignity on all fours to sit beside Spock, staring at him for a moment and sniffing cautiously. Then it picked at the fur blanket covering him, gently so as not to tug too hard at this strange creature's pelt. But once the blanket moved and the lemur saw that it was merely a covering, it began to work with more assurance.

Christine was caught somewhere between terror and hope as she watched the little creatures before her. Intrigued, she leaned forward as the old lemur flung the wet, smelly fur away with a decided grimace.

Spock's leg was bared to the pale light and both lemurs drew back from the stench with a sharp click of their tongues. Then the old one reached out to tentatively prod with one finger at the blackened flesh surrounding the draining wound. It chittered softly to itself, then turned to the young one and gave a terse hoot.

The young one sprang up the wall and out immediately, then returned almost before Christine and Sapel could catch their breaths. The old lemur ignored them, but reached a hand into what was obviously a marsupial pouch on the young one's belly, drawing out a fistful of black slimy things. With a quick movement, it plastered the things against Spock's leg and held them there, its hand flat against the necrotic flesh.

Christine couldn't repress a little cry and sprang forward. "What are you doing?!" she demanded in horror.

The young lemur jumped in fright, but the old one held its ground, turning big, pale gold eyes directly on her. "Chk!" it said emphatically.

Sapel fell back with a gasp against the tree wall. "Help!" he exclaimed.

Christine swung on her son, frantically searching for danger. "Sapel! What's wrong!"

The boy shook his head, his long shaggy hair hanging across his brow. "No ... no, Mama. The hooter! It said 'help!'. I understood it!"

Christine whipped back to the old lemur, its grave features still holding steadily on hers. "Intelligent?" she whispered, awed by this discovery. "How..."

The old lemur turned back to its job and pulled the hand away from Spock's leg. The slimy things had attached themselves and were wriggling vigorously, burrowing into the dead skin, already feeding ravenously. The lemur reached once more into the young one's pouch and this time brought out a wad of gray-green matter that looked like a moldy piece of bread. This went directly onto the oozing wound on Spock's thigh where the rhino had horned him.

Sapel shrank against his mother in horror. "What are they doing?!" he cried.

But Christine was watching with fascination and drew closer. "I think I know," she murmured, almost to herself. "The maggots will clear away the dead tissue. And I'd bet anything that what he just put on Papa's leg is penicillin!"

Cautiously, she moved closer and knelt across from the old lemur, Spock's body between them. Her eyes locked on the hooter's, she laid her hand on her husband's chest and said clearly, "Spock."

The lemur's ears pricked slightly and there was obvious interest in its eyes. It too laid its hand on the Vulcan's chest, but made no sound.

"Spock," Christine repeated, patting the man gently.

"Pck!" said the lemur.

"Yes!" Christine grinned and nodded. "Spock!"

"Pck!"

Then she moved her fingers to her own chest. "Christine," she stated. The lemur cocked its head and stared. "Chris ... tine."

"Crrrr..." the lemur trilled. It was somewhere between a growl and a purr.

"Chris ... tine."

"Crrrr..." It seemed the closest the creature could come to the alien pronunciation.

"Good enough, I suppose," Christine answered. She pointed to the lemur and made a hopeful gesture, signaling that it was the other's turn now.

The big golden eyes had dilated with eagerness. "Charrr-eek!" it said.

"Ch... Chaary," the woman attempted.

"Charrr-eek!"

"Char ... lee," she tried again. "Charlie!"

It was a good compromise. The lemur seemed to accept it. Introductions continued. Sapel became "Ss'lck" and the young lemur, whose name wasn't even remotely pronounceable, was dubbed Picku.

All parties sat back and regarded the others. Now that opening formalities were over, all seemed to be wondering what to do next. Again, Spock made the decision.

With a deep grown, he rolled his head to one side, his brow furrowed in pain and discomfort, and tried to shift his position. He was shivering hard and seemed to be searching for a warmer position. Christine seized his face between her hands and found his skin clammy and chilled. Charlie and Picku were both instantly in attendance as well. Christine started to reach for the damp fur but the lemurs chattered in agitation, obviously not wanting the wet blanket back on their patient.

Sitting back in frustration, Christine turned to her son. "Sapel, you seemed to be able to communicate a little with them. Can you send the impression of 'cold' to them?"

"I'll try, Mama," the boy answered and closed his eyes, stretching out with his rudimentary telepathic abilities. He projected intense cold and then pleasant warmth underneath the furs. For good measure, he sent a picture of his father sick and miserable, then feeling better after being covered.

The lemurs seemed to consult one another, then abruptly Picku sprang away once more and disappeared out of the roof opening. Within a few minutes, she was back and she brought with her a dozen more of the lithe, creamy animals. The newcomers inched their way down the wall, obviously afraid of the aliens in their midst, but Charlie hooted and chittered rapidly and with authority. All moved rapidly to obey him.

Moving gently, the entire entourage spread themselves over Spock's long, shivering body, covering all of him except his face, their soft fur and warmth almost immediately enveloping the sick man in a blessed heat that soothed his rigors and comforted his suffering. With a sigh he sank back down into unconsciousness, returning to the deep sleep he so desperately needed. But Christine noted that his breathing already seemed easier and she exchanged a grateful, hope-filled glance with the old lemur healer.

Spock groaned and slowly opened his eyes, working his tongue about a sticky, dry mouth that tasted like dirty socks. Confused, he tried to place where he was, but did not recognize his surroundings. His eyes still grainy from too much sleep, he raised a hand to clear his vision and that action brought a familiar, loving face into view overhead.

* * *

"Spock!" Christine exclaimed, smiling radiantly. "How are you feeling?"

"Groggy," he answered. "Water?"

"Of course." She turned away for a moment, then was back, slipping a hand beneath his head and lifting him gently as she brought a cup to his lips. "Slowly now, sweetheart. Don't take it too fast." She fed him small sips until he indicated he'd had enough, then she laid his head back onto the fur pillow that had cradled him.

"Where are we?" he asked in a still weak voice.

"Inside one of the baobabs," Christine answered, her eyes shining. "You fainted just as we reached them and Sapel and I got you inside out of the rain. You've been asleep for three days."

"Where is Sapel?" Spock asked, looking around their sparse shelter.

"He's outside with... He's outside." Christine had caught herself abruptly, deciding that it was best to gradually break the news of their unexpected friends. "How does your leg feel?"

Spock turned his attention to his injury and was surprised. "It feels much better. I just needed the rest to allow the infection to pass."

Christine's expression registered extreme discomfort and she looked away for a moment. "No, Spock." Suddenly serious, she gazed back at him, her deep blue eyes holding his dark brown ones. "Honey, you were in really bad shape when we got here. Much worse than I think you know."

Spock lifted an eyebrow in inquiry. "Indeed?" he murmured.

She nodded, tears coming to her eyes. "You were dying," she whispered, stroking her fingers softly along his gaunt cheek. "Gangrene had set in. There was nothing more I could do."

His other brow rose as he peered at her. "Yet I am alive," he pointed out.

Nodding, she rested her palm against his forehead. "Yes. Because help suddenly appeared out of nowhere."

Spock's expression became more perplexed. "What...?"

Christine couldn't help but laugh a little through her tears. "Because you've been under expert medical care ... by a very skilled doctor."

"Of course. You--"

"No. Not me. Someone else." Christine laughed again. "We aren't just in a hollow tree here, Spock. We're in a home. We inadvertently broke into someone's house!"

Spock glowered at her in exasperation, some of his old energy beginning to make a reappearance. "Christine, you are being deliberately obtuse! Please tell me plainly what you are attempting to say!"

That broke her into a heart-felt peal of laughter and she bent to embrace him, kissing him again and again as she cried. After a few minutes, she straightened and wiped her tears of joy away. "Spock, we found people. Not people like us, but people nevertheless. You know the little creatures we've always called 'hooters'? Well, they or a very near species live here in this forest. It's a regular city, Spock! There must be over a thousand of them living here in these baobab trees."

The news stunned him silent, laying him back flat as he assimilated the information. "Indeed?" he whispered at last. "Fascinating!"

"Yes, they are. I've been studying them a little. I don't think they're exactly the same as the hooters we have up north. These are bigger and obviously more intelligent," she told him. "I think it's like the difference between chimpanzees and humans. Genetically, they're almost identical, but not quite. These are sentient beings. They've evolved into people."

He tried to get up, his eagerness now sending adrenalin through his body. "Absolutely fascinating!" he repeated. "I would like to meet these ... people."

Immediately, Christine had both hands on his chest, pushing him back down. "Whoa, buddy boy! You stay right in that bed! You're better, but you're a long way from well!"

Spock was surprised to find that he didn't have the strength to resist her and allowed himself to be pushed back into a supine position. In fact, he discovered that his whole body felt incredibly weak and the little effort had exhausted him. "Perhaps you are correct," he conceded.

"Spock, my love, you are barely a step away from an open grave," Christine informed him. "You are still incredibly sick and you're going to take a long time to heal. You are confined to bed here until Dr. Christine and Dr. Charlie both agree that you can get up."

"Dr. Charlie?"

"Your physician. You'll meet him later," she answered. "That's not really his name, but it's as close as I can get to it. He'll be coming a little later to change your dressing and check the wound. Now, how about something to eat?"

Spock considered it and found that he was absolutely starved. "I would like that very much," he replied gratefully.

"Okay. I have some broth on out by the fire. I'll be right back with some soup and some bread." She abruptly bent over and kissed him soundly on the lips. "I was so afraid I was going to lose you!" she whispered fiercely when she broke the kiss. Once more tears were shining in her eyes, but she was smiling tremulously and ducked out quickly before she could lose control again.

Spock was glad that she had left him for a few minutes. It gave him the time he needed to wipe his own eyes once more before she returned.

* * *

Spock turned his face to the sun and savored its warmth on his skin. It felt good to be outside at last, enjoying the bright autumn sunshine and fresh air. It had been two weeks since he'd awakened from his brush with death and his recovery was advancing every day. Still unable to put his weight on his leg, he could nevertheless manage to get up and use his crutch once more, although his strength was slow in returning. He could make short trips now for hygiene purposes and he had seen a very, very small part of the city of trees, but for the most part his movements were limited to the immediate vicinity of the baobab house they currently called home.

Christine had settled him today outside their doorway, propped up against the bole of the tree with their furs rolled up as cushions at his back. She was curled up beside him, simply wanting to be near him, as if, in her absence, he might fall back into the coma that had nearly taken him from her. He understood exactly what she was feeling, as much through their Bond as in his own heart. Looking over at her now, he smiled and sent a pulse of love across the mindlink they shared, cascading it down through her whole body and soul.

Christine gasped softly and then leaned toward him, kissing him long and fully. When she drew back, she whispered, "I love you so much, Spock. I don't know how I would have gone on if I'd lost you."

"But you would have gone on," he answered. "I've never known you to let anything defeat you."

"That would have," she murmured back. She brought their mouths together once more, slipping her tongue lightly between his lips and adding just a hint of passion to the kiss.

When they parted, he nuzzled his forehead against hers in a further gesture of affection. "Soon, my beloved, I hope. I don't have the physical strength yet, but soon..."

They were interrupted by the arrival, at full speed, of their son, racing through the carpet of yellow leaves that covered the ground. Sapel was followed in close order by Scruff and then Picku, galloping on all fours for speed. Once at the tree, however, she slowed and rose upright, hopping along nimbly in a sort of half-jump, half-walk gait, her long tail acting like a rudder for balance.

Sapel, laughing and red in the face, sprinted around to the back of the enormous tree, Picku right behind him. Scruffy did a wild, scrambling leap, secured herself to the tree with extended claws, and was ten feet up before she abruptly stopped and seemed to realize where she was. With a piteous mew, the hunting cat began edging back down, then finally pushed off and dropped the rest of the way to the ground. There she recovered her dignity as only a cat could do and strolled away with an attitude that plainly said, "I meant to do that."

Christine burst into laughter and even Spock found he could not suppress a smile. The cat suddenly tensed and looked around, then shot off once more, just as Sapel and Picku rolled into view, locked in each other's embrace, wrestling merrily. The lemur's tail was locked around one of the boy's wrists and finally he broke away, exclaiming, "No fair! It's like you've got five hands!"

Picku sat back on her haunches and groomed her belly fur unconcernedly. After a moment, she peered intensely at her playmate and Sapel grinned. "Okay, let's go!" Obviously some form of telepathic message had passed between the two and they sprinted off again, Picku back on all feet and Scruff valiantly bringing up the rear.

Christine shook her head, chuckling. "I can't tell if those two have become best friends or if they each regard the other as a pet."

"Probably it is a bit of both," Spock answered.

"Yes." Christine sighed happily and leaned her head over to rest on her husband's shoulder. "God, I love it here. How is it that we've lived here nearly seven years and never knew this existed?"

"We simply were never in the right place," Spock answered. "It is likely that their population is rather small overall. What is it again that you've named this place?"

Christine looked a bit embarrassed. "Lemuria. You know ... lemurs ... Lemuria. There is an old Earth legend of a lost land called that. I thought it was appropriate here."

Spock nodded, eyebrow raised slightly. "Yes. Although what I believe I have heard them call themselves is nothing like that."

"No, but I don't speak their language. Anyway, what they call us isn't Human, either."

"No ... it translates more to 'big naked ground walker'," Spock replied, amused.

Christine nodded and sat quietly, enjoying the autumn afternoon. Overhead the baobabs sent down a silent rain of slim yellow leaves that fluttered groundward like so many butterflies. And there were butterflies here, too, large red and blue ones in amazing numbers. They added their own flash of color to the golden foliage, sometimes congregating together into a tapestry of living artistry.

"They remind me of monarchs," Christine commented. Spock looked at her curiously. "Monarch butterflies," the woman elaborated. "When I was a girl at home, every fall thousands and thousands of monarch butterflies would migrate through our area on their way to Mexico for the winter. Sometimes the trees would be completely orange with them. It was unbelievable."

"We do not have butterflies on Vulcan," he answered reflectively. "Nothing that would compare with this. I believe it is our loss."

Again Christine sat silent and Spock became aware of the sadness welling up within her. She knew that he felt it and did not try to hide it from him. "Do you think we'll ever get home, Spock?" she asked.

He slipped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. "I don't know, beloved," he answered honestly. "I know that you have never completely given up hope. Perhaps, deep down, neither have I. It is only natural. But, after seven years, I do not believe that they are still looking for us. I believe that we must have been declared dead long ago. Our life is here now. With each other. With our children."

He gently placed his other hand atop her rounded belly, now very obvious in its swelling of new life. Christine laid her hands atop his and snuggled her head underneath his chin. "I know," she answered, a muffled sob in her voice. "I'm sorry, Spock. I didn't mean to get so maudlin."

He pulled his hand free and tilted her face up to his. "Nostalgia and the desire to be home is not maudlin," he responded firmly, but with a smile. "Particularly for a woman mid-way through pregnancy." He kissed her lightly. "And we must indeed go home, Christine. As soon as I am able to travel. We cannot stay here for the winter."

"I know," she sighed. "We've got to get to Sea Home and lay supplies in. We have lots and lots to do!"

"Indeed." Spock settled back once more against the tree trunk and pulled his wife comfortably into his embrace. "We are woefully behind on our preparations. We must attempt to leave here within the next two weeks or I fear we will never have enough time to reach the cabin before winter arrives."

* * *

It was not yet dawn, although Christine had the impression that it was morning. It was still dark, in any case, but she needed no light to appreciate the touch that had drawn her from slumber. The large warm hand that was lightly caressing her breast was dearly familiar to her and she smiled sleepily as she rolled farther into it.

//My t'hy'la,// Spock's voice sounded softly in her mind. //You are awake. I had hoped that you would not sleep long this morning. That is selfish of me, but your nearness has caused much need in me. It has been so very long and my body hungers for yours.//

She smiled and gave a little moan deep in her throat. "Spock..." she whispered.

//Do not speak aloud, t'hy'la. Quietly ... as discreetly as possible...//

Christine understood. Sapel slept within a few feet of them, rolled in his furs. Still, it was hard to keep from sighing as she savored her husband's touch. It had been over a month since he had been injured, more than that since they had last made love. This was the first morning he had come awake feeling well and strong, eager to join with her once again.

Beneath the fur blanket, she sank against him, slipping an arm over his ribs and up the smooth expanse of his back, loving the feel of his warm, muscled skin beneath her palm. She was careful not to bump his still splinted thigh with her leg, but managed to press her pelvis against his, reveling in the long, firm shape that pressed into her through his loin cloth.

//Are you up to this?// she asked mentally, even as she rubbed against him.

//You may be the judge of that,// he responded with amusement, drawing her into a hot, passion-filled kiss, his tongue pushing in and exploring the contours of her mouth. Her tongue danced with his, sending a surge of fire through them both. Again and again they kissed, breaking only for air before plunging back to devour the other with growing fervor.

Spock had continued to stroke his fingers along the exposed skin of her breast and now he turned his attention to removing the halter she wore. Finding the ties to the garment at her neck and back, he pulled them loose, then let his hand slide back to cover her breast, nudging aside the now unbound halter.

//I want to remove this,// he murmured to her as his hand and lips continued their explorations. //I want to kiss you there, t'hy'la. I want to feel you in my mouth...// The vivid picture of his intentions flashed through her mind and she was hard pressed to stifle another moan.

Her eager assent washed over him, hot with her excitement, and he freed her from the halter that only barely covered her upper body, exposing her lush breasts fully to his searching touch. Always generous, her breasts now were swollen with pregnancy, her nipples engorged and taut, the wide rosy areolae standing proud as well. In his mind's eye, he could see her as clearly as if it were daylight and the vision caused a fresh pulse of arousal to throb inside him.

He loved her breasts when she was lactating. At the ripest moment of her womanhood then, she inspired his most fervent feelings of masculine sexuality. Simply thinking about them now forced him to pause for a second and regain control of his excitement. Later, when they were truly alone, he could express the true depth of his desire for her, but now they must be as quiet as possible.

He spent some time running his hand over her full breasts, enjoying the smooth contours of her hot skin, and massaging the eager nubs that prodded against his palms. Gently, he rolled and pulled at them, careful not to hurt her, then bent his head to the breast closest to his face. His tongue laved her fevered flesh, flicking teasingly over the hard nipple, his fingers softly massaging the globe that filled his hand.

Christine arched against him and could not suppress a nearly inaudible gasp as he sucked her whole nipple and areola into his mouth, nursing her hard, his tongue rhythmically massaging and compressing her against his palate.

//Oh, Spock!// she warned him mentally, her mind swimming in incredible pleasure. //You're going to get a mouthful in a minute!//

He eased off, breaking the suction, and soothed her with kisses and gentle swirls with the tip of his tongue. With a final kiss to her breast, he nibbled his way back up her throat and found her willing mouth once again. With renewed eagerness, they fell back together and resumed their dance of tongues and lips.

He could not still his hand from its wandering over her body and his palm slipped downward to caress the rounded form of her abdomen, impeded only by the braided leather that secured her loincloth. It irritated him suddenly, irrationally, that he did not have full access to touch her, possess her, and he fumbled at the tie, working it loose after only a moment. As it came undone and the length of leather covering her gave way, Spock felt himself surge with primal emotion.

He pulled the loincloth from between her legs and rid her of this last impediment. Then, after lingering a moment over the warm, soft contour of her belly, he slid his hand over her bushy mound and into the slickness and heat of her secret places. Christine started to moan but Spock hushed her with his mouth on hers, his fingers tickling and teasing, coating themselves with her wetness. Abruptly, one of his long, sturdy fingers penetrated her, shoving far up inside her, and she arched in climax against him, her nails digging into his shoulder as she fought to stay quiet.

//Oh, yes! Oh, Spock!// she gasped as her excitement flooded through their link and washed over him. She could feel his answering arousal, both mentally and through the hardness that prodded insistently into her hip. After a moment, her ecstacy eased and he withdrew his finger, resuming his tenacious fondling of her engorged labia.

Reaching down, she yanked at his own loincloth. When it did not come immediately free, she grasped him through the leather, pumping his rigid shaft eagerly. It nearly drove him past the limits of his control and he stopped her, expertly untying the belt that held on his only covering. Hungrily, she thrust it aside and clutched his now naked manhood, reveling in the textures she felt filling her palm, how solid it was, how hot to the touch, how silky and smooth the head felt, so moist now with the imminent arrival of his orgasm.

Spock divested himself of the leather strip and allowed himself to come fully into contact with his wife's body, the meeting sending a blast of fire through his veins. More than anything, he wanted to release the savage within him, to roll her onto her back and mount her like the beast slavering in his soul, pounding her until they both screamed together as he erupted into her depths again and again.

But there was no question of that happening, however much it excited him, and Spock shoved the wild vision back into the darkness from whence it came, taking control of himself once more. He knew full well that he could do nothing so barbaric and abandoned with her ... not this time anyway. Her pregnant belly would not allow him to lie atop her, nor would his still mending leg permit sexual gymnastics of any but the mildest sort. And their sleeping son must not be awakened to his parents' coupling.

No, they must rigidly control themselves and that in itself leant an air of danger and excitement to their love-making. So much passion, so much fire, kept under the tightest restraint, knowing that it could burst free if either of them slackened even a bit.

Still, Christine was quivering against him with desire, her skin flushed and heated against his, and he could feel that control beginning to crumble. Even had he desired it, he could wait no longer. Pulling her as close as possible, he brought her leg up over his hip, opening her, and she obligingly angled her pelvis to give him better access. His body immediately found hers, nestling into place at her threshold, throbbing with the rapid pulse of his pounding heart.

//I need you now, t'hy'la,// he whispered urgently in her brain. //I cannot withhold myself any more. I need to be inside you!//

She felt his exquisite ache, knew the gathering pressure at the base of his groin and the clenching pain of his tightly drawn muscles. With both love and lust sweeping over her and through their bond, she surrendered herself, sighing into his mind, //I am thine, husband! Enter where thee are welcome!//

She didn't realize that the thought was in Vulcan nor did he. His whole being was suddenly focused on the fusion he needed so much. With a firm, deliberate shove, he was within her, not deeply, but enough to send a quake of ecstasy quivering through both of them.

For a few seconds, they both lay holding each other tightly, allowing the nearly unbearable sensation to dull a bit, then he pushed in farther. Their position was awkward and prevented full penetration, but it was enough. Her snug velvety passage gripped him like a glove and she completed the impression by reaching down between them to grasp the exposed portion of his erection, ringing it with her fingers.

//T'hy'la!// he cried out in her mind and gave a hard shove with his hips, then settled into a shallow but intensive rhythm. Gripping her as hard as he dared, keeping them both as quiet and motionless as possible under the circumstances, his control unraveled even as he tried to maintain it.

The ache in his groin expanded almost at once to eruption and abruptly release found him. Christine felt his climax slam through him and shoved her pelvis forward to meet him fully, her entire body contorting in the indescribable rapture of mutual orgasm. Surely, she thought later, they must have both screamed with the intensity of it, but there was no audible sound except a quiet moan on her part and a hissed intake of breath on his.

Both lay shuddering for a long moment, then the moment passed. Both relaxed and lay limply in each others arms, still holding one another, until Spock pulled away from her and rolled onto his back, spent. The flush of strength he had experienced with the morning had pumped out of him with his ejaculation. He was exhausted.

Still closely attuned to his emotions through their wide open bond, Christine raised herself a little and leaned over him, stroking his face and kissing him gently on his parted lips. "Sleep," she whispered against his mouth and kissed him again.

Already halfway there, Spock closed his eyes and sighed, letting the blessed darkness take him into slumber.

* * *

Spock sat quietly in the shade of the huge tree, his leg bared and outstretched as Dr. Charlie examined the healed wound with long, spindly fingers. The area was still tender to the touch, but the skin had closed well over it and there was no longer any sign of infection. Only healthy green flesh, something that fascinated the lemur no end, was visible now, a sunken spot in the muscle showing where the puncture had been.

Spock had long since grown used to the alien healer and had been astonished to find that the two of them could communicate mentally either when touching the other or occasionally with a thought directed straight at the Vulcan by the old lemur. A rapport had built up between them over the past month and they had spent long hours "talking". It was not a language of words, but of impressions, visions, intent and emotions. As the two became more comfortable with one another, they had attempted more complex topics.

Picku, it was learned, was in fact Charlie's daughter ... or one of them. He was the patriarch of an extended family troop and the baobab the travelers had first entered was one of his home trees. Their troop was part of a super-troop that consisted of about a dozen other families and made up the population of this tree city. The Lemurians called themselves something that sounded like "Ch'k P'p Whoooo", which translated more or less into "Us". There was another super-troop several miles away with a moniker that was nearly identical but whom Charlie's thoughts conveyed as "Them". Beyond that, the politics of the Lemurians were too complex to understand at this point.

But on a one to one basis, the two highly dissimilar males got along well. Today, the healer sat back on his haunches and the nictating membranes of his eyes edged just a bit up from his lower lids, an expression that meant pleasure. He kept his hand on Spock's arm to facilitate talk.

//Leg most well now,// Charlie's mental impressions informed Spock. //Tie tight one moon sweep. Then healed.//

//Gratitude, friend,// Spock sent back to him and secured his leggings back into place, tying the rawhide belt loopings. After his clothing was back in place, the Vulcan turned to more serious matters, things he had been planning on discussing with his host. //Autumn full now,// he projected. //Winter soon. We--// His thoughts encompassed himself, Christine, Sapel and Scruff. //--go home now. Leave morning sun up.//

Charlie peered closely at the man, the membranes now tucked away from his eye surfaces. //Where home?// he asked puzzled.

Spock didn't know what to call it and so conjured up a mental picture of Sea Home and the sea coast that stretched to either side of it. The house itself was perched on a high hillside within easy walking distance of the beach, but well out of the tide zone and protected against the hillside. He showed Charlie the features of the land there, including the headland that butted out into the sea just to the south of them, cutting the beach off abruptly and preventing their exploring previously in that direction.

At the thought of the headland, Charlie's mind lit up with great pleasure. He sent back a picture of this same distinctly shaped cliff, only from the other side. //Known! Day journey water,// he informed Spock.

The mental images Spock was getting puzzled him as well. //Water travel? No ... No way water. Walk there.// He sent visions of him and his family trudging through grasslands. //Leg strong. Heal good. Leave morning.//

Charlie was again adamant. //Leg no strong,// he argued. //Fall down quick. Leave morning but no walk. You see morning.//

With that the session seemed to be over, for Charlie withdrew his fingers and quickly marched away on all fours before bounding up a tree trunk and quickly disappearing into the foliage overhead.

* * *

Most of the village turned out to see them off the next morning, an entourage that comprised around five hundred Lemurians -- males, females and children -- all chattering and hooting amongst themselves. After a month, the village was well acquainted with their strange visitors and all knew by now that the big bipeds would be leaving on this morning. None wanted to miss this momentous occasion.

Spock was still skeptical about Charlie's assertions that the journey to Sea Home would be accomplished by water, but when he attempted to question the healer again as they readied their packs, the old lemur would only reply, //You wait. See soon.//

And so Spock, Christine and Sapel had set out with Scruff tagging along behind until the lemur crowd had forced her to take refuge in Sapel's tunic. Charlie and Picku walked beside them, the elder on all fours and Picku skipping along upright.

The pathway they took led down to the river about a mile away and there they found an astonishing sight.

On the river itself and pulled onto the low sandy bank were an assortment of little boats, woven tightly from the water reeds that grew in massive stands along the marshes from here to the coast. Sturdy, pliable and water resistant, they made outstanding canoes. Most of the crafts were tiny tub-shaped vessels, suitable for only one person, but about half a dozen others were longer and wider, and it was these that were drawn up on shore.

The fisher folk turned out to be robust Lemurians who poled their little boats out into the current and cast their nets over the side. Spock had been interested to learn that, although the Lemurians did not hunt or trap for meat and were primarily vegetarians, they did enjoy fish and shellfish. He simply hadn't realized what accomplished fishermen they were or that they were intelligent or dexterous enough to weave boats out of water reeds.

Now Charlie marched down to the water's edge and was met by a muscular male with almost caramel colored fur. They talked for a moment then Charlie came back to Spock and laid a hand on the Vulcan's arm.

//This P'Leek,// he said. //Boatman. He take you--// He indicated them all. //--to home by sea.//

Spock acknowledged P'Leek with a polite nod, but still could not see how the fisher intended to do it. //We not fit in boat,// Spock stated to Charlie. //Concern. Too heavy. Sink.//

//For all in one, not each. You go with P'Leek. Crrrr go this boat. Boy, cat that one.// Serene unconcern radiated through Charlie's mental communication. //Boats good. Reach home safe.//

Spock had never felt very comfortable on the water, but had learned to accept the necessity of it. Now he bowed to the inevitability of their situation and explained the plans to Christine. She too had reservations and looked dubious that they could possibly complete their trip in the small water craft. Nevertheless, refusing now would highly insult their new friends and they had been so generous and kind, Christine could not force herself to refuse their enthusiastic intentions.

Without further ado, the boarding got underway. P'Leek pushed his long boat a little farther into the water and scrambled aboard, holding it in place with his long punting pole. With a final hesitant sigh, Spock waded out and cautiously stepped into the craft, alarmed by the way it sank down under his weight. Nevertheless, as soon as he settled into the middle section, the reed boat balanced and rode evenly in the water.

Christine got into the next boat and Sapel eagerly climbed into the third, Scruff cowering inside his shirt. The packs were loaded into a fourth, then the crews, two per boat, hopped nimbly aboard. Last of all, Charlie got in with Christine, settling beside her, and Picku joined Sapel. Then the fishermen plied their poles with surprising strength and pushed the boats out into the main stream.

On the bank, the rest of the Lemurians hooted wildly and waved their arms in farewell. Then the little fleet was on the way.

With an ease born of familiarity, the fisher folk sailed the widening river, steering their crafts with the long punting poles, one sailor standing in the bow and the other astern. The river channel wound its way through wide marshes and swamps, but there was now a tang of salt in the air and Spock knew that they were near the sea. How these lightweight boats could possibly withstand the wave action on the beach front, he could not imagine, but P'Leek was guiding them confidently onward.

By midday the crashing of the surf on sand could be clearly heard. The waves sounded rough today and Spock began to worry, envisioning them all being smashed as soon as they ventured out of the safety of the river mouth.

He needn't have concerned himself, however, for the Lemurians knew the area well. The river delta opened up into a long stretch of calm, sheltered water, a coastal lagoon that rested behind thin barrier islands. It was these exposed beaches that were taking the punishment of the surf.

The boats turned north along the coast, gliding swiftly through the seemingly endless stretch of protected water. On their right, the sandy strips of barrier beach buffered the waves; on their left was mile after monotonous mile of marsh.

Spock could see now why Charlie had insisted they travel home in this manner. The journey on foot would have taken two to three weeks, forcing them to skirt the marsh country, providing they could find a way across the river at all. At this rate, they would be home by sunset.

And so they were.

Late in the day, the barrier islands came to an end, but ahead rose the headland that stretched out into the Southern Sea like the prow of a ship. Here the waves did crash dangerously and the four little boats pulled up on shore in the last protected cove and unloaded passengers and cargo. Spock, Christine and Sapel would walk from here, up over the hills and then down to Sea Home, a distance of about two miles.

P'Leek and his fishermen settled for a well-earned rest and meal. They would stay with the boats, but Charlie and Picku would accompany the travelers home. Picku's belly pouch bulged with things she had brought and Charlie, though as a male he possessed no marsupial pouch, nevertheless sported a woven bag with a strap over his head and across his torso. It too looked full.

After a stretch and profusely thanking the boatmen, the Vulcans and Human donned their packs and prepared to set out on foot for the first time since Spock's injury a month prior. It felt both strange and good to shrug their backpacks into place on their shoulders and start off again. There was a sense of freedom that was almost palpable.

Sapel put Scruffy down and the hunting cat scampered away ahead of them, glad to be on solid ground again and intrigued by all the scents that wafted past her sensitive nose. The little company made their way up the hill and over the cliff of the headland. On the way down the other side, things suddenly began to look familiar.

Beyond the headland, their home beach curved away to the north and east, the mouth of their well-known river opening into the sea a mile away. This was the waterway that ran past their valley home far to the north and which they had followed more than once. The sight of its waters felt friendly and welcoming.

The wooded hillside rose up from the beach, its mixture of evergreen and deciduous trees painting a palette of greens, rusts and golds in the fading daylight. And then the trail opened into a clearing, revealing a rocky hillside and a squat, low log cabin crouching at its base.

With a whoop of joy, Sapel ran the rest of the way, Picku leaping along beside him. He was the first to reach the front door.

They were home.

* * *

The hike and the final climb had tired both Spock and Christine. His leg, still strapped to provide support, was beginning to ache with the strain placed on it, and Christine's pregnancy was advanced enough to prove a burden to her. Both of them were relieved when the cabin came in sight, illuminated as the last rays of the setting sun speared through the trees, casting alternating beams of light and dark upon their home.

Charlie and Picku were both glad that the trek was over as well. Neither was accustomed to such long trips and on the ground at that. Travel was nearly always confined to treetops where they could swing along as fast as their long arms, legs and tails could move them. Charlie especially was glad of the chance to sit back on his haunches and rest, although his daughter seemed as full of energy as ever. Watching her scamper with the biped child, he marveled at the enduring vigor of the young.

Christine gave a deep sigh as she doffed her pack and watched Spock drop his as well, shifting his weight to ease the load on his barely mended leg. Walking over to him, she put her arms around his neck and drew him down into a heartfelt and loving kiss. "Oh, it feels so good to be home," she smiled when they drew apart.

He smiled through the weariness covering his face. "Indeed, my wife," he murmured to her. "This journey has been longer and more traumatic than I envisioned when we began it. I look forward to a quiet winter with no more adventures for quite some time!"

Christine laughed softly and pulled away from him. "Wonder what condition the house is in," she replied.

"We shall soon see," Spock answered.

The door had been barred shut when they had left it so long before. They had not anticipated any sentient invaders, but didn't want the local wildlife to take up residence in their absence. Still, it would have been unreasonable to expect the log cabin to be precisely as it was when they last closed the door. Now, as Spock hefted and removed the huge log that served as a barricade, Christine found herself anxious to see the state of her house.

His muscles bulging visibly, Spock threw all of his considerable strength into the barrier and shifted it away from the doorway, enough so that he could drop it to the side. It hit with a deep thud and Spock paused to catch his breath, acutely aware that he was not yet fully recovered from his ordeal of the last month. Before, he would have been able to move the log easily. Now he found himself winded.

With sympathy, Christine patted him on the arm and then she tugged the door open. Inside, there was the sound of scurrying as multiple small lifeforms sought shelter, then silence. But the stale air that poured out from the cabin was redolent with the smell of old dung and urine, mold and mustiness, and rotted food.

Christine fell back, batting at the air before her face, and Sapel slapped both hands over his nose, wailing, "Mama! Shew! It stinks in there!"

"Lord almighty!" his mother responded. "I never thought it would be this bad!"

Spock and the two lemurs had retreated a prudent distance and Spock answered with amusement. "It seems that our house has been home to quite a few guests while we were gone. I believe an eviction and then a thorough cleaning is in order before we can move in."

Christine had joined him, still trying to clear the malodorous scent from her nasal passages. "I agree one hundred percent! Well, we can't sleep inside tonight. Shall we pitch the tent?"

Spock looked down at her and there was a definite hint of mischief in his dark eyes. "I have a better idea," he answered. "I think a short walk and a hot bath are in order for all three of us. What do you say that we set up camp beside the hot spring?"

Christine's face shone with happy radiance. "I say that's the best idea you've had in a long time! Let's go!"

* * *

The walk to the hot spring didn't take long and soon the weary group came into the clearing that fronted an outcropping of rock, from which flowed steaming runnels that trickled down the rock face and formed a shallow pool at its base. This was fifteen to twenty feet across and about five feet at its greatest depth. In turn the water spilled over the edge opposite the tiny waterfall that fed it and the water ran away downhill to eventually make its way all the way to the ocean. Near the rock face, the water was almost unbearably hot, but it cooled to the temperature of a very warm bath farther away. On the cooling evening breeze, steam rose in a gentle cloud above the pool, warming the air above the pond.

"Oh, lord, but I've missed this!" Christine proclaimed as the heated mist enveloped her. "I'm going to soak and soak for days!"

"You would end up entirely too wrinkly," Spock replied in a droll voice. "You always say that you look like a prune if you stay in the water too long."

She hit him lightly on the arm, then laughed, in too good a humor to mind his gentle teasing.

The fading daylight was dim here, although the three moons were nearly full and rising in the east. Still, here underneath the trees, it would soon be dark and Spock set his son to the task of gathering firewood while he and Christine got the tent up. Charlie sat and watched them curiously, Picku tagging along with Sapel.

It didn't take long to pitch camp. They were too practiced at it and Sapel was quick to return with an armload of deadwood. Within half an hour, they had a fire going and could finally settle in to relax and find something to eat in their packs.

Spock laid his fingers on Charlie's arm and directed a mental question at the lemur. //Stay here? Sleep here?// he asked.

Charlie indicated a negative response. //Picku'acka'neech, me go back boats,// he thought in return. //Leave first sun tomorrow.//

//Regret, friend,// Spock replied. //Grateful for all.//

//Have things for you before we go,// Charlie stated and broke the mental contact for a moment, long enough to relieve himself of the pouch hanging from one shoulder. He got up and laboriously walked bipedally to Christine, then dropped back to his haunches. Reaching out, he touched her arm and thought, //This foryou. Help heal.//

For a moment, Christine was puzzled. Help her heal? But she wasn't injured or sick... Then she understood as she opened the pouch. It was filled with dried herbs and other plants. Of course! Charlie comprehended that she too was a healer and he was sharing his pharmacopia with her.

She gripped his arm. //Most grateful! Great friend Charlie!//

Picku squatted before Spock and Christine and reached both hands into her belly pouch. From the deep flap of skin, she brought out packets wrapped in large green leaves and presented them. //Food for three days,// Charlie explained to Christine. //You need eat good, Crrrr...// He moved his dark skinned hand to her swollen abdomen. //Baby grow fast, you eat good.//

Christine couldn't help beaming at her benefactor. //Grateful, you care about me, baby,// she stated to him. //Baby likely die without care by you in trouble time.//

The Lemurian almost seemed to be blushing a little, although his countenance never changed, with the exception of his nictating membranes sliding partway across his eyes for a moment. Then he made to pull away. //Go now.// He laid his free hand on Spock's arm, turning his great golden eyes on the Vulcan. //Friend Spock. Happy.//

//Happiness you, too, friend Charlie,// Spock answered.

Charlie withdrew his touch and, without further ado, leaped up the nearest tree and disappeared into the foliage. Picku lingered a few seconds longer, touching Spock and Christine in turn, then turning to Sapel and abruptly pressing her long, agile fingers over his face. The boy gasped involuntarily, but before he could recover, Picku was gone as well, following her father up into the trees.

Sapel stared after her, still looking dazed, and Christine reached over to him. "Sapel? Are you all right?"

"Yes, Mama," he answered, his dark eyes wide as he tried to spot the Lemurians above them. It was no use. It they were still there, they were both completely camouflaged by the fading daylight.

"What did she do? Did she hurt you?" Christine pressed.

Sapel didn't answer for a second, then looked back at his mother and shrugged. "No, she just surprised me, that's all. She was just saying goodbye."

Christine looked a tiny bit skeptical, but let it go. "Let's see what they left us to eat." She unwrapped one of the leaf packets and revealed several small, dried fish. Other packets contained similarly dried foods such as fruits that resembled apricots, or roughly grated tubers, still moist and sweet, salted shellfish, and succulent stems of water reeds.

"Why, how sweet of them!" the woman exclaimed. "We can really make a couple of meals with this. I don't think it will last three days, but it will sure get us settled in."

"Indeed," Spock answered, checking over the donated food. "Tomorrow I will either hunt or fish so that we will have fresh meat. And once we get the cabin habitable again, I will begin to hunt in earnest. We have little time to begin preparing for winter. We have lost nearly two months in our journey here."

"I know. I'm not looking forward to tackling that mess!" Christine sighed and began laying out their meal between them, allowing the big leaves to act as serving platters. "Well, meanwhile, dig in! And after supper, you, young man, are going to have a bath! You reek to high heaven!"

"So do you and Papa," Sapel answered, helping himself to the food. He dipped up a dollop of the tubers with his fingers and conveyed them to his mouth.

Christine glanced at her husband. "I know. We need a bath, too. We'll bathe after you are in bed. I have a feeling it's going to take some time to scrub the grime off our bodies!"

Spock returned her gaze with a quizzical twitch of his eyebrow. He didn't answer her verbally, but there was definitely a little twinkle of mischief in his eyes as he settled in to his evening meal.

* * *

Christine lay back in the simmering water and closed her eyes, simply letting the heat seep into her bones and relax her muscles. It had been so long since she'd had a long, hot bath that she could barely remember the sensation.

She heard Spock come out of the tent and walk down the gentle slope toward her. Seeing Christine glance up at him, he informed her in a soft voice, "He's asleep. It didn't take him long. He was truly exhausted." Even as he spoke, he began stripping off his clothing, dropping them near the low-burning fire where her own garments lay.

Christine smiled sensuously as she watched him. The unspoken intent between them grew as he shed his shirt, moccasins and pants, then finally removed his loincloth, leaving him naked before her. "Mmmm," she murmured. "Now that's a nice picture. Come on in. The water's fine!"

"In a moment," he answered. "I shall be right back."

He walked away into the trees, but only so far as to give himself some privacy. Even so, the moonlight filtering through the branches illuminated his body faintly and Christine was able to make out his form. What she saw heightened the excitement that was building throughout her.

He halted with his back to her some distance away and assumed a stance that was purely male. Head down slightly, his long black hair cascading over his shoulders, his right hand moved out of sight in front of his body, his left hand parked casually on one hip, his feet braced apart. Even in the moonlight, she could see the easy male grace in his form, his broad shoulders and muscled upper back tapering down to slim waist and tight buttocks, then on to long, firm legs. He was oblivious to her scrutiny and that's exactly how she wanted it.

There was silence for a few seconds then she could hear the pattering of liquid hitting the leaf covering on the forest floor, and that caused a surge of arousal to pulse completely through her once again. She could feel her nipples becoming taut and felt a tightness between her legs as she visualized in her mind what she could not see with her eyes.

It only took him a minute to complete his task, then he finished with the universally male gesture of a little shake of his penis, then straightened and turned back to return to the hot pool. Striding casually toward her in the moonlight, his naked body softly illuminated by the moonlight, Christine couldn't help catching her breath. He was absolutely ethereal, like a marble statue come to life. And she was unable to stop her gaze from sliding down his chest and stomach to the magnificent symbol of his manhood that jutted from the thatch of black hair at the juncture of his thighs. He was already on his way to an erection, just enough to cause his penis to firm and lengthen, a promise of things to come.

As he stepped down into the water, her eyes remained riveted to his developing erection and her excitement transmitted itself through their bond, sweeping over him. His penis responded with a definitive pulse of interest, jerking slightly upward as blood pumped into it. Both of them paused and watched the organ's dance, then Christine laughed and reached out to caress the hardening shaft. "Mmmm ... I'd say he's eager for some fun tonight."

"As am I," Spock answered, his deep voice lowering further into the rough whisper that sent chills down her spine. Christine nearly shivered despite the hot water and her eyes said all that was necessary for her to answer.

Spock stepped down all the way into the pool and drew his wife against him, slipping his arms around her shoulders as he leaned down to find her lips with his. She lifted her arms around his neck and answered the kiss fully, eagerly receiving his tongue when it probed against her own. Both kiss and arousal deepened as they pressed against one another in the chest deep water, the heat of the bath adding to their own. Her protruding stomach prevented him from grinding his pelvis into hers, but nevertheless, his now fully erect rod found its way to her furry mound and then to the inviting cleft beneath. Dipping his hips slightly, he managed to push the head of his cock between her nether lips and just bump against her clitoris.

Christine groaned into his mouth and shoved her pelvis forward, increasing the contact between them. But then he broke their kiss and pulled away slightly with a soft, low chuckle. "Not yet, beloved," he whispered. "First things first. We are here to bathe and wash away the grime of our journey. The rest will follow naturally."

"You are a fiend," she informed him, giving her pelvis one more little thrust against his hardness. "A teasing, sadistic fiend. I don't know why I don't dump you and find someone who will be good to me."

His brows went up in a wry, good-natured expression. "Because there is no one else, my beloved wife," he answered. "Unless you have the idea of becoming one of Charlie's harem females."

Christine let her eyes narrow and her mouth pull a little to one side. "Hmm, there's a thought. Of course, I'd have to learn to live in a tree..." She shoved at Spock's chest and he released her. "You're right. First things first. I'll scrub your back if you'll scrub mine..."

"With pleasure," he responded.

For the next half hour, they washed themselves and each other, their bathing half practicality and half sexual play. The water and constant tactile sensation revived both of them, intensifying the sensuality of their touch as the night wore on. Finally, Spock unbraided Christine's waist-length hair and lovingly washed it, his strong supple fingers massaging her scalp and sending her into near ecstasy.

She stood with her back to him, her hands braced on the pool's stony rim, the water here hip deep and lapping at her barely submerged hips and genitals like a lover's tongue. The constant heated caress and the motion of Spock's fingers buried in her hair was more than Christine could stand. With a groan, she thrust her buttocks backwards a bit and spread her legs farther apart.

The invitation was unmistakable and Spock could not resist the blatantly sexual message she was sending. He was fully erect by now and Christine's proximity, combined with the tease of the water against his sensitized organ, had served to bring him to the edge of control. Now, seeing her change in stance and the exposure of hers deep pink folds drove him to action.

He moved forward to meet her, sinking the head of his pulsing shaft into the luscious rosy valley of her sex. Immediately her sweet oil gushed to enclose him, coating him with slickness, and his maleness answered it with a pulse of its own lubrication. Spock tightened his grip on her hair almost involuntarily and pushed forward once more with his hips, probing for her beckoning portal.

Then, abruptly, he was inside her, the head lodged into the doorway of her womanhood, and he gave a convulsive thrust of his pelvis. In an instant, he was within her, his swollen pillar buried to the hilt. The sensation of full penetration froze them for a moment, both of them near orgasm at the sheer physical power of it all.

Then a primal sensation surged through Spock and he began to move, pounding into her with an almost savage delight, still holding her by her hair, pulling her head back slightly in the process. Christine loved it, this feeling of being taken in such a barbaric fashion. It didn't take long. Within a couple of minutes, Spock gasped audibly and slammed into her one final time, his hips shuddering in little paroxysms of uncontrollable physical reaction as his orgasm pumped wave after wave of release into her.

Then it was over and he slumped against her back, still buried within her, but the tension going out of his body. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I did not intend to lose control that way."

"Don't worry about that, my love," she murmured back with a definitely sinister tone to her voice. "The night is young ... and you'll have plenty of opportunity to make it up to me!"

"Indeed?" he questioned, an amused expression on his face. "Then perhaps I should begin to do so."

Straightening, he withdrew from her, glad that the steamy water enveloped his half-spent penis and caressed it with warmth. The transition from her hot, wet interior to the hot, wet pool invigorated and soothed him. He turned Christine to face him and they both sank down deeper into the water, the sandy bottom cushioning their knees and bringing the level of the water chest-high. Christine couldn't help chuckling softly as her breasts floated buoyantly as if offering themselves to Spock's caresses.

He took advantage of the situation, bending to cup the soft globes with both hands from underneath and plying his tongue from above. He trailed his tongue over her creamy skin, varying his routine with kisses and nibbles, gently squeezing and massaging her as he did so. It was inevitable that pearly drops soon oozed from her distended nipples and he lapped them away. Then, pressing her breasts together, he took one nipple in his mouth and suckled with a steady, gentle pressure. He kept this up for only a few seconds, then switched to the other, doing the same. Back and forth he went, his tongue teasing, the suction of his mouth playing havoc with her engorged, sensitive nipples.

He was careful never to hurt her, fully aware of her reactions through their mental bond. Indeed, he knew when her arousal began to approach a critical point and he ended his almost-rough suckling and released her breasts from his grip, changing his oral attention to one of gentle licking. At the same time, one hand slipped down the curve of her belly and between her spread legs.

Christine gasped, her head thrown back, as she felt his searching fingers slide down her vulva until they reached the opening of her vagina, then move back up again, brushing their tips against her lips. He did this again, but exerted just a bit more pressure against her on the stroke up. Squirming in ecstasy, she spread wider, encouraging him.

Again he moved his fingers downward, but this time on the stroke up he let one fingertip slip between her labia, accessing the well of slickness hiding there. When the finger reached the top of its stroke, it played over her clitoris and Christine jerked in reaction, moaning a little.

A second finger joined the first and he pressed minutely deeper on the downward sweep, coating themselves still more with her lubrication. And this time, when they reached the peak of their caress, they stayed on the hard little nub and began to massage it rhythmically.

Christine arched her back and pushed her hips up in answer, her eyes closed and her breath coming in short gasps. Spock slipped his other hand under the small of her back to support her and left off his attention to her breasts, now heaving out of the water and shaking with the movement of her body. He increased the tempo of his kneading caress, watching her closely, experiencing what she was experiencing as their bond soared fully open. He was fully erect once again, but holding himself in control. This was Christine's moment.

When it seemed she could stand it no longer, he suddenly moved his hand lower and plunged the two fondling fingers inside her, reaching as deeply as he could, working them within her clutching passage and thrusting them gently but quickly back and forth.

Christine exploded in orgasm, her whole body lifting up as she rode his plunging fingers. The backwash flooded through Spock and he barely caught himself from ejaculating spontaneously into the water. Quickly, he clamped down on his control and made himself concentrate on his wife's climax and refuse his own. She was still rigid, her body gripping his fingers tightly, then she sighed deeply and sagged, the pinnacle passed.

To ease her back down, he withdrew his fingers but returned to lightly and tenderly stroking her clitoris, assuring that her arousal would remain but that she would come back to a more relaxed state. Sighing again, she slumped into the arm he put around her shoulders, drawing her against his chest, enjoying his intimate touch but no longer orgasmic.

When he felt her mood reach a mellow simmer, he took his fingers from between her labia and then he too settled back against the side of the hot pool, allowing her to rest before guiding them both to the next level of their night of love.

Christine snuggled against him for a while, then murmured, "Spock ... let's go to bed. I'm starting to feel like a poached egg in this hot tub."

He chuckled softly into her hair. "I was beginning to wonder when you would reach your tolerance level. Very well. To bed, my wife."

He stood and assisted her to her feet, for she was growing ponderous as her pregnancy progressed. After helping her out, he retrieved one of their soft chamois towels and dried her, then she returned the favor for him. Neither was sated sexually and the intimate caresses brought them back to a level of arousal that hastened them to the sleeping furs spread by the fire. The flames were low, but the steam from the hot springs kept the night air ambient with its warmth. Overhead, the three moons were midway through their journey and shed a soft light over the scene.

Pulling the fur blanket over them, Spock drew his wife back into his arms, their lips meeting in a long, languorous kiss, their tongues fencing leisurely and their hands roaming over backs and hips. Fatigue was hovering on the edge of their embrace, but neither would allow its approach until the final ember of passion had flared and died away.

She could feel his erection pressing into her stomach and she shoved at his shoulder, encouraging him to roll onto his back. Gladly, he did so and she moved atop him, swinging her leg over his hips, kneeling astride him. His rigid manhood found its goal quickly and with the ease of familiarity, making her shudder slightly as she sank down onto the sweet impalement. She had never ceased to marvel at how perfectly he fit into her depths, how fully he filled her hollowness, and with what joy she welcomed his heated masculinity within her.

Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she began to rock her hips in the ancient motion of love, driving him deeper with each forward thrust, then backing off to start anew. His face smoothed out into an expression of abandon, a little smile lifting his lips and his large hands came up to cup her heavy breasts, fingers kneading her gently as he did so.

Passion built quickly between them. Within her, Christine could feel Spock's erection harden even more, stretching to its limits as his orgasm approached. She rocked harder against him, the imminent explosion fueling her own excitement. Their rhythm became one of primal instincts, his pelvis bucking up in time with hers, locked in perfect synchronicity.

Then his hands slipped down to clutch her hips and hold her hard against him, assuring that there would be no uncoupling now, no breaking of the physical bond between them.

His eyes closed as he focused totally on the volcano in his groin, Spock slammed up into her a half dozen more times, then arched up beneath her, keeping her firmly against him, groaning aloud as rapture tore his essence from his soul and emptied it into hers. She threw her head back and moaned as well, his climax triggering her own. Gripping him with her thighs, her fingernails dug into the firm planes of his pectorals, Christine rode his eruption with savage ecstasy, quivering anew with each blast of lava he shot into her.

And then it was over and fatigue overtook them at last. Deflated, the euphoria fading away, Christine slipped from atop him and turned so that her back snuggled into his front. Spock kissed the back of her neck lightly and slid his arm over her waist, resting his hand lightly on the growing evidence of their love and marriage. Beneath his palm, the baby moved slightly, causing Christine to sigh happily as she fell asleep.

The clearing fell silent, lost in the dreamy depths of deep night and well-earned slumber. And overhead, Picku finally shifted the position she had held motionless for hours now, watching the bipeds as they had gone about their nightly rituals and strangely exciting mating habits.

She was young and had no mate, but she knew the ways of her people. What she had just witnessed puzzled her greatly. The female biped was gravid already, near to birth, yet she had engaged in obvious mating with her male. Among Picku's people, mating was only for reproduction. Once heat was over and pregnancy achieved, a female would not allow a male's sexual advances. And yet these creatures had mated with great enthusiasm and pleasure, in various positions and means of stimulus.

Picku's thoughts turned to her friend Ss'lck, the young biped asleep in the hide shelter. He was male but juvenile as was she. Would he mate in that way when it was time? she wondered. A new and dangerous and exciting idea struck her then. Would he mate with her? The thought sent a surge of forbidden arousal shivering through the young lemur.

Then she stopped the idea before it could go any further. No! Impossible!

In an instant, with only a faint scrambling sound to mark her passing, Picku turned and leaped away, hurriedly making her way to where her father and the fisherfolk were waiting some miles away. Traveling via treetop, her night vision perfect in the moonlight, she covered the distance within a half an hour, leaving far behind the strange creatures that had interrupted her well-ordered life.

* * *

It took nearly a week before the cabin was habitable again. The first thing they did was build an extremely smoky fire in the fireplace, retreating and sealing the door as they did so. Smoke rapidly filled the log cabin with a choking fog and it wasn't long before the uninvited inhabitants began to evacuate their ill-chosen home with haste.

Scruffy went into full hunting mode and proved herself an outstanding mouser, pouncing and killing the suddenly abundant prey that scurried from the cabin.

The next morning, Spock and Christine opened the cabin again and allowed it to stand that way for two days to air out thoroughly, clearing it both of smoke and the odor of rodents. As it did so, they all three turned to other immediate concerns.

There was a woodpile remaining from when they had last left the cabin to return to their northern valley home, but it would never see them through the winter. While Christine and Sapel went in search of deadwood and fallen limbs, Spock retrieved his stone axe from his belongings and began to chop wood. His full strength had not yet returned, but he was able to fell two trees and chop them into short sections, splitting those sections into quarters. By the end of the day, when he had transported the wood to the cabin and added it to Christine and Sapel's loads, he was completely exhausted.

The hot pool soothed aches and pains for all three of them, most especially Spock, whose barely healed leg was bothering him more than he would admit. All slept deeply that night, tired to the bone.

The following day, they turned their attention to food. The supplies that they had brought and those provided by the Lemurians was nearly exhausted. The easiest source of food was the nearby beach and they spent the day there, staying well away from the surf line. All had learned the hard way what lived in these waters when a huge, plesiosaur-like animal had nearly dragged Sapel to his death when he was three. He still had the scars on his foot to testify to his narrow escape.

But the family could not ignore the bounties of the sea. They built their fire well up the beach, near enough to the hillside and trees to be able to escape easily if danger threatened and Spock kept a sharp lookout for any signs of an impending attack while his wife and son collected food. Today, however, the ocean was placid, lapping up onto the light brown sands and pulling back again. It was low tide and the retreating waters had exposed tide pools, giving Christine and Sapel access to the usually hidden animals there ... oyster-like mollusks, little crabs, anemones that had to be handled with care until their stinging tentacles could be cleaned off and the shells cracked for the succulent meat within. There were stranded fish, too, in some of the pools and all went into the gathering baskets.

When they had gathered all that they could use, Christine and Sapel returned to the fire and they began preparing their meal. Christine had brought a large carved stone cooking bowl, which she set onto the fire and filled with water from a water pouch. Adding crushed salt to it, she allowed the water to come to a boil while sorting through their catch. She and Sapel quickly cleaned their catch and tossed crabs, oysters and anemones into the boiling water. The fish were gutted and filleted, then laid out on a flat stone to dry in the sun. They would be smoked later on, preserving the flesh for later use.

Spock took no part in the preparations of the meal. He found it abhorrent to throw living creatures into boiling water, no matter how many times Christine had explained that it was necessary with shellfish in order to prevent toxins from being released into the meat. It seemed unspeakably cruel to him, although hard-nosed logic convinced him to eat of that meat later on.

The abandonment of his cultural vegetarianism had been hard for Spock to accept. But during the first winter he and Christine had spent on Terra Two, he had been injured and there had been no other food to sustain him. She had begun mixing meat into the thin vegetable soup she prepared for him, bolstering his strength and recovery. He had been absolutely furious when he discovered her deception, but she had replied with an equal fire, ultimately arguing him down with such scything logic and passionate fact that he submitted. This was a matter of survival. The Tenets of Surak must be set aside in the face of cold reality.

He felt ashamed at times, though, his upbringing at war with his current life, and it made a hard lump in his stomach as he joined his wife and son to feast on the shellfish and mollusks that were ladled out of the boil, bursting with the incomparable flavor of seafood freshly caught. C'thia, Spock reminded himself coldly. What is. To eat this way is logical. To be ashamed is not. And once again logic won out in a way his father could never have perceived, for logic was a malleable concept and Sarek was rigid in his own interpretation of it.

The thought caused Spock to smile a bit sardonically. He could never conceive of Sarek sitting on a beach, digging crabmeat out of its shell with the point of a knife. Sarek would not bend in his beliefs and thus would have perished years ago on this planet. In that way, Spock knew that he was better than his father, for he had always been compelled to bend with the blowing wind and thus had survived to grow strong and resolute. Spock was living proof of what Nietzsche had said: "That which does not kill me, makes me stronger."

The Vulcan looked up at the woman who had survived with him and to the child they had brought into the world. They were all stronger, he decided, for the conditions that had placed them here. As long as they were together, they could make it through anything.

Christine caught him looking at her and smiled in return, her blue eyes twinkling in the sunlight. "There's still food in the pot," she said. "Do you want some more?"

"Please," Spock answered and passed his stone bowl over to her.

* * *

Winter swept in with cold rain and continued with chill foggy weather. The deciduous trees of the woods shed their remaining leaves in a shower of gold and rust, carpeting the forest floor in a multi-hued panorama. On the marshes to the east, thousands of water birds took up residence and fed on the abundant shellfish and crustaceans that lived and bred there. Other birds and small animals fed on the nuts, berries and fruits that remained in the thickly wooded slopes of the hillsides, foraging through the leaf litter for choice tidbits.

As the cold months progressed, Spock, Christine and Sapel fell into a routine and enjoyed the quiet times after their traumatic summer and fall. Spock divided his time between hunting the fat marsh birds and the small game of the area and keeping their woodpile stocked. It was hard work and he never felt completely recovered from his near-fatal ordeal of just a few weeks before. He found that he had to rest more frequently and for longer periods of time, but still pushed himself to carry out the necessary duties of their survival.

Christine's pregnancy was advanced now. She was slowing down as her belly expanded enormously. Her breath short, her endurance limited, and afflicted with all the aches and pains of late pregnancy, she and Sapel spent their days scouring the woodlands for the fruits and nuts still available, Sapel doing the physical labor of gathering and carrying for his mother. At other times, when Christine did not feel up to doing even that, the two would while away the day fishing. It was quiet but productive work and the fish they caught would be dried and smoked.

Much of the game Spock brought home was prepared the same way. They had figured out a way to make salt from the readily available sea water, and much of their catch was salted down for preservation as well. Slowly, their larder of supplies built up, although it was never extremely abundant. Fortunately, food was always plentiful here at the sea coast with the ever-renewing population of ocean life.

Thus did the winter pass until the deepest and darkest month was upon them. Terra Two's orbit required fifteen months to make its year. For convenience, they had given Earth names to twelve of those months and the remaining three had been dubbed Tasmeen, Ah'keth, and et'Dhior, after the winter months of Vulcan. They were now at the end of Ah'keth, a time of short days and long nights, of storms and howling winds off the ocean, when spring seemed impossibly far away and when winter seemed to have continued forever.

It had been raining for two days now and the signs pointed to what might have been called a Nor'easter in the New England states of North America. High winds pummeled the cabin and kept the family housebound from the torrential rains that poured down. It was just as well, for Christine had not been feeling well lately. She was near her time and spent much of the day lying on the soft bed that Spock had made her. Saving all the feathers he plucked from the birds he had snared, combining this with a packing of leaves and marsh plant fiber, he had used their bull-hide tent to fashion a mattress and stuffed it with all the soft materials he could find. It was crude, but so much better than sleeping on the dirt floor. It felt like sleeping on a cloud to Christine, whose body ached all over now.

Still, she found that a comfortable position eluded her today and she continually shifted and turned, her back throbbing with a low, persistent pain. Spock, who had been weaving a simple but functional fishing net near the fire, noted her restlessness and got up to check on her.

"What is it, t'hy'la?" he asked. "Can I get you something?"

"No, thank you, Spock," she smiled, still looking preoccupied. "I just can't get comfortable, that's all."

"Do you think it's the baby?" he asked, concerned.

Christine seemed to be focusing her attention inward. "Maybe," she admitted. "It's time. I haven't had any contractions, but the baby's been engaged in my pelvis all week." She looked up at him and smiled, her blue eyes bright once more. "Wouldn't it be just our luck that it would decide to come during the worst storm this winter?"

He smiled back, brushing his fingertips down her cheek. "Indeed. You do not believe in doing things the easy way."

She gave a short, sardonic laugh. "If you think having a baby is easy, you should try it sometime, mister!" Then she captured his hand and kissed his fingers. "I'm all right. Go back to doing what you were doing. I'll let you know if something radical happens."

"Please do!" he responded, his brows raised in amusement. "I should hate to miss the birth of my child because you are too busy to tell me about it!"

Christine slapped at him. "Just for that, you can forget about participating! Maybe I'll just go off into the woods and give birth in a cave or something!"

He sat back on his heels, a devilish smile lifting the corners of his mouth and crinkling his eyes. "Highly unlikely, my wife. You can barely get up any longer without assistance!"

"Get lost!" she ordered in response, then laughed despite herself. Bending over, he kissed her forehead and then returned to his chore.

* * *

Christine had lost track of how long she'd been huddled in Spock's arms. All she knew was that the heat of his body pressed against her back soothed the pain somewhat and that she felt safe with his strong arms encircling her. When he left her for short periods of time ... to care for Sapel or tend the fire or attend to his own needs ... then she began to drown once again in the constant, ceaseless pain and was not content again until she felt him settle in behind her once more.

The pains had begun before dawn. At least she thought it must be dawn. It was hard to tell with the storm's heavy clouds and thrumming rain darkening any daylight that tried to break through. Within the windowless cabin, the only daylight would have come through the front door and that was barred against the wind and rain. Her internal time sense told her it was dawn, though, and Spock had confirmed it.

At first everything had seemed normal as early labor began. Her contractions were mild and came roughly every twenty minutes. She had puttered about getting breakfast and then readying her bed for the birth. There was a large elk hide that she had tanned long ago at their home up north and which they had left stored here in the cabin. It was still in good shape and she had washed and dried it a month before, stretching and pounding it until it was soft and pliant, absorbent enough to protect the bedding from the blood and fluids of birth. Christine had laid this down on the mattress and gotten together anything they might need. Then there was nothing to do but wait.

Christine had a pretty good idea of what the ensuing day would involve. Sapel's birth and that of the lost child T'Larin, who had died just minutes after coming into the world, had each taken about eighteen hours. Labor had progressed steadily through the various stages, almost in textbook fashion. There had been no surprises to a trained nurse such as Christine. Obstetrics was just one of the fields she had studied and her own pregnancies had allowed her first hand knowledge in interpreting a normal labor and birth. She felt certain that she would have this child sometime after midnight.

But the day passed with no discernible progress. The contractions kept up at a steady rate, gradually becoming harder, but something about it didn't feel right to Christine. Her uterus was bearing down to expel the fetus, but the baby didn't seem to be moving down as it should at this stage. And her water hadn't broken yet either, something she would have expected.

Finally, long after Sapel had fallen asleep and the only sounds in the cabin were the howling of the storm outside and the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth, Christine grasped Spock's arm and held on through yet another contraction. It was well into the wee hours of the morning, nearly a full day after her labor had begun, and she was worried now. When the contraction eased, she took a deep breath and said, "I need for you to do an exam, Spock. This baby should be here by now. I need to know what's happening!"

Stunned and worried himself, he sat back from where he'd been wiping her face with a cool chamois cloth. "I do not possess the medical knowledge I need, Christine," he answered, somewhat at a loss. "I don't think I could supply you with a useful report."

"Yes ... yes, I know..." she panted. "But I do have the knowledge." She paused and gulped. "Meld with me! Look into my mind and you'll know what to do!"

Spock's brows shot up. He had not considered a mind meld for this purpose. But now he saw the logic of his wife's request. Quickly, he bent over her and moved his fingers into position on her face. Their marriage bond made the way easy and her receptiveness further hastened the link. It took only a couple of minutes, then he pulled away, his brain swimming with medical terms and images. It was dizzying and for a long moment, he held steady, eyes closed, trying to center himself once more.

"Hurry, Spock!" Christine pleaded, breaking his concentration. "Before another contraction starts."

"Yes, of course..." He poured heated water into a bowl and scrubbed his hands as clean as he could get them, then turned to where Christine had prepared herself, drawing up her sleeping dress to bare her pelvis and spreading her knees apart. Spock hesitated once again. "I will try not to hurt you, t'hy'la," he whispered.

"Just do it!" she answered through clenched teeth. "Check to see how much I'm dilated and where the baby is! If the head's coming down... Oh...." She groaned and panted as a contraction gripped her.

Spock held off until the cramp had eased, then said, "All right ... now..." Armed with Christine's knowledge, he slipped two fingers into her vagina and pushed in until he could feel her cervix. It seemed wide open and, most importantly, it was plugged by a hard, smooth obstruction.

"I feel the baby's head," he reported. "You are fully dilated but the baby has not yet moved into the birth canal."

"Okay, okay... Ah!!" She gripped her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from crying aloud. Abruptly, fluid gushed out of her and Spock quickly withdrew his fingers, somewhat horrified with the thought that he had seriously injured her. But Christine managed a short hard laugh at his expression. "You just broke my water, Spock. It's okay. This will help, in fact. It shouldn't be long now."

"I hope so, beloved," he answered, washing his hands thoroughly again. He moved to slip a dry chamois towel beneath her hips, then covered her to prevent chills. "Tell me what I can do to help you," he implored, stroking her fevered cheek.

Groaning, Christine turned on her side and cradled her abdomen. "Just hold me, Spock," she whispered, closing her eyes against the pain. "Please ... just hold me..."

* * *

Sapel made himself small in the darkness of his sleeping alcove, sitting cross-legged on his furs and clutching Scruff to him. He had been forgotten by his parents, both of them engaged in what had become a life or death struggle to deliver his mother of her new baby. Nearly a whole other day had passed now, one filled with Christine's moans and screams, Spock's grim, low encourgements to his wife, and the groaning of the cabin about them as the storm peaked to its primal fury, buffeting the little dwelling with howling winds, pounding rain and ground-shaking thunder.

It drove the boy and his pet to the most secluded corner of the room, a depression in the hill's rocky face that had served as basis for the cabin's building. The rest of the house had been constructed around the little cave and this area was Sapel's sanctuary. Now he sat trembling with fear ... of the storm and moreso that his mother could very well die before this baby was born. Unbidden, tears slid down his face to fall unnoticed into Scruff's spotted fur. Sensing his distress, the hunting cat snuggled under this chin and purred, but the boy only held her closer and rocked in misery, watching the final act of the drama unfolding before him.

Christine was nearly too exhausted by her ordeal to push any longer. Slowly and with agonizing progress, the baby had moved through her pelvis and had now crowned. And that's as far as it would go. Now naked, unable to stand the feel of any clothing constricting her, she lay back for a moment, panting, her body drenched with sweat.

Spock, nearly as worn out and disheveled as his wife, knelt between her spread knees. "It's almost out, Christine," he told her, a note of irritation in his voice. "You simply must push harder with the next contraction."

She flared up at him. "I've been pushing! I've pushed 'til I see stars!" She flopped back, her strength gone. "Oh, God... I can't push anymore," she whimpered. "We need some forceps..."

Spock's patience was frayed as well. "Well, we don't have any forceps!" he shouted at her, then was immediately contrite. "I'm sorry, love. I'm sorry." For the past few hours, he had been using endearments that he normally never used. His emotional control was nearly at an end from worry, fear and frustration. "I'll try to think of something."

"Work your fingers in around the head and try pulling gently," she said. "If that doesn't work, then you'll have to do an episiotomy."

He'd already thought of that and had sterilized his steel knife in a pot of boiling water. This had long since been set aside to cool. He turned yet again to scrub his hands clean, even as another contraction gripped his wife's body. Quickly he moved back to her as she strained and somehow managed to get two fingers of each hand wedged into her vagina on either side of the baby's head. Then, with gentle pressure, he exerted the lightest force.

The baby seemed to move a millimeter toward him but would come no farther and he eased off as Christine screamed in pain. As soon as he relaxed the pressure, the baby moved back to its original position. Spock sat back on his heels, near to the point of screaming himself. "It won't budge, Christine," he announced angrily, hating himself for feeling such animosity at the helpless creature that was killing his wife. "It's stuck!"

Christine lay panting, but her mind was quickly reviewing every pregnancy complication she could think of. "I think I know what's wrong," she murmured weakly. "Dystocia. Shoulder dystocia. The shoulders are stuck in my pelvis. The baby's too big to get through." She gulped and panted again. "Try McRoberts... Might work..."

"What's that?" Spock asked, puzzled.

She licked her dry lips. "Push my knees as far back as you can get them toward my shoulders and wide apart. It might open my pelvis enough for the baby..." She grimaced and moaned through another contraction, this time fighting to keep from the useless pushing. After a moment, it eased off. "Rock my hips a little bit, too. But first ... give me something to bite on..."

Spock looked around quickly then found a leather strap and handed it to her. She slid it between her teeth and gripped the elk hide blanket beneath her. Then, her face beaded with sweat and her eyes fearful but determined, she gave a terse nod.

Spock gripped the backs of her knees and nearly bent her double, pushing her legs up and apart until she could grab them and hang on. Her eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking out of the corners, and a high keening sound escaped her throat despite the lock her teeth had on the leather strap.

The crown of the baby's head bulged from her vagina, but not far enough. Determined to bring this torture to an end, Spock seized Christine's hip bones and rolled her from side to side. The baby pushed out a tiny bit more. Working frantically, he snatched up his sterilized knife and pushed a fingertip in between the baby's half-emerged face and Christine's body, then with a quick downward slash, cut an inch-long gash from her vagina toward her rectum.

Christine screamed but hung on mindlessly to her reared back legs, blood running down her thighs from where her nails were digging in to her skin. Spock didn't notice. His whole attention was on the baby's head as it suddenly surged forward through the enlarged opening. Dropping the knife, he clutched the child's head and gently pulled, twisting the baby's body slightly.

With a gush of blood and amniotic fluid, the baby girl came free of her mother's body. Blue and unresponsive from her long ordeal, the infant lay limply in Spock's hands as he bent over her, working frantically. Digging a plug of mucous out of her mouth, he blew down her throat to get her lungs to expand, then thumped the bottom of her feet with a finger and massaged her back vigorously. Nothing.

He blew another breath into her mouth and stimulated her by bundling her into a chamois blanket, rubbing her all over. The baby gasped convulsively, jerked, and squawled, sucking in her first breaths. For a moment, Spock clutched his daughter against him, the surge of relief he felt nearly overwhelming him. But then he quickly caught himself and turned to his wife, lying motionless on her bed.

Christine was out, fainted dead away by the final violence of the delivery. Good, Spock thought, knowing that he had more work to do here. He still had the afterbirth to deliver, the crude episiotomy to stitch, bleeding to pack, the newborn to care for... Trembling suddenly with fatigue, he took a moment to hang his head in weariness, thanking his ancestors that this part of it was over at last.

Thunder crashed and a small sound from the back of the house in response caught his attention. Tiredly, Spock raised his head and peered at the boy crouching in the darkness, his face barely visible in the firelight.

With a faint smile, Spock held out one hand to his son. "Sapel ... come and see your new sister," he whispered.

* * *

Amanda T'Jenn t'cha'Spock hei-Kh'da'Ni'ikhirch was asleep in her mother's arms, recovered well from the trauma of her difficult birth and as beautiful a baby as Christine had ever seen. While Sapel took after his Vulcan father, T'Jenn looked more human. There was a delicate dark fuzz on her head that promised to be the sable of Christine's hair color rather than the raven black of Spock's, and her eyes were the same sapphire blue as her mother's. Her ears had a suggestion of a pointed tip, but it was not overt, and her eyebrows followed a more human curve than Vulcan slant.

The fierce storm of the last week had blown itself out, leaving a crystalline sky above them and placid waves lapping against the beach. And from the south, across the waters, there was a fresh breath of early spring, still too cool and brisk to do more than hint at the change of seasons, but holding promise nonetheless.

Christine had remained bedridden for the ten days since her baby's birth. In lingering pain and weakened severely by the struggle to deliver her daughter, she could do little just yet. Even attending to personal hygiene was nearly impossible on her own and Spock had to assist her in bathing and on her trips to the latrine.

Still, lying with her baby asleep beside her, Christine felt the sublime happiness of new motherhood and was happier than she'd been in a very long time. She had lost her previous two babies, which made T'Jenn all the more miraculous. They took extreme care to keep her safe, all too aware of the dangers their adopted planet held. Christine slept much better at night knowing that a sturdy, barred door stood between them and the outside world.

But this afternoon it stood partially open, allowing fresh air into the cabin and the shafts of sunlight to creep across the swept dirt floor. The scent of returning life, of trees not quite budded but bursting with potential, and of an occasional very early blooming bulb did much to restore Christine's spirits.

Spock stretched his long frame out on the bedding pallet beside his wife, their newborn between them, and propped himself up on one elbow, his head resting in the palm of his hand. With the other, he stroked a finger lightly over the baby's head and then down to tease at tiny balled fists. T'Jenn relaxed her hand a bit and then curled her fist back around the tip of her father's little finger, itself impossibly huge next to the infant's.

"I never cease to be amazed," Spock commented softly, his attention focused on his daughter, "how perfect and yet how tiny she is."

Christine offered him a smile that was radiant with love. "She didn't seem very tiny to me when I was trying to give birth to her," she answered in the same low voice. "I wonder how much she weighed."

"Impossible to be precise under these circumstances, but easily over nine pounds."

"Close to ten, I'd guess." She looked up and caught her husband's dark eyes, her own blue ones twinkling. "Are Vulcan babies generally that large?"

"Actually, it is not unusual, but then Vulcan gestation is ten months long. Sapel would have been considered premature when he was born," Spock replied, returning his attention to T'Jenn. "I was. I spent that final month in an incubator in the neonatal unit."

For an instant, Christine tried to picture her tall, robust husband as a premature baby, but then her thoughts flashed to the preemies she had seen during her nursing classes. Some of them barely looked human, more like tiny red monkeys lying covered with wires and tubes and monitors. She had wanted to cry every time she had duty in the NICU, for some of those barely formed little babies never made it, despite all the medical care they received.

She looked down at the beautiful face of her child, eyes closed as she slept, rose petal mouth making occasional sucking movements. "Oh, my sweet lovie," Christine murmured as she stroked the delicate skin of the baby's cheek. "Please grow up safe and strong."

She was caught a little off-guard when Spock's fingers, folded into the doubled ni'ta'lat form, caressed her temple and moved down to her lips. The warmth and adoration of his touch sent a tingling flush throughout her body and she closed her eyes in response.

When she opened them a moment later, it was to find him bending near her, his lips hovering over hers, parted slightly in anticipation, his warm breath light as the spring breeze. Readily, she let her lashes drop once more and leaned into his kiss. It was sweet and soft, his mouth moving over hers in unhurried bliss.

When they drew apart, he caressed her cheek once again, his dark velvety eyes depthless with the intensity of his emotions. "I love you," he whispered.

Tears formed abruptly in Christine's eyes, for it was something he hardly ever said. I cherish thee or something in Vulcan, but never those three simple, meaningful words. Unable to speak, her throat closed with a sob, she pulled his lips back against hers and this time put all the love she had for him into the kiss.

Outside, the high, liquid song of a bird erupted in the treetops, a sure sign that spring had arrived to renew the world.

END OF PART SEVEN