Prologue.

The towering bulk of Pnauh'Kmaghe spread a great shadow over the empty Vulcan desert. The sand around was pitted with footprints that would soon disappear after the late evening winds touched the ground. It was five weeks since Spock of Vulcan had opened the tomb of the first ten kings of Vulcan, who reigned long before the Vulcan-Romulan separation. They had ruled a civilisation and culture that was in some ways more advanced than the present one, but had been lost to the passionate Vulcans' savage wars. But Spock had found the Katra of Suaniak, the last king, still existing in the tomb, still conscious and thinking after so many centuries, with the knowledge of the history that barely covered a page in current Vulcan textbooks.

A few lucky scientists – those related to the kings by blood, as Commander Spock was – had been permitted by Suaniak to be transported inside the structure, to record the magnificent texts of history and worship written on the walls. The Vulcans were still working as hard as ever, but the rush of scientists and historians from every planet, the sceptics, and simple tourists, had eased off from a continuous presence to simply a few hours during the cooler evenings and morning, now the first excitement had worn off.

Now, in the quiet after even the Vulcans were gone, Suaniak, Tenth King of Vulcan, last in that line, was summoning all his remaining powers of telepathy to contact a half-Vulcan that lived on a ship currently posted hundreds of light years away.

1.

Doctor Leonard McCoy slipped in through Spock's door on his way to the Enterprise recreation deck. For tonight, the small gymnasium there had been transformed into a comfortable, decorated room large enough to hold half the crew if they got a little friendlier than usual. He had slipped in earlier and seen the full buffet tables and casually arranged seats, all in preparation for Jim Kirk's birthday celebration.

Now he had come to find Spock, thinking he may as well walk with the Vulcan to the gym. But when he rounded the corner to Spock's sleeping area, he was surprised to see the Vulcan seated in one of his wooden chairs in the dim scarlet light, plucking out disjointed, discordant notes on his Vulcan lyre.

'If you're gonna play that thing, at least play it properly,' he said by way of greeting. 'I'm ready. Are you coming, Spock?'

Spock lifted his head to regard McCoy, his eyes iron hard, and unreadable. He put the lyre aside, and stood up.

'I will not be attending the informal gathering, Doctor. I have work to do.'

'I always knew you had ice where your Vulcan heart should be. It's not an informal gathering. It's a *party*,' McCoy protested. 'Come on, Spock. It's Jim's birthday. Everyone else is going.'

'Then I will be needed to take care of the ship.'

Spock walked into the corridor, acting as if McCoy didn't exist. The doctor followed him, determined not to let him get away that easily.

'Spock, maybe parties aren't Vulcan style, but you're his best friend,' he insisted. 'You have to come.'

'I do not *have* to do anything,' Spock said flatly. 'I will not be attending. I do not find any kind of gain in going to such disorganised, illogical, undisciplined gatherings, and to be quite frank, I am surprised and disappointed that the captain is even allowing it to take place.'

McCoy stopped in his tracks, his mind hazed with fury. He began to attack again, really angry now.

'Why, you damn pointed-eared, half-bred mongrel! Haven't you even got an ounce of feeling in that crossbred car-'

The doctor broke off mid-word when he realised what he was saying, seeing a flicker of pain in Spock's eyes. He shook his head. Perhaps he had gone too far, but he was not about to apologise.

'I guess it's no use wasting my breath,' he said sourly. 'I thought you were Jim's friend, but I guess you can't be bothered with illogical things like that. It'd mean a lot to him, but if you don't care... Go do your precious work then.'

'Thank you, Doctor,' Spock nodded politely. 'I shall.'

Spock turned on his heel, heading for the bridge. McCoy fumed for a while, then turned in the opposite direction, a small parcel wrapped in gaudy paper tucked under his arm. When he reached the gym, it was already half full. He spent a moment glancing over the small groups of people dotted about the room, then caught sight of Kirk, sitting in a chair in the corner, trying not to look conspicuous.

'Jim, happy birthday!' the doctor hailed him loudly.

'I really didn't want all this,' the captain tried to protest, as McCoy joined him.

'You deserve it, though.'

Kirk shrugged, deciding that a recreation room filled with half of the crew was not the place to argue.

'Where's Spock?' he asked hopefully. 'Is he coming along later?'

The doctor's expression changed in an instant.

'Spock – has work to do,' McCoy said stiffly. 'He's too busy to wish his captain happy birthday. He's looking after the ship.'

'I guess someone should,' Kirk said, but McCoy could hear his tone was dampened. 'That's a Vulcan's loyalty for you.'

'I thought he might be a little more loyal to his captain than his ship.'

'Well, he did give me a present this morning,' Kirk told the doctor, trying to defend the Vulcan despite his sense of hurt. 'It was a native Erianian sculpture – a lovely piece of artwork. And you know Vulcans don't like parties. All this standing shoulder to shoulder, touching people, food and loud music. He's probably trying to avoid a headache, and ensure that at least one person doesn't have a hangover tomorrow morning. Mind you,' he added in a more disgruntled tone, 'he's been acting like he's got a permanent hangover recently.'

'He has been acting a bit – off the planet?' McCoy suggested.

'Off everything,' Kirk grunted. 'Something's disturbing him. I just hope it isn't another of those life-or-death, break-all-the-rules-in-the-book crises with his personal biology.'

'Well - happy birthday,' McCoy said again quickly, shoving the parcel into Kirk's arms, and steering off the subject of Spock before the discussion of his moods could start to ruin the party.

'Bones, you shouldn't have,' Kirk gave the traditional response, then laughed as he turned the box over in his hands. 'What is it this time? A box of aspirin?'

He cast his mind back to a time when McCoy had neatly wrapped up a computer disc and given it to him. When he had put it in a nearby computer screen, it displayed a message of;

YOUR LAST CHECK-UP IS TWO WEEKS OVERDUE.

REPORT TO MEDICAL SECTION TOMORROW, 0900 HOURS.

'If I thought it'd help me get you into sickbay for regular checks, it would be,' McCoy grumbled. 'I never know what to get a starship captain for his birthday. But it's not a box of aspirin.'

Kirk tore away the paper, opened the clanking box, and took out –

'A melted piece of engine mechanics? Bones?'

'Just to remind you that even Enterprise isn't indestructible,' McCoy said pointedly. 'And if she isn't, her captain certainly isn't. They both need servicing every now and then. That got melted on one of your speed jaunts, trying to push the Enterprise above warp nine.'

'I'll treasure it, Bones,' Kirk grinned, absently stroking the warped and misshapen metal with one finger. He knew it would end up taking pride of place on one of his shelves – a souvenir of the ship, like Spock's burnt out dilithium crystal. Then he put it back in its box, and stood up.

'I guess I'll have to mingle, Bones.'

'Jim.' McCoy's soft call made him look down again. 'Jim, enjoy yourself,' he said firmly. 'Now that's a medical order.'

******

After the party, McCoy thought hard to himself, battling with his conscience. He remembered Spock's tight, drawn, sheet-white face when he had spoken, and the brief look of pain when McCoy had attacked him. He wondered how much his comments had affected the supposedly emotionless Vulcan – and how much sleep he had got recently. There had been dark rings around Spock's eyes – something that he'd hardly seen before in the Vulcan.

The doctor spent a moment at a computer terminal, trying to locate the Vulcan. It was not possible to locate individual human crewmembers on board the ship, but a Vulcan, with the differing body readings, was a simple task. The computer reported Spock in the park on the recreation deck. It seemed a strange place for him to be, considering he had said he had so much work to do, but when McCoy went into the small, artificial park housed on that deck he saw Spock seated cross legged on the grass, staring vacantly into the moving water of a small waterfall.

'Spock,' he called, striding over toward the Vulcan. 'I'm sorry about what I - '

He slowed when he realised the Vulcan was deep in meditation. He stopped in front of him, and stood looking at him, taking the chance to study his face harder than he had in the corridor earlier. Spock's face was pale, and the cheeks looked more hollow than usual. His eyes were dull and tired. McCoy pulled out his medical scanner for an accurate analysis of Spock's condition, but he pocketed it again when he saw Kirk wandering along the narrow path in the room.

'Jim,' he called, walking over to him. 'Happy birthday,' he smiled.

'That's the tenth time you've said that,' Kirk responded. 'Do you have to remind me I'm getting older? Were you talking to Spock?'

McCoy shook his head.

'Not talking. He's meditating, or whatever Vulcans do. Are you annoyed with him, Jim?'

'Not really… Well, I thought he could have turned up, at least for a few minutes,' Kirk admitted.

McCoy could see the captain was hurt by Spock's absence, but for the moment his concern was more taken up with Spock's abnormal behaviour than Kirk's natural sentiment.

'I really think something's wrong, Jim,' he said, looking over towards the Vulcan. 'He doesn't look well, and he's lost weight. Has he been over-working himself?'

'Not that I'm aware of,' Kirk shrugged, following McCoy's gaze. 'There isn't much to do, anyway. All we're doing is mapping. If anything, he's been in his room more than usual, only turning up for his scheduled shifts. But he's certainly not been himself. He's not talking. He responds to orders, with 'yes, sir' or 'no, sir', but he's hardly said more than that. I haven't played chess with him in ages. Bones, it's too soon for another of those mating drives, isn't it?' he asked anxiously.

'Far too soon,' McCoy nodded. 'Although it could be another of these Vulcan things. I'll consult my medical books, and keep an eye on him. I could haul him in for a check-up – '

'No, don't do that, Bones,' Kirk said quickly. 'I'm sure it's just a phase, and the last thing he needs is to be prodded and poked in sickbay.'

'Hmm,' McCoy said. 'Like I said, I'll watch him. And if nothing improves I'll schedule a check-up for next week. But you shouldn't be worrying about him today. Come over here and sit down,' he said, nodding towards one of the small benches in the park. 'Why don't you talk about something that isn't to do with the ship or the crew?'

'Like what?' Kirk shrugged as they sat.

'Like your memories of those wonderful bars on Janeo 5, and those lovely female dancers they have.'

Kirk laughed briefly. 'And how you managed to get me drunk, and I tried to speak their language, and almost ended up having to marry one of the dancers and all her sisters? No thanks, Bones.' His eyes strayed over to the Vulcan again. 'He seems to be turning in on himself, Bones. He hardly says a word about anything outside of duty. It's almost as if he's full of too much pain to speak. As if he's afraid of letting something out that he shouldn't. Bones, when Vulcans develop mental problems, aren't they liable to be ten times worse than humans?'

'Their brains are more complex, and they tend to let things build up behind their masks before anything gets through. At least we've noticed something, Jim. We can keep an eye on him. It must be a tremendous strain having all these half-human impulses, and never being able to act on them, or even show them a little. Spock feels pain, but he can never let anyone see it. Can't admit it even to himself.' McCoy sighed, then got to his feet. 'Don't worry about him, Jim. I'll keep an eye on him.' He pulled the captain up by his arm. 'Come on, Jim. Why don't you come with me to my room? I've got a film to show you. It should help you relax. It always has me in fits.'

'Sounds good. What is it?'

'They had a security camera in that bar on Janeo. I bought the tape from the owner.'

******

Kirk stepped onto the upper platform of the bridge, still trying to shake the image out of his head of himself, surrounded by eight eager dancing girls, trying to explain in poor Janeon that he really didn't want to marry any of them. The picture had been dogging him for two days. He scanned down a report of their findings in this sector, and found that helped push the picture from his mind. Then, with a clearer mind, he went over to the science officer's station, and put his hand on Spock's chair.

'Spock, have you got anything interesting on the sensors?'

'No, sir,' Spock said, not turning around.

His posture wasn't his normal attitude of rigid, semi-attention. Kirk would have sworn his first officer was slouching in his chair.

'Well, what have you got, Science Officer?' he asked.

'Nothing of interest, Captain.' Spock's voice was monotone. 'Mapping expeditions very rarely are of interest. Simply hours of tedious staring at the star field.'

'We all feel like that, Mr Spock,' Kirk said sharply, beginning to feel annoyed. 'There's nothing that makes you particularly special.'

'I am aware of that, Captain. I was simply – '

Kirk whirled the Vulcan's chair around to face him angrily. Spock reacted briefly to the movement, and then fell back into the listlessness that seemed to be plaguing him at the moment.

'Spock, snap out of it!' Kirk snapped, his patience spent. 'Whatever it is, just snap out of it!'

Spock looked at him for a moment through dull eyes, and for a moment Kirk thought he saw a plea for – something – as if Spock were crying out for help through those eyes. Then his head dropped again. He didn't show any indications of snapping out of it. If anything, his shoulders simply slumped a little lower.

'I have work to do in the bio-lab,' he said quietly, his eyes on the flashing lights of his console. 'If you will excuse me, sir.'

He got up from his chair on the bridge, and went towards the lift, his feet almost dragging behind him.

'Well, if you're going to carry on like this, Commander, I think you'd be better off not coming back to the bridge,' Kirk snapped after him.

Spock walked into the elevator. Kirk stared after him, wondering if he had gone too far in his anger, but he didn't bother to follow. He didn't see the point.

'Sir?' Sulu turned around from his station, looking at the lift doors. 'Sir, what's wrong with Mr Spock?'

'I don't know,' Kirk sighed, sitting down. 'I just don't know. I can only think that it's something Vulcan that we don't quite understand. I guess it's a phase, or something. Just – maybe we need to try to be patient, understanding. Try not to antagonise him, and wait for it to wear off. And – ' He looked over at the lift doors again. 'If he seems to want to talk... If he begins to talk to you – tell you something about – whatever this is, listen to him, no matter how busy you are. I want you to listen.'

Sulu looked at him curiously for a moment, then at the doors Kirk had been looking over to, wondering if whatever it was could be that bad. Then he nodded smartly, deciding not to ask questions, and simply said;

'Aye, sir.'

*****

On Vulcan, Suaniak reached out again from his tomb, and strengthened his hold. His thoughts reached a young child living on the edge of a Vulcan city, and the child's strong thoughts and memories of a certain person strengthened his own, pushing the message stronger and further than he could on his own, forcing the mind so far away out in space to listen, even if it did not understand what it heard.

Once that signal was familiar enough to carry it on without conscious thought, he concentrated his conscious mind on another, reaching further this time, reaching far out through the galaxy, past the Romulan neutral zone...

******

McCoy glanced at the chronometer, tapped his fingers on the table impatiently, then looked at the clock again. He was still waiting for Spock to turn up for his physical, half an hour after the appointed time. Spock had never been anything but on time for appointments. The doctor sighed, picked up a tricorder and medical kit, and went out of the door, deciding that if Spock wouldn't come to the physical, the physical would come to Spock. He recognised the back of Lieutenant Uhura disappearing down the corridor, and he jogged after her swiftly, an idea forming in his mind.

'Uhura!'

She turned back at his call.

'Yes, Doctor?' she asked with the natural poise that she always seemed to possess. 'Oh, I've already had this month's medical exam,' she said quickly, as he caught up with her. 'You did me a few days ago.'

'Yes, I know,' he smiled. 'Why does everyone always think I'm about to haul them off for a physical if I so much as call their name?'

'Because you usually are,' she smiled back. 'What did you want, sir?'

'I'm going to see Spock,' he explained. 'He's been acting rather strangely recently, and he hasn't turned up for his physical. I'd like to make sure he's okay.'

She shook her head. 'Of course, but I still don't understand why you want me.'

'I'd like you to come with me,' he told her. 'Something's definitely wrong, and maybe he'd speak to someone who isn't his doctor, or someone who isn't his captain. I know that you play your instruments together sometimes. You are one of his friends.'

'Well, I'll come with you, Doctor,' she said. 'But I'm not sure if I can help you. Mr Spock has been blunt to the point of rudeness recently. I didn't even see him at the Captain's birthday party. To be honest, he's acting as if we all never existed.'

'Now that's not fair, and you know it,' McCoy argued, always ready to defend Spock against someone else's attack despite his own readiness to criticise him. 'I guess he just thinks a party is a waste of time. Spock's different. He does things differently.'

'Not *that* differently, Doctor,' Uhura said pointedly.

'Well, maybe not,' McCoy admitted. 'But that's why I'm so worried about him. Vulcans are tight-lipped as Andorian shell worms about their feelings. He hasn't been acting right at all recently. Something's obviously wrong. Now, do you want to come with me?'

'I'll come to his door,' she decided. 'And if he won't talk to you, call me in.'

'Thanks,' he grinned. 'Come on, then. And just come in when you want to. I might need you. Or he might.'