The Enterprise was settling into orbit around the planet Kreet when Spock noticed a brief sensation, like a mild shock of electric current tingling through his body. The bridge crew shifted in their seats and muttered as he consulted his instruments.

Captain Kirk left the command chair and came up beside him at the science station. "Spock. What was that?"

Gazing into his sensor hood, Spock replied, "Most curious, Captain. The disturbance is emanating from deep within the planet core; some sort of pulsing energy flux that becomes physically tangible in areas of highest concentration." He straightened to finish his report. "The preliminary scan suggests energy-radiant mineral deposits, harmless to plant and animal life."

"There's no record of this."

"True. First contact was established by the disabled freighter, Tarvlod. Sensors aboard such vessels are usually quite limited."

Kirk had received a comprehensive report forwarded from the freighter's log. Class M planet. Space travel limited to orbital capability. Natives rather simian in appearance and highly argumentative. The Kreetans had enjoyed their first taste of bananas from the Tarvlod's stores, and as a measure of goodwill, the Enterprise was delivering the fruit stock they had requested. Correction: vociferously demanded.

"Keep it monitored," he said.

Their eyes met in silent understanding. A recent encounter with a strange phenomenon of warp space harmonics had proven chaotic. Spock had also judged that anomaly safe, even while the majority of the crew was rapidly going mad.

Kirk could almost smile about it now. Privately he thought, Should have gotten his pay docked for that one. But he probably would have found some way around it.

"Captain." Uhura's quiet voice distracted him. "I've established communication with His Awesome Highness, Trogg of Kreet."

Kirk had barely returned to his command chair when a startling visage appeared on the forward view screen. Even more unsettling than Trogg's grimacing, apelike features was the belligerent tone in which His Awesome Highness demanded the immediate delivery of his banana shoots—as if the shipment was a month late instead of two days early. Handling the excitable Trogg called on all of Kirk's diplomatic skills. When His Awesome Highness at last huffed away to consult his aides, Kirk gratefully turned to his own executive officer for a dose of Vulcan calm. But alas, he found Spock immersed in his computer terminal, obviously bewildered by a deluge of little papers spewing from a slot. The normally immaculate station was littered with printouts.

"What the Sam Hill is going on?" Kirk asked.

Spock was too distracted by the current situation to remark on his captain's use of the McCoyism. "The computer. It…is not functioning normally."

"Oh?" Considering past difficulties such as sultry computer voices and endearments, Kirk almost expected to find love notes. And as Spock made way for him, a quick scan of the printouts revealed that he was not too far wrong. Breaking into a grin, he asked, "Is this some kind of joke?"

The dark Vulcan eyes reproached him. "Captain. Are you actually suggesting that I…"

"No. Of course not." Starfleet pay statements for the amount of one million credits each were not really amusing, not when they were all made out to Commander Spock. Nevertheless, Kirk had a difficult time appearing solemn. "No, Spock. I'd certainly expect you to take your criminal activities very seriously."

The printouts stopped appearing. With a look of longsuffering, Spock gathered every one into a neat pile and shoved them into the bridge disposal chute. With a few expert adjustments, he soon had the overpayments deducted from his account. But that was not the end of the day's trouble.

The Kreetans, being suspicious as well as disagreeable, refused the use of the ship's transporter for both themselves and the fruit stock. All of Kirk's attempts to reassure them had no effect, and the temperamental simians also balked at Spock's Vulcanly persuasion. In the end, a pair of Kreetan observers were shuttled aboard ship to supervise the loading of their precious cargo.

Kirk, Spock, and Lieutenant Uhura were in the landing bay when two disoriented, space-sick Kreetans stumbled from the shuttlecraft. Spock nimbly sprang forward, saving one bowlegged alien from a nasty fall while Kirk attempted to steady the other, but both were rudely rebuffed. An unintelligible scolding followed, eluding even Uhura, who had gleaned the fundamentals of Kreetan speech from a Tarvlod log tape and programmed a universal translator which hung around her neck. The three officers stood in mute dismay before their snarling, foot-stomping guests.

The mass of guttural outcries brought a shriek from the overtaxed translator that further excited the Kreetans.

"Turn that thing off," Kirk ordered. "Uhura, just try talking to them."

Killing the translator, Uhura gamely stepped forward. The Kreetans fell silent, simian muscles tensed, leathery fingers poised at bejeweled dagger hilts. Maintaining a prudent distance, Uhura struggled to imitate the harsh Kreetan tones in a formal greeting. The aliens relaxed somewhat and rephrased their complaints in slow, simple language. Uhura's jaw tightened as she heard them out.

At last she interpreted, "Our Kreetan guests found travelling in our shuttle disagreeable."

Kirk snorted. "I bet they had more to say than that."

"A loose translation, sir."

"Yes, loose." Kirk had arrived at Kreet with an open mind, but these feisty aliens were stressing his natural tolerance to its outer limit. As the Kreetans began to poke their twitching nostrils into each and every crate of banana shoots, he could not resist murmuring to his officers, "Remind you of anyone?"

Chief Engineer Scott had arrived to watch. "A wee bit like Klingons," he said with distaste.

Spock nodded. "There are certain similarities."

Kirk's thought exactly. He was not surprised when, with the crates securely loaded and ready for delivery, the head Kreetan erupted into a fresh tirade. "Well?" Kirk asked his beleaguered communications officer.

Uhura glanced uneasily at Scott before issuing her report to the captain. "Due to the Kreetan's general anxiety in regard to our space vehicle, they…respectfully…request a thorough examination of the shuttle prior to boarding."

"What?" Scott bristled. "Captain, I can assure ye, this vessel's in prime condition."

Kirk sighed. "Yes, I'm certain of that, Scotty, but our honored guests don't share my confidence. If a simple preflight check will ease their fears…and get them on their way…"

"By all means, do it," Spock interjected.

Turning to the irksome, insulting task, Scott grumbled, "I say throw 'em in a torpedo tube an' be done with 'em."

He had travelled only two steps when Uhura's voice stopped him. "Wait, Mister Scott." Apologetically she explained, "They want Spock to inspect the shuttle." With a hint of a playful smile, she turned to her significant other. "It seems that they've taken a liking to Vulcan ears."

"His…ears?" Scott considered this a direct affront to his profession. "Why, the bleedin' little black-hearted—" A sharp glance from the captain silenced him. In rigid protest he withdrew, hands on hips, as Spock usurped his engineering duties.

Hovering nearby, the Kreetans watched Spock's every move with venomous suspicion. Their occasional comments drew responses from Uhura, ludicrous apish sounds that served to restrain them. Spock made an impressive show of contorting his body into impossible angles as he pried open panels and studied their contents.

At last he muscled himself upright, and pausing to straighten his uniform tunic, sighed audibly. "The shuttle has passed inspection, and the Kreetan disposition is not apt to improve with any further delay."

"Nor ours," Kirk noted drily. As the irascible aliens were escorted aboard the Galileo, he could not help thinking, I'll be damn glad to get rid of them—permanently. Then he accompanied his senior officers to the observation booth and waited as the bay depressurized.

The boxy Galileo rotated on its pad and embarked without mishap.

Turning from the window, Scott declared with a sour expression, "Well, there goes trouble, an' good riddance if ye ask me. I canna help feelin' 'twas an ill day that the Tarvlod drifted upon that menagerie."

No one disagreed.

"They are," Spock said, "a most difficult people." As the others drifted away, he stood gazing out at the bay doors, his lips compressed into a grim, contemplative line.

Barely out of earshot, Scott said, "Ye know, I think those Kreetan baboons actually got under Spock's skin, too…though he'd never admit it. Imagine tryin' to establish diplomatic relations with—"

"Captain!" The thunderous shout made Kirk and his companions turn.

Spock was at the booth's small viewscreen, eyes wide open in horror. "Jim…the shuttlecraft. It…it exploded! Disintegrated. The Kreetans, our pilots, the cargo…all lost."

There was a rush to join him. The screen held only bits of debris drifting off toward infinity.

oooo

"Sabotage! Murder!" roared the small but intimidating image on the table-mounted screens.

There was no problem with Uhura's translator now.

Seated in the briefing room, Kirk felt dangerously tempted to end Trogg's mad blustering with a flick of a control. Somehow he restrained himself.

"Tell me, Kirk! Who is responsible? Who are you protecting?"

Kirk felt perspiration on his forehead as he took stock of the officers in their customary seats. Scott and Uhura looked understandably tense. Spock appeared as cool as ever, but totally self-absorbed, eyes distant and unfocussed. Each man was feeling the strain in his own way.

"A crime against Kreet!" shrieked Trogg. The translator's tiny speaker vibrated from the onslaught. "A heinous act committed by the Federation warlords!"

Kirk cleared his throat. "A tragedy, yes, but hardly a crime. My first officer personally inspected the shuttle prior to launch, at your representative's request. I was present, and I assure you there was no possibility of sabotage."

"The Vulcan?" Trogg's tone made the word sound obscene. Spock's attention riveted to the tabletop screen. "Then he tampered! That Vulcan pig is guilty by your own admission! Kretan justice demands that you deliver him into our hands!"

Scott spoke in a low aside that bypassed the directional speaker. "Just who does that tin god think he's talkin' to?"

In the same circumspect manner, Kirk answered, "He's damn well going to find out." Turning back to the monkey-faced Trogg, he said, "Most Awesome Highness. I have already expressed my regret and offered condolences for the accidental loss of your people and your banana shipment. I have assured you that the cargo will be replaced at the very—"

"Captain," Trogg growled deep in his throat, "will you also replace my sons?"

With a sudden wash of static, the com screen went dark.

Scott jumped for the console, worked various controls, and frowned. "The entire com system's gone dead, Captain."

Kirk eased back in his chair, relieved. "Well, I can't exactly say I'm sorry. This breakdown came at the best possible moment, and we'd better take advantage of it." He glanced around the table before his eyes settled on Spock. "Any thoughts?"

"The ruler's sons," Spock said thoughtfully. "Princes of Kreet. They made no mention of that fact when they were here."

"We've no cause to disbelieve Trogg."

"Indeed, Captain. It would explain what seems to be excessive behavior, even for a Kreetan. This is more than a political blow for His Awesome Highness. He has suffered a deep personal tragedy."

"An' now he's hot for revenge," Scott said. "But accordin' to the Tarvlod, the Kreetans have no weapons that can reach us here in orbit."

Kirk shook his head. "I wouldn't stake four hundred lives on that report. As a safeguard, we're going to yellow alert. No one's about to be sacrificed on Trogg's altar of vengeance."

"Why not just warp out o' this mess?" Scott wondered.

"The repercussions would reach all the way to Starfleet Command," Kirk replied. "Remember, we came here as goodwill ambassadors."

"Aye, but not even Starfleet Command expects the impossible."

Kirk offered a wry smile. "I suppose not, Scotty, but they do expect to see their orders carried out. I'm afraid it's up to us to get ourselves…and Starfleet…out of this mess." His face grew somber as he thought, If only this miserable incident had never happened…

"Captain," Spock said at last.

Kirk snapped himself from the useless spiral of wishful thinking. There was work to be done. "First an explosion that claimed four lives and a shuttlecraft loaded with prime banana shoots. Now a malfunction here in the briefing room. I want answers, and I want this ship functioning smoothly."

Scott rose from his chair. "I'll start on the com issue, Captain."

Uhura followed him up. "I'll check the system from my bridge console."

"Yes, please." And on second thought Kirk added, "But not too quickly."

oooo

Communications had only recently been restored. Spock was monitoring the sensors at his science station when he paused to report, "Captain, the energy flux is proving quite constant. Even minor variables follow a discernable pattern when viewed in an adequate timeframe. However, there is still no evidence that the anomaly could have contributed to the shuttle disaster." After fine-tuning his scope, he took a moment to study the frequency. "Interesting. More than anything, the energy pattern resembles…brainwaves."

Though Kirk's mind was on the upcoming memorial service for their lost crewmembers, Spock's words evoked a surrealistic mental image—wave upon wave of Kreetan rancor bombarding the orbiting Enterprise. It was just a matter of time before His Awesome Highness made use of an open channel to resume his howling. Perhaps only seconds.

"Captain." Uhura swiveled from the com board with a sympathetic smile. "It's Trogg. Shall I engage the main screen?"

Kirk shifted his weight in the command chair. "Put him on, Lieutenant."

When Trogg's forbidding image formed on the main viewer, Kirk began mildly. "Pardon the communications blackout. Our system temporarily went—"

"Never mind that!" Trogg snapped, his jowls quivering with rancor. "I demand to know the meaning of this…this…" A harsh Kreetan phrase rumbled past the translator.

Uhura answered the captain's inquiring glance with an apologetic shrug. "The remark is either archaic or has no counterpart in Standard."

"This is an outrage!" Trogg railed. "Explain yourself at once, Starfleet swine!"

"Now that, I understand," muttered Kirk as he struggled to control his temper. He regarded the ranting Kreetan with a narrowed—but diplomatic—eye. "Most Awesome Highness, are you referring to the earlier tragedy or to some other mishap?"

Suddenly the pouches alongside Trogg's jaws expanded, ballooning his simian face to alarming proportions. A ghastly trembling gripped the hairy arms. Then Trogg erupted in raw Kreetan fury. "Tragedy?" he roared. "Tragedy? Behold the twisted Federation humor! You sit laughing among yourselves over this cruel and vicious deception!"

Since Kirk was momentarily speechless, Spock stepped beside the command chair to address His Most Awesome Highness. "Sir, perhaps if you clarify…"

"You!" Trogg snarled. "Dog-eared liar! Ill-mannered, undisciplined lout! I will teach you a lesson, you stinking son of a malformed scavenger!"

It was only by visible effort that Spock maintained his control. Kirk saw the Vulcan muscles tighten in silent indignation, and he thought, Boy, wouldn't it be something if he let loose. But as that was not likely to happen, he came to his first officer's defense. "Listen here, Trogg! We will not tolerate any more of your insults. If you can't speak to us like a civilized being…"

"Jim, don't."

Kirk turned toward the flat, chilling voice. Surely not Spock's, but one look at his fierce expression verified it.

Spock eyed the alien leader with savage contempt. "Save your breath, Captain. This...parody…of a creature cannot possibly speak as a civilized being. Simply put, Trogg is chief barbarian to an entire world of shrieking barbarians." Kirk squirmed in his chair and forcefully cleared his throat, but Spock's attention remained locked on the startled Kreetan. "Do you hear me, Awesome Highness, with those ridiculously puny, inefficient ears? The promiscuous escapades of your hairy-chested mother produced a pompous, ignorant bastard."

At that, Spock headed for the turbolift, leaving an astonished bridge crew in his wake. For the moment, even Trogg was speechless.

oooo

A short time later, Kirk found Spock seated on his bunk in the first officer's cabin. Tension screamed from every rigid line of his body.

"You had a right to be angry," Kirk assured him.

The Vulcan drew a pained breath. "My behavior was…inexcusable."

"Your behavior was…" Kirk almost said human, but caught himself just in time. And yet, if things had gone differently, he could not be so lenient now. Not for the first time, he thought, If only Spock wasn't so damn hard on himself. "Listen. As it turned out, Trogg was favorably impressed by your brand of charm, and he settled down long enough to speak rationally."

Spock's fingertips flew to his temples. Peace had flooded him so abruptly, so unexpectedly, that he could not take credit for mastering his emotions. Slowly he let his hands drop. Kirk was pacing the room, still talking.

"…typical of the bully mentality. Keep shoving until someone shoves back. And Spock, you're going to find this next bit of news rather interesting." Noticing the change in him, Kirk came to an abrupt halt. "Spock?"

Spock rose from his bunk and calmly met Kirk's penetrating gaze. "Yes, Captain. Precisely what did Trogg have to say?"

"The shuttlecraft Galileo has safely delivered its passengers and cargo. She's now docked in our landing bay, complete with crew."

oooo

Illogical. Incomprehensible. In complete defiance of physical laws. And yet, to all appearances, it was true.

Slowly Spock approached the Galileo and reached out to touch its outer hull. One slanted brow climbed at the smooth, solid feel of metal.

"It's real enough," Kirk said, leaning against the equally solid gangplank.

"Apparently."

"Indisputably, Mister Spock. Our two pilots are at this very moment logging the particulars of an uneventful flight. Whatever explosion you witnessed did not involve this craft."

Spock let his hand drop, and faced him. "No, Captain. I was not mistaken. This shuttle exploded before my eyes…and the ship's computer agreed. Our scanners tracked the precise instant of disintegration."

"But the current record shows no sign of an explosion. It would seem that communications is not the only system that's been on the blink. We'll remain in orbit until these problems are sorted out. Meanwhile, let's just be glad that no lives were lost…and that at least for now, Trogg has quieted down."

oooo

Despite Kirk's attempt at optimism, the afternoon proved trying. So many malfunctions began to plague the Enterprise that he wondered if the ship itself was conspiring against him. By evening, he was more than ready for a relaxing dinner, but even a simple meal turned frustrating when his chicken fricassee arrived from the food dispenser looking…and tasting…like strawberry blintzes. A gift from heaven, it seemed, and finding it on his plate, he promptly satisfied his craving for the rich dessert. But any initial amusement soon turned to aggravation when the processing equipment refused to dispense anything but strawberry blintzes.

For their part, the crew adapted admirably.

"I wouldn't recommend it as a steady diet," drawled Doctor McCoy between heaping mouthfuls, "but Jim, it could've been worse. Much worse."

Even Spock made no complaint at the unconventional dinner menu. Upon tasting the berry-smothered rolls of pancake, his reaction amounted to one mild comment. "A particular favorite of yours, Captain, is it not?" Then he finished his meal in silence, right down to the last bite.

Perhaps it was frustration that drove Kirk to devour three hearty portions, but he later regretted overindulging his appetite. What he needed was a good workout. Arriving at the pool, he was a bit dismayed to find Spock among the evening swimmers. That meant, of course, that she would also be there—Spock's increasingly devoted audience of one. And so she was. Fair-haired and delicious, Lieutenant Christine Chapel sat idly dunking her toes. Kirk would have liked to renew their brief Academy affair, but her sky blue eyes were glued to the object of her affection. It hardly seemed fair. Spock already had Uhura. Why did so many women find the halfling irresistible?

Kirk slipped from the changing corridor, into the water. Beside Spock, he would make a poor showing. During Starfleet training, the Vulcan had overcome his desert upbringing and dense musculature to become an excellent swimmer. Though he lacked buoyancy, he made up for it in might—a churning Vulcan torpedo lapping from one end of the pool to the other.

Whatever inner conflict Spock was working out so vigorously tonight probably had nothing to do with the new blonde nurse. With each powerful stroke, the Vulcan seemed to attack the water. He's still troubled about the Galileo, Kirk concluded. Putting Chris Chapel from his mind, he swam out to join Spock on the next pass. For a human he was a strong swimmer, but Spock left him bobbing foolishly in his wake. Kirk's next tries were no better, and seeing himself hopelessly outmatched, he finally gave up the game.

At the finish of the lap, Spock emerged from the water and sat down in a poolside chair. Kirk swam a leisurely sidestroke to the Vulcan's vicinity. "Well," he observed, "at least you have the good grace to be winded."

In fact, Spock was breathing so heavily that he must have sustained that grueling pace for quite some time. Kirk was considering another remark when a bikini-clad vision splashed up beside him. It was as close as he would likely get to Christine these days, but as usual the lieutenant's interest lay elsewhere. With a coy smile, she held out her hand to Spock, compelling him to rise and assist her from the pool. Kirk's blood roiled as the Vulcan lent his strength indifferently.

"Thank-you," she murmured, prolonging the contact between them until Spock extricated his hand.

It was the same old routine that Kirk had witnessed countless times between the impassive halfling and an endless parade of sexually captivated females. In a different mood, Kirk might have enjoyed the interplay, but Christine's persistent advances toward Spock made him a bit jealous and resentful toward his second-in-command—a feeling he did not like. Yet it was there. Frustrated, he watched Christine toss the Vulcan a towel and run her eyes over Spock's tightly muscled frame as he dried off. Clothed in black trunks, Spock was a textbook study in masculine economy and Vulcan discipline. A credit to his race. How Spock managed to maintain that show of disinterest was beyond Kirk, and a terrible source of glandular irritation. If Spock would just sweep Christine away to the privacy of his cabin, or hers, Kirk could at least garner some vicarious satisfaction.

Ah, Kirk wished, for the strength of Spock and Christine's sky blue eyes shining into mine…

Then giving himself a stern shake, he pushed off from the pool's edge and swam hard. One strenuous lap followed another until he was forced to stop and catch his breath. Soft laughter drew his attention. Looking around, he saw Christine walking toward him.

"Jim," she said, beckoning.

Jim? His heart rate doubled. What could she want? Where might this lead? Was she willing to let bygones be bygones? Forcefully reminding himself that a captain should not "fraternize" with his crew, he stroked toward her.

"You're a marvelous swimmer," she smiled. "You move through the water so beautifully. Strange that I never noticed before."

Kirk flashed a charming grin as he climbed from the pool feeling refreshed and ready for anything.

She was about to speak again when Spock appeared…or rather, intruded on the scene. "Captain," he said, a damp towel around his neck. "Captain, I must speak to you…privately."

"Now, Spock?"

"Yes, at once." A dire sense of importance underscored each word. "It is imperative."

Might the Vulcan be jealous, after all? Kirk enjoyed the idea immensely. With an apology to Christine, who appeared very disappointed, he accompanied Spock to the deserted changing area and gave vent to his annoyance. "Alright, what's so damn urgent?"

Spock just stared at him.

"Well? Don't tell me Lieutenant Chapel is yours."

Spock's eyes widened. "Surely not. Granted, she is an attractive woman, but you cannot believe I would be unfaithful to Lieutenant Uhura."

Kirk regretted his unworthy thoughts. "Of course not, Spock. I apologize. Now what's this all about?"

The Vulcan scarcely relaxed. "Captain, there is no cause for panic…but you should look at your reflection."

"What?" Kirk chuckled uncertainly.

Spock raised a brow and tipped his head toward a full length mirror. Slowly Kirk turned around. His eyes widened at the body-builder reflected there—bulging biceps, sculpted abs. Pulse racing, he gingerly touched his rock-hard midriff. All this from one swim? Impossible!

His eyes met Spock's in the mirror. Kirk swung around and confronted him. "What's happened to me?"

Just then a crewman entered, glanced their way curiously, and gaped at his captain. Very quietly Spock said, "It would be wise to continue this conversation in the privacy of your quarters."

Kirk ogled himself. "Not in sickbay?"

"I do not believe you are ill," Spock said mysteriously.

Numbly Kirk slipped into his dressing cubicle. The uniform that had fit perfectly now hugged him like a sausage casing.

oooo

In his cabin, Kirk waved up the lights and sloshed Saurian brandy into a pair of glasses. Even Spock looked as if he could use a stiff drink. And sure enough, the Vulcan accepted the proffered brandy, took a sip, and fingered his wet, uncombed hair. Seeing the nervous human gesture only increased Kirk anxiety.

"Okay," he said, taking a gulp. "I gather you have a theory?"

The Vulcan was in no hurry to reply. Giving his brandy a swirl, he took a contemplative sip. Finally he said, "As I have no solid evidence, you are correct to call it a theory…"

"Then what the hell do you theorize is happening here?"

Spock raised his right eyebrow, then dropped it with a sigh. "Yes. My theory. But first…for the purpose of substantiation, I must ask you a few questions."

Kirk was rapidly losing patience. "Spock, I wish you'd just—"

"Silence!"

The thundered command rocked Kirk back on his heels. Had Spock forgotten who was in charge here?

"Please sir," Spock urged in a more acceptable tone. "You must trust me. It is vitally important that you answer only my queries, and with utmost brevity."

Kirk glanced at his wall chronometer. It was getting late. He was tired, worried, and in no mood for one of Spock's convoluted explanations. But the Vulcan could not be rushed. After they sank into chairs, he polished off his brandy and said, "This better be good."

There followed a step by step review of the day's many tribulations, along with Kirk's inner reaction to them. A prosecuting attorney could not have pursued a more relentless line of questioning—or more irrelevant, in Kirk's opinion. Annoyed by yet another meddlesome question, he leaped to his feet. "Enough, Spock. Out with it. What can my passing moods possibly have to do with…with this?" He yanked at his skintight tunic. "The very idea is ludicrous!"

"So it would seem," Spock said, leaning forward in his chair. "By now you must be doubting my sanity." Rising, he relieved Kirk of his empty glass, sorted through the liquor collection, and uncorked a bottle of pink Rigellian ale.

"No, wait," Kirk protested. "That's only for guests. I'm allergic."

"I am aware of that," Spock said, pouring the liquor into Kirk's glass. He returned with the goblet and as he held it out to the captain, something in his manner made Kirk reach for it. "Yes, Jim," Spock quietly continued. "A single taste of this ale makes your head ache…whereas you find Saurian brandy relaxing. Do you wish that I had poured brandy instead?"

A chill chased over Kirk's spine as he studied his first officer. Those outrageous pay statements, the supposed shuttle explosion, Spock's outburst on the bridge. Had the Vulcan gone certifiably nuts?

"Captain, if you will lend your cooperation one last time. Just repeat after me: I wish this ale were Saurian brandy."

A simple enough request. Humor him, Kirk thought, humor him all the way to sickbay. "Alright, Spock. I wish this drink were Saurian brandy." And he meant it. His tightly would nerves cried out for another soothing finger or two of the elixir.

Spock's eyes focused on the glass. Suddenly he whispered, "Look."

Kirk could not help but glance downward. At first he saw only the familiar glass held in his hand, and he thought, so now what? Then he noticed the contents and his brain protested the shimmering gold miracle. He was very close to dropping it when Spock snatched the glass from his fingers and held it up for examination.

"Fascinating," breathed the Vulcan. "Transmutation of matter." He brought the goblet to his nose and inhaled. Warily he sipped the amber substance, just the merest taste, and one eyebrow rose in appreciation. "Though I am no connoisseur of liquor, I would venture to say that this brandy is excellent. My compliments, Captain."

Kirk stood. His mind reeling, he retrieved the drink and took a cautious swallow. Meeting Spock's triumphant gaze, he eased the Saurian-filled goblet from his lips. "Uh…apparently we've both had one too many. Really, Spock. Ale into brandy. What next? Water into wine?"

"An intriguing possibility…"

Kirk felt his muscular legs giving out. The desk chair that Spock indicated seemed as good a place as any to plant himself.

"Observe," Spock said, engaging the desktop computer module. "I believe you will find this most enlightening."

Horizontal squiggles writhed their way across the screen. A label below them read "Current Energy Radiation: Planet Kreet".

"Computer," Spock ordered, "overlay Captain Kirk's latest brainwave pattern."

Kirk stared as a second set of lines appeared. As the separate displays began to intertwine and merge, an ominous pulse-beat throbbed deep within his head.

"Govern your thoughts," Spock advised in a solemn tone. "Your wishes, joined to the Kreetan effect, have the power to modify reality."

Kirk raised his hands to his head and somehow knew it was true. Perhaps he had been instinctually aware from the very beginning. "My mind…my whims…reordering the events around me? Spock, how is that possible?"

"It bears further study," the Vulcan replied, "but such instances are not without some precedent. You will recall our unpleasant encounter with the Platonians. Their food supply endows them with extraordinary mental abilities, but here on Kreet we are dealing with a powerful, previously unknown type of energy."

Hearing himself even remotely compared to the sadistic Platonians horrified Kirk. Terribly conscious of each racing thought, he clutched his head more tightly. "You're saying that I…I destroyed the shuttlecraft."

"Yes. And you also restored it."

Letting his hands drop, Kirk sprang from his chair. He had to free himself of this deadly power at once. "If this planetary energy is influencing the natives, no wonder they're so testy. We have to leave orbit."

"Yes, under the circumstances I strongly advise it. I suspect there are others aboard ship who are experiencing the same anomaly. Beyond the energy's range, all mental functions should return to normal."

Kirk went to the intercom, but someone must have wished it back out of order. With Spock on his heels, he headed for the door. It slid open, and he found the way unexpectedly blocked by a breathtaking vision.

"Chris….Nurse Chapel," he stammered. The two scraps of her swim suit left very little to fantasize, but there was hardly time to examine his brandy-induced imaginings before Spock intervened.

"Lieutenant," chided the Vulcan, "swimming attire is permissible only in the specified recreational area."

Chapel's lips stirred with a lazy smile. "Regulations. That's all you ever think about, Mister Spock." Her blue eyes drifted teasingly over Kirk. "Now, the captain here knows that there's a lot more to life than spit and polish. Right, Jim?"

Kirk…almost…wished for the opportunity to give her question a proper response, but Spock's touch restrained him. Knowing that the welfare of the entire ship and crew was at stake did not make this parting any easier. "Lieutenant, you…uh…are not quite yourself tonight. I…wish you'd just go get some sleep." A quick glance at Spock found a placid look of approval.

Gently moving the downhearted but now drowsy nurse aside, Kirk ran for the turbolift. Spock kept pace, and as the doors closed on them, Kirk caught one last tempting glimpse of bikini.

"Bridge!" He bit out the command and held tight as the lift seemed to gather speed from his urgency. Horizontal lights streaked by, then a brief flurry at vertical. The car froze in the shaft and as the doors flew open, he staggered. But Spock's steadying hands saved him from a fall, and he walked onto the bridge with some dignity.

The evening shift was too sleepy from strawberry blintzes and boredom to even notice his arrival. Kirk scarcely heeded the resultant twinge of annoyance; it was such a fleetingly vain wish, but suddenly everyone present snapped to attention and saluted like a bunch of cadets. Yes, even Spock of the rumpled hair, though the Vulcan managed to project a subtle irony.

Somehow Kirk found the presence of mind to return the salute and say, "As you were. Please." For Spock he reserved a dirty look as he quietly told him, "Your hair needs combing."

Then he was in the center seat and the Enterprise was leaving orbit. Keeping taut control over his thoughts, he watched the jungle-green orb of Kreet shrinking in the view screen. Shortly before going to warp speed, he felt a surge of tingling.

Spock must have felt it, too, for he glanced over from his station. "Captain, we have passed beyond range of the emanations. Everything appears to be…back to normal."

The tactful hesitation only verified what Kirk already knew. The fit of his uniform confirmed it. Tomorrow Chapel would be mooning over Spock. And on the menu? Chicken fricassee.

oooOOooo