“Morality is not necessarily logical,” Spock said. “But logic’s foundation is truthfulness. A lie is its antithesis.”

“Your analysis is narrow, Spock,” she said. “Under the correct circumstances, if enough lives—or perhaps the right lives—were at stake, you would understand the logical rationale for the tactical use of falsehood.” She picked up her teacup. “But you are young. Time is an excellent teacher.”

“You are not that much older than I am—T’Prynn, daughter of Sivok and L’Nel.”

Hearing her parents’ names gave her pause. Obviously, Spock had researched her past history and was attempting to provoke her, though to what end she wasn’t certain. Setting down her tea once more, she maintained eye contact with the half-Vulcan man. “I am more than twice your age, Spock—son of Sarek and Amanda.”

A handful of dirt flung into my eyes.

She tensed as Sten’s katra took advantage of her agitation to reassert its assault on her psyche. A non-Vulcan would not have detected the microexpressions that played across her features in moments like these. She hoped that Spock, being half-human, would lack the insight to notice.

Concern hardened his features. “Your mind is troubled.”

“It is a private matter.”

I swing the rock and feel his pain as it gouges his chin.

“I know that you have not returned to Vulcan for fifty-three years,” Spock said. “You live in exile. Why?”

“Self-exile,” she said.

“You were pledged to Sten, son of—”

“I know his name.”

Sten’s hands lock around my throat. I tighten my neck muscles to prevent him from crushing my trachea.

“You slew him in the Koon-ut-kal-if-fee.”

“Yes,” T’Prynn said softly.

“Is that why you do not return?”

“No.”

Spock pondered that. “Please tell me why you choose exile.”

“I prefer not to.”

“As you wish,” he said, and rose from his chair. “Thank you for the music and the offer of tea.” He walked toward the exit.

Sten’s agony is mine as the blade of my lirpa slams down on his foot, severing most of his toes.

T’Prynn called out, in a voice just shy of a shout, “Spock.”

He stopped and turned back toward her.

Mustering her courage, she said simply, “I am a val’reth.”

His curiosity visibly aroused, Spock lifted one eyebrow. He returned to her side and lowered his voice to a confidential hush. Like most Vulcans, he respected the delicacy of these matters. “You host another’s katra against your will?” She nodded, once, very slowly, and Spock understood. “Sten.”

“Yes. He forced himself into my mind as I killed him.”

“Logical,” Spock said. “Death was imminent, and you had physical contact because of the koon-ut-kal-if-fee.”

“Indeed,” T’Prynn said. “Though I suspect his motives were driven more by spite than by logic.”

“You climbed the steps of Mount Seleya?”

“I did,” she said. “I passed through the Hall of Ancient Thought. But when the priestess tried to claim Sten’s katra…he would not leave.”

“It is not logical,” Spock said, clearly surprised.

“It is when one considers Sten’s principal objective at the time of death—to force me into submission. He projected his katra into me not for return to his ancestors, but to continue the fight until I surrender.”

“Is there nothing that can be done?”

“The Adepts consulted the ancient texts and melded with me far too many times for my comfort,” she confessed. “The consensus was always the same: They cannot force Sten’s katra from me without destroying it…and my own katra, as well.”

Spock nodded gravely. Apparently, he understood the dire consequences of katra possession as well as she did. Until she was rid of Sten’s katra, she could not enjoy the release of Pon farr, would be denied the serenity of Kolinahr, and could not be assured that her own katra would find rest with those of her ancestors. In effect, she was condemned to do battle for her mind and soul every day, until her will faltered or Sten finally abandoned his mad onslaught.

“May I be of aid or comfort, T’Prynn?”

“No, Spock. This affliction is mine alone. But I thank you for your kind offer.”

He held up his hand in the Vulcan salute.

“Live long and prosper, T’Prynn.”

She stood and returned the salute.

“Peace and long life, Spock.”

She watched him leave, then she reached for her tea.

The bones of my hand splinter beneath Sten’s heel.

The teacup fell from her hand and smashed on the floor.

T’Prynn walked back onstage, sat down at the piano, and lifted the cover from the keys.

Sten’s katra raged inside her. Submit!

She raised her hands, then brought them down for a booming, low-C crescendo. Never!

“Ready to clear moorings, Captain,” Leslie said.

“Thank you, Mr. Leslie,” Kirk said. “Initiate departure sequence.”

“Vanguard Control,” Leslie said. “Enterprise is ready to depart spacedock.”

“Confirmed, Enterprise. We’ll lead you out. Opening bay doors. Stand by.”

Though Kirk could not pinpoint any one detail or other that made the difference, he could tell his ship was back in prime condition just by the way it felt and sounded around him. The steady, low vibrato of the impulse engines in the deck, the fine-tuned pitch of systems operating in harmony…the Enterprise was herself again, thanks to hours of labor by Scotty, his engineers, and the Vanguard spacedock team.

In a matter of weeks the Enterprise and her crew would be home, back in the heart of the Federation. From there, the rest of the galaxy lay open before them, ripe for exploration and discovery. Worlds and civilizations unmet by humanity called to Kirk like a siren’s song; he was old enough now to have put aside childish desires, but he remained young enough at heart to smile with the excitement of facing the new and unknown.

“Enterprise, you are clearing spacedock doors. Stand by for helm control in thirty seconds.”

On the main viewer, the docking clamps and airlock port of Vanguard’s core slowly receded as the Enterprise was guided out of spacedock by Vanguard’s navigational system. Kirk settled into his chair and checked a refueling report his yeoman handed to him. He had just finished and handed it back when the turbolift door opened, and Spock stepped onto the bridge. The first officer moved directly to Kirk’s side.

“Welcome back, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said. “We almost left without you.” In a more confidential tone, he added, “Did you finish your business on Vanguard?”

“Not entirely,” Spock said. “Unfortunately, there is nothing more that I can do at this time.”

“I see,” Kirk said.

On the main viewer, the upper hull of Vanguard loomed large as Enterprise cleared the spacedock doors.

“Enterprise, we’re releasing helm control now. The lane is clear and you are free to navigate…. Godspeed, Enterprise. Vanguard out.”

“Helm control confirmed,” Leslie said. “Course, Captain?”

Kirk nodded at the screen. “Earth, Mr. Leslie. Warp six.”

“Aye, sir.”

As Vanguard shrank into the distance and the Enterprise turned toward the curtain of stars, Kirk looked at Spock. “I’m sorry you didn’t find what you were looking for, but for what it’s worth, I think we’ll be back here again.”

“Agreed,” Spock said, as the Enterprise jumped to warp.

Bundled in a bulky maroon jacket and thick gloves, Ensign Stephen Klisiewicz, science officer of the Starship Endeavour, could barely see the tricorder in his hand, never mind work its small controls. His parka hood was cinched tight to keep his ears warm, but that precaution, coupled with the shrieking arctic wind, made it almost impossible to hear the device’s high-pitched oscillations as it scanned the surrounding terrain.

Dimly lit by the light of a white-dwarf sun, the rest of the landing party had fanned out and moved away from the towering glacier of dark-blue ice that held Klisiewicz’s attention. Getting a clear reading from inside the frozen mass was proving troublesome, and he couldn’t tell whether the problem was trace elements in the water, radioactive interference from the bedrock beneath it, or a complete malfunction of his tricorder.