Editor's Note:  All the remaining grammar mistakes in here are mine. 
The good bits, and the story, are Arachnethe2's.  I have rendered this
into more or less proper English, but have tried to preserve a sense of
the flow of the words -- because it is a lovely one, and total
correctness I think would destroy that.  So, if you don't like
something, holler at me, Greywolf.  If you do like something, say,
"thank you, Arachnethe2!"



English is not my native language, if there is something wrong 
(the grammatical and other things), please mail me on 
arachnethe2@darmstadt.netsurf.de. The same for the feedback.

Disclaimer: The characters belong to Paramount Pictures. This is
a  piece of amateur fan fiction. I make no many of it.

The idea of this story was the first one in my head, as I have 
decided to become a TreckSmut writer. But I was for a long, long
time not so far to write it. But now, well ... there is it.  

Personal disclaimer: dear reader, if you don't like the idea, 
about a love story between captain Kirk and Mr. Spock then stop 
right there, right now.



Many special thanks to my editor: Greywolf the Wanderer.



 Ponn Far  (K/S, NC-17)

 Written by Arachnethe2



	PART I.

	Even in the oldest memories of the best thoughtkeepers in
Lhahil'shar, whenever they tried to reach with their minds the
days of the past, the Tsusuv desert had always been the home
territory  of the Psaik'ihev clan.  And no one remembered this
ever being different.

	Even the oldest legends about those people had praised their
skill in hunting, fighting and surviving, when others had
already gone to their deaths.  The Psaikihsu, the legends
further stated, had always been a proud people, yet generous in
their behaviour toward strangers, if they came in peace.  But
there were also  many, in the past centuries, who tried to
conquer the land of Psaik'ihev by force. In those times then,
the whole clan rose as one and fought the enemies back. They
fought brutally and without mercy.  Only white bones in red sand
marked the memory of those who tried to take  the most holy
treasure the Psaik'ihev clan had ever possessed: the  freedom to
travel through the desert, only the stars above their heads, the
sand under their feet, far away, to travel toward the horizon
until dusk was coming.

	Nothing had ever changed that.  Not even the philosophy of
Surak could force a Psaikihha to leave his way, to became
someone other than a nomad moving from one place to another,
building his tent anew every time, following traces in the
desert that his ancestors had left, during past millennia.

	And although new times on Vulcan have come, bringing other
customs, habits and laws with them, the people of Tsusuv desert
remained faithful to their way of life...



	It was late evening in the camp of Psaikihsu, as T'Ciall 
knelt down in front of her computer.  The sounds of the night desert
came through the walls of her tent, but this time she didn't
listen to them.  She sat, and let her life pass through her mind
in review:

	She was still young, yet already touched by the life in the
desert, where everybody becomes adult too soon. There was a man
in  her past, a clan member chosen by her parents and bonded
with her when both were seven years old.  During many years then
they had shared thoughts with each other, through their mind
link.  And, when his Time had come, their bodies in the heat of
their passion.  But three months thereafter T'Ciall's bondmate
died, killed by the force of a sand storm.  His son Siuw was
born seven months later.  A new light in T'Ciall's life indeed,
but the emptiness in her mind remained, in the place where a
bond was before.

	But time passed by, days became months, months years and
T'Ciall  lived on.  There was Siuw, the people of the clan, and
their travels  through the desert, and it all had seemed to
continue for ever.  Until last month a message had arrived which
excited the  whole clan:

It was a proposal for a bonding, between T'Ciall and a member of
the highest family of Vulcan. 

	How old this clan was, nobody knew. Its beginning could have
been described only by legends, like the deepest past of the
Psaik'ihev.  But unlike the clan of T'Ciall, this family was
large,  rich, powerful, dictating the politics of the present. 
A large number of famous people were members of this family:
diplomats, artists, philosophers and scientists.  They all lived
in large  cities, in space stations in Vulcan's orbit or in the
asteroid  field between the sixth and seventh planets of Eridani
system, or they travelled in space ships among the stars.  How
different their life was, compared to the simple life of the
desert people.  No one of the Psaik'ihev clan had ever thought
that one of the desert people could be joined with one of them. 
But the proposal had been meant seriously.  Unexpected, yet
generous in the large amount of money for the bonding payment,
and in the conditions, all of which could been dictated by
T'Ciall.

	T'Ciall thought seriously about it.  There was a hurry in 
this case.  This future bondmate of hers was just in the beginning of
his  Time.  T'Ciall looked at the holopicture, which came just
yesterday per message net: A still young man, with an expressive
face.  A former Starfleet member, a Kholinaru adept, living in
Gol of Mount Seleya, whose Gift was high praised among the
priests.  Even here, deep in Tsusuv desert his name was known.

	T'Ciall tipped the call number and pressed the enter button. 
It took 3.68 seconds, until the call signal left the computer,
flew to the provider in the orbit and finally reached the
message terminal in a bureau in the Capital City, where it
chimed three times.  Till a finger pressed the com to take it. 
On the screen in T'Ciall's tent appeared an old woman, whose
face was old, dark and folded like the stones of Tserive rocks:

	"Greetings T'Ciall," she said, "have you made your 
decision?"

	"I accept the proposal," T'Ciall answered back, "it is an
honour for me and for the whole clan."

	"Do you have any conditions?"

	"I will never leave the desert and the way of the ancestors
that my clan has always followed."

	The old woman nodded in acknowledgement: "It would be 
illogical to require this of a Psaikihha.  My family will raise the child
of you and he."

	"Then the ceremony can go forward.  I will arrive with my
family in Lhahil'shar in two point six days."

	"We will be there, T'Ciall.  Until then..."

	"Until then..., T'Pau."  And the connection was shut down.



	The year of Lhahil'shar, a small town on the edge to Tsusuv 
desert, was divided always in two seasons: the first one was the
time of silence, when the whole town seemed to sleep.  The
second  part was the time of Oih've, the time of sand storms,
which were the reason for the whole Psaik'ihev clan to leave its
desert, to spend the dangerous time in Lhahil'shar's safe
sanctuary.

	During those days the clan families, which lived apart in Tsusuv
desert the whole year, met for the purpose of visiting each 
other. To exchange greetings, experiences and memories. To
renew the old friendships and to create others. To see the new
clan members and to find bondmates for them.

	They arrived every year, with their families, their tents, 
grav cars and large herds of hlavats, whose milk was the basis of the
Psaikihsu nourishment and whose wool was sold every year at the
Lhahil'shar market.  A large cloud of dusk on the horizon
announced their arrival to the Lhahil'shar citizens, bringing
new life to the town, new/old people, and new time for busyness
and contracts.



	From the window of the old convent building T'Pau could see 
The activities in the camp. She watched the desert people organise
the places for the clan families, to build their tents, to feed
their herds.

	Those people always fascinated the old woman.  They formed
somehow a symbol of old Vulcan, a remaining, forgotten piece of
the past.

	'They are good people,' she thought, 'strong, brave, 
faithful. They deserve to be honoured. And the honour belongs 
especially to one of their daughters.'

	With this thought she sighed a little.  T'Ciall's decision 
to marry one of her family members had filled her with relief.  It
was difficult indeed to find the right bondmate for Spock, when
there was so little time for him.

	For years she had hoped he would find a partner by himself,
like his father many years ago. Somehow, he didn't. Instead he
served at first in Starfleet, then unexpected he quit, and went
to Gol.

	But without even to trying to find a mate.  As if he never
cared.  As if he had never thought of the idea that his Time
would return in seven years.

	But she did, she, T'Pau cared about this very special member 
Of her family. Although she had seen him only twice in her life:
at first as a small child during an old ceremony of the first
name giving and second...

	...every time she remembered that day, she shivered and the
long years of control and discipline could not prevent it.  It
was the  worst day of her 217 year long life.  For the first
time she felt, how it could be being helpless, being held in the
corner, both hands bound by tradition, laws and logic.  How it
could be to be forced to make a decision, which was against her
morals. Against  the philosophy, which formed the basic rules
for the whole planet during the last two thousand years.

	No, she didn't agree to the marriage of Spock's parents,
indeed.  Perhaps because she'd had no idea, if a human would be
able to live by the Vulcan rules.  But Amanda Grayson had
convinced T'Pau, that a human could.

	No, it was Amanda's son, Spock, who was forced to bear the
consequences of his parents bonding.  And it all happened on the
day of Spock's tragic Koon'ut'kalifee.  On this day T'Pring 
spoke aloud enough logical reasons, why she had refused to marry
him.  But the message behind those words was clear: *not with a
half human.*

	But a half human or not, T'Pau's disagreement with Sarek's
marriage with Amanda or not, Spock *was* a member of her family 
and it was *hers* , T'Pau's duty as the current family leader to
take carry of this very special Vulcan.

	'This time it will be different,' she thought, watching the 
Psaikihsu.

	The door opened and the convent priest stepped in: "All is
ready for the ceremony, honourable T'Pau."

	She turned away from the window: "Then let us begin."



	They remained alone in an empty room, kneeling face to face 
on the traditional ceremony mat.  Singing an old marriage mantra,
the priests, T'Pau, and T'Ciall's family left the man and the
woman, to let them to fulfil the ceremony in privacy.

	T'Ciall watched the beautiful face in front of her.  Those 
full lips, the curve of his nose, the black eyes already burning in
fever.  She reached her hand and touched the melding points on
his  cheek.  She felt the hot skin under her fingertips, much
hotter now than the usual temperature of a Vulcan would be...

	...the fine tendril of her mind touched his...

	...Spock swayed a little forward and put his hand on her 
face...

	...T'Ciall's mind touch was answered by a mental echo, 
stronger this time...

	...he kissed her lips with his, to be welcomed by wetness of
her mouth.  Yes she felt it, this familiar feeling of the 
mental/physical touch, which raised the desire in her own body.
She  pressed herself closer, her hands tracing the spine of
Spock's  back.  She sank backwards to the mat, taking him with
her...

	...his thoughts thrust in her mind now, searching after the
place, where the anchor of a bond was always formed.  My
thoughts to your thoughts...

	..they kissed each others hungrily now, his hands moved 
under her ceremonial robe, tracing upwards, caressing her waist, her
ribs, her breasts...

	...she penetrated his mind with her own.  Yes she knew where 
to find it, that very private and hiding place of a Vulcan's
mind, to just come right there, to be there and finally to
leave, but to leave an unmistakable mark behind her.  Parted and
never parted...

	...Spock bent his head to kiss her throat, his desire 
growing with every touch...

	...yes, they were ready to form their bond...

	...he parted her thighs, to enter her...

	...the thoughts and memories of each other started to flow 
in each other's minds: past moments, present wisdom, experiences
gathered through the years of life in the desert or in space...

	...he started to move inside of her...

	...he saw: a person, who lived in her past, being lost, yet
remembered in respect and honour.  Person of his presence
respected, honoured and...

	...suddenly, without warning he stopped, rolled off her and
slid down to the mat, to remain there, panting hard, his hands
clenched into fists, his face a mask.  T'Ciall sat up, puzzled
by his  unexpected behaviour, feeling him fighting hard against
the flame of the fever, and then... the mental connection to him
was gone. 

	"What's happened?"  She asked, her voice raw with faded 
desire, growing disbelief and shocked astonishment.

	He breathed hard, his face still turned to the mat.  "I
can't..."  A whisper, barely audible.

	She knelt now, her body bowed to his, her hand placed on his
back.  "I don't understand..."

	Slowly he turned his head and looked at her.  Yes, he *was*
hot, *burning* through the fever, his eyes unguarded, betraying
his state of mind, being on the edge of losing his self control.

	"I can't fulfil the ceremony.  T'Ciall, I'm sorry to 
dishonour you in this way..."

	"That does not matter.  You will die, you are already on the
edge of your plack'tow, you know..."

	"Then so be this."  He looked away from her and she 
understood, that his decision was final.

	She stood up and left the room, passed the priests in the
corridor, whose looked in disbelief after her, went farther
through the rooms of the convent building, until she finally
reached the one with T'Pau inside.

	T'Ciall stepped in...

	...and T'Pau turned away from the window.  Her eyes widened. 
And suddenly she knew...

	"He refused me," T'Ciall said.

	"Why?"  Was the only question T'Pau was able to ask.

	"His body failed me."  The young woman stood here a, ghost-
like serenity about her.

	"I do not understand," T'Pau left the window and stepped 
toward the young woman, "he will not survive!!"

	"He has accepted it.  His decision to die is unmistakable."

	The two women looked at each other, seeing all clear exposed 
in each other's mind.  There was no need to speak aloud any
further. 

	Finally the young Psaikihha said: "Call the priests, T'Pau, 
let him die in honour. He still deserves it."

	And then she left the room, for she didn't want to see the 
old woman leaning herself heavily against the wall, suddenly growing
older, much older as she already was through her 217 years.



	Psaikihsu have a saying: " In the flames of the fire is the
truth about yourself.  You might be burned to ashes, if you will
find it out."



	To become a Vulcan, was his only wish...  To be a Vulcan,
nothing more and nothing less.

Since the night in the desert few days before his Khas-wan,  he
had chosen the path of his father, never to doubt about the
decision he had made.

	But although the destiny seemed to be clear, still he felt,
that it was not enough.  He had studied, meditated, perfected
his discipline, but somehow it was not enough for his father,
his  teachers, his school mates.

	Somehow he always remained the half human to them...

	He went to Starfleet and his entrance exam for the Academy 
was excellent.  His career as a scientist and commanding officer was
prised by the highest Starfleet members.  He had travelled
through the galaxy, went to places where no one had been before,
saw phenomena which no one had seen before, met members of
species who no one had met before.

	And to all of them he was a Vulcan, no more and no less.

	And he had thought, he had at last reached the end of his 
way.

	Until he had returned home for no longer than an hour.  
Until he had to fulfil a ceremony, like his vulcan ancestors had
always done.  Until he had burned in the heat of ponn far and
was refused  by his partner, because he was not enough for her. 

	He was not Vulcan enough.

	How to describe the feeling, when one gets hurt by his own
people?  There are no words for it.  But...  It is always bad,
much worse than a fleet of insane Klingons.  As bad as the worst
 nightmare in space could be.

	He returned back to the stars, continued his work, his duty,
his life.  No, he didn't remain alone, for there were still
people enough around him, who had called him their friend, and
were honest with it.  And he had accepted their friendship and
returned it back, though he needed some more time for it.

	He held also resolute, his logic, his meditation, his
self-control.  Even more than he did before, because now, after
all, this was all he had left.

	But the wound in his heart remained open, the seed of doubt 
was already sowed in his mind, to grow there in silence.  And
mercilessly to strike back right in the moment, he hadn't
expected it: 

	It was at the end of the five year mission, as the ship was 
docked at Starbase 1, as his best friend was promoted to a
higher rank, as he almost decided to follow him to the HQ.

	As he realised, he had fallen in love with him...

	For his love for him, was exactly he feared the most.  
Because it means to go against his principles, against all he had
learned and practised during all the years, he had spend off
Vulcan.

	Because to be in love means to have emotions, to express
feelings, to behave like a non Vulcan.

	He refused his friend's proposal, although the look he got 
then followed him, for a long time thereafter.

	Instead he went to Gol, to continue in his way toward his
destiny.  And if this would mean to follow the way of a
Kholinaru adept, so be this.  He was sure, sometimes, during the
past four years, he had forgotten those eyes...

	But now it was all over.  For in the heat of his ponn far, 
in a short moment of unmistakable truth, he had recognised, he had
been wrong.  All the past years in Gol were wrong. But he
couldn't  turn away yet, because there wasn't any chance for him
to escape.

	Only to accept the facts and face the death.

	Burning, already on the edge of his plack'tow, he realised 
ironically in the last glint of clarity, that at last he was
really dying like a Vulcan.



	Psaikihsu have a saying: " In the flames of the fire is the
truth about yourself.  You might be burned to ashes, if you will
find  it out."

	And if the soul of a Vulcan breaks down on it and he is 
going to die, the others must respect it.



	The convent priests brought chains to bind his wrists, and
placed candles around his mat. And then, murmuring an ancient
prayer, they went out of the ceremony room, the heavy door
closing behind  them.  And no one will hear his cries and no one
will enter to see  after him.  He will remain alone, to have the
chance to die in privacy, of his loneliness... 

	...to die like a Vulcan.



	In her tent again, T'Ciall knelt down opposite her terminal. 
Searching in the memories of the thoughts Spock left in her
mind.  Where was the moment of the failure, where was the
impulse to go off her?

	She closed her eyes, concentrating ...

	There were the memories of his childhood, she could 
recognise his parents, his school mates.  Later then the Starfleet
Academy, the  travels through the space, the other woman in his
live, his friends, he was ready to die for, his decision to go
to Gol...

	Wait, there was it: his friends, he was ready to die for. 
Especially the one.

	The image was only there a short time before it flickered 
away, followed by a clear moment of painful surprise of the found
truth. And then all went wrong.

	'In the heat of ponn far he found the truth about himself',
T'Ciall  thought, almost sad.  As quickly as this happened Spock
tried to escape from her mind ,to hide his mostly private truth
from her. But not quickly enough. The image of the stranger
was right now in her mind.

	She stretched her hand and booted the terminal and opened 
the connection to the public data bank of Spock's family, in the
Capital City. 

	Under Spock's name she found two others: the name of the
Academy in Shikahr and the Starfleet Academy in San Francisco.
The name of the first institution was known to her.  She
listened up all names of non Vulcan scientist, working there,
but the face of the image  in her mind was nowhere among them.

	She turned her attention to the other academy. Its call 
number was not of the Eridani system.  The signal flow again from her
computer to the orbit provider, but this time it went to Earth. 
T'Ciall waited patiently the whole  45.78 minutes until the
Starfleet symbol appeared on her screen, with options to choose
between 138 federation languages.  She found  he familiar signs
of high Vulcan alphabet and entered the pages.

	Under the option Vulcan Starfleet Members she found Spock's
file.  There were the data of his academy entry, the date of his
graduation, all academy titles, some short description of his 
following carrier, the scientist's activity, his role in space
exploration. The names of the ships he served on.  The names of 
his captains...  The fact, that most of that time he had spent
evidently on the last ship, whose name was known even in the
Tsusuv desert.

	She started to look for files of former crew members.  Of 
all people, who had served with Spock, during the past eighteen
years: ensigns, non-commissioned officers, senior officers, 
commanding officers, technicians, scientists, security members,
the whole medical staff, the helm, the communication, the
navigation section, the captains...

	She found two names of captains.  The first captain left the
ship nine years ego.  The data about him  ended with an entry
for a password.

	The second former captain commanded the ship during the last
five year mission and was promoted to admiral four years ago. 
T'Ciall reminded herself, that in this time Spock made his
decision to go to Mount Seleya. She clicked the file entry on
and found what she was looking for the whole time:

	The face of the image in her mind.



	Psaikihsu have a saying: " In the flames of the fire is the
truth about yourself. You might be burned to ashes, if you will
find  it out."

	And if the soul of a Vulcan breaks down on it and he is 
going to die, the others must respect it.

	But the Psaikihsu are also saying:" If someone decides to 
die in the desert, let him alone in honour and respect and never
turn back. But before you leave him, put also some water next to
him."



	T'Ciall entered the pages of the Starfleet Headquarters and
tipped his name into the search machine.  Some seconds later her
screen was overflowed by data. She needed some time, until she
found what she needed:

	The address.  Five call numbers of him.

	The first three, T'Ciall tipped in, were answered in a
language, she didn't understand.  Yet she recognised the sounds
and voices of the answering machines.

	The fourth call chimed many times.  She wanted finally to
disconnect the session, then suddenly the screen changed and the
familiar face appeared.  The man on the screen asked something. 
But T'Ciall gave him a sign back, she didn't understand english.
The human stopped then and hit a button on his com.

	"And now?" He asked back.

	Hearing the words translated in the familiar high Vulcan, 
she nodded.

	The human male looked at her, his eyes tired, yet ready to
listen.

	And then T'Ciall told him... 

	...all what she had planned to tell... 

	And then she signed off.



	It was late night in San Francisco Starfleet Head Quarters, 
but James T. Kirk remained still sitting in his chair in front of
his  terminal, forgetting suddenly, how tired he was... 

	...forgetting the unnerving day, which had just passed by, 
and the next one waiting for him tomorrow... 

	...forgetting his rank of admiral, and the whole HQ...

	...there were only T'Ciall's words there, still echoing over
and over in his mind.



End of PartI.
--------------------------------------------------------------
G'Kar to Drazi: "A rodenberry is something you eat?" (konezny)