Come on, simmered Kirk, come on. Sure, the transporter chief knew her job, but it was all he could do to keep his mouth shut while Janice Rand fiddled with the Enterprise transporter controls. Resisting the temptation to hurry her along, Kirk chewed his lower lip and waited…and waited.

At last Rand's green eyes rose from her work, glimmering roguishly. "Ready, sir?"

"Any time this year, Rand." That left some fourteen hours before the calendar advanced at midnight. Rand smiled at the New Year's joke and pulled the row of levers on her console. A ringing sound began. As Kirk watched the transporter stage, a single pillar of light appeared, rapidly took on humanoid form, and coalesced into a uniformed Vulcan.

Spock's dark eyes found him waiting. "Admiral."

"Welcome back," returned Kirk, looking him over. "Why Captain, Pashir seems to have agreed with you. I do believe you're tanned."

Spock raised a disdainful eyebrow and stepped from the platform. "Vulcans do not 'tan'"

"I see." Kirk studied Spock's skin tone at close range. So maybe he hadn't tanned, but he had certainly greened up. It was not worth arguing over. All that really mattered was the peace Kirk sensed in him. Gone was the haunted look of a man torn between Starfleet duty and family responsibilities. Apparently six days on Vulcan had been enough for Spock to settle his rambunctious daughter into her new home. Spock's human mother would be good for the girl, but Sarek was another matter. No, this past week could not have been easy on Spock. Kirk almost felt guilty about how much he had enjoyed commanding the Enterprise in his friend's absence. But never mind that, he was bursting with questions.

They started into the corridor together. Even before reaching the turbolift, Kirk's curiosity got the better of him. "So…how did things go with your father?"

Spock broke stride, then smoothly continued on. "Well enough," he said quietly. He palmed the lift button, but the car was slow in coming. As the seconds crawled by, he must have felt Kirk's eyes boring into him. Finally he turned toward the admiral. "We are…on speaking terms."

The lift arrived and they stepped into the empty compartment.

As the doors slid shut, Spock stared straight ahead and ordered, "Bridge."

Kirk studied the Vulcan's profile. The fact that Sarek was speaking to his son did not mean the words were pleasant. He decided to change the subject. "New orders came in from Nogura this morning. Since I'm already aboard the Enterprise, he wants me to represent Starfleet at the dedication ceremony for the UFP Space Flight Museum on Memory Alpha."

Spock clasped his hands behind his back and considered the change of plans. "As I recall, the dedication is scheduled for next Monday. Yes, excellent. Touring the complex will be a fine educational experience for the trainees."

"And a bit of fun for you, too?" Kirk could not help but smile as Spock's eyebrow disappeared into his bangs. "But don't start polishing your boots yet. First we have to detour and take on an exhibit from Arcturus—an early full flight vehicle called a Starswift."

The lift doors opened onto the bridge. Kirk was almost to the balcony railing when he realized he was alone. Halting, he glanced over his shoulder and found Spock still standing in the lift. The Vulcan looked as if someone had struck him between the eyes. Then Spock came to himself. Looking perfectly calm, he entered the bridge and took over the center chair from Sulu. But it seemed to Kirk that Spock's skin tone had faded a bit.

ooooo

Compared to Christmas, the New Year's Eve celebration that evening was a subdued affair. There was no official party. Even if Captain Spock had authorized one, the veteran crewmembers would still have preferred their own small, companionable gatherings. At 2300 hours Kirk wandered into Doctor McCoy's cabin and reminisced his way through a glass of Kentucky bourbon. Before long, Chief Engineer Scott and Commander Uhura joined them, followed by Christine Chapel. Last of all came Janice Rand and a willowy blonde lieutenant new to the Enterprise.

Even under the artificial lighting she had the look of outdoors about her, as if she had just come off a hike through the Iowa woods. Interested, Kirk took another swallow of bourbon and went over. McCoy had slipped an arm around the newcomer, causing the natural blush of her complexion to deepen a shade or two. Kirk got the impression she wanted to pull away but was either too embarrassed or too polite.

"Admiral," drawled McCoy, slurring a little. "I believe you've met our latest addition to the Medical Department. And Engineerin'," he added with a mysterious wink at Mister Scott.

Scott scowled. "Leonard—don't ye dare."

McCoy tightened his grip on his 'latest addition'. "Laurie here has been known to lend a hand below decks. You can't deny that, Scotty. Why just last week you said—"

"Get hold of yerself," Scott cut in.

Not to be sidetracked, McCoy repeated, "You said that she's 'fae handy in a Jeffries tube'."

Coming from Montgomery Scott, that would be quite a compliment. As the chief engineer sputtered, Kirk had to wonder what this was all about.

Christine Chapel spoke up. "Her specialty is medical research, analyzing nasty little alien bugs. She's something of a hermit—the type who likes to read medical journals and play with computers in her spare time. That is, when she's not pulling extra duty." Fielding cast Chapel a dirty look, but it didn't do any good. Chapel continued mercilessly. "She worked straight through the Christmas party. Volunteered, can you believe it? Jan practically had to drag her here tonight."

"And is it any wonder?" Rand was seething. "Just listen to yourselves—sirs!"

Kirk choked down a chuckle with another sip of bourbon, but he was glad the transporter chief had spoken up. Her scolding broke up the tease-fest before it got completely out of hand. Doctor Fielding detached herself from McCoy and settled with a glass of fruit soda into a quiet corner. Scott calmed down as the conversation drifted to other subjects. T'Beth's recent departure weighed on everyone's minds. Though Spock's daughter had been a pest, she was a lovable pest. Much of the crew had grown fond of her during her stay aboard the Enterprise.

"I wonder how she's adjusting to life on Vulcan," said McCoy, gloomily swirling the liquor in his glass. "Spock hasn't had much to say on the subject since he got back. Or on any subject, for that matter."

"So I've noticed," Kirk said under his breath.

"My cabin seems so empty," Uhura said to no one in particular. As T'Beth's 'surrogate mother', she had shared her quarters with the child for over three months. Sighing, she looked at the friends gathered around her. "Think of how Spock must feel. He should be here with us on New Year's Eve. Did anyone remember to invite him?"

"Sulu was supposed to." McCoy frowned at his rapidly disappearing drink. "Wonder where they are?"

Kirk checked his wrist chrono. "It's almost midnight. Maybe we should send out a search—"

The door chime sounded. In burst Commander Sulu, a bundle of nervous energy and dark looks. He poured himself a drink and gulped a healthy swallow.

"Hey," said McCoy, "aren't you forgettin' someone?"

"Hell, no!" Sulu glanced with apology at the ladies present, and his eyes settled hard on Kirk. "Begging your pardon, sir, but his high—that is, the captain declines to attend our 'frivolous gathering' and is about to announce a ship-wide ban on drinking after midnight. Regardless of age, rank, or experience."

Right on cue, the intercom carried Spock's voice to every corner of the ship.

Silence followed, broken only by Scott's Gaelic mutterings. Kirk did not need to understand the language. It was enough to see his own annoyance mirrored in the engineer's eyes. And he thought, Good work, Spock. Not back a day and morale is already down the chute.

Only thirty-one seconds to midnight. Now or never, and it looked like it was up to him. Forcing an ironic smile, Kirk lifted his glass and said, "To friends—both present and far away."

Rand and Fielding were first to take up the toast. "Friends," they repeated, and were followed grudgingly by Scott, Chapel, and McCoy.

"Happy New Year," Sulu muttered.

The solemn little party broke up a short time later. Kirk fully intended to pay the reclusive captain a New Year visit even if it meant yanking Spock out of bed, or meditation, or whatever else he had escaped into. But there was no response when Kirk leaned on the captain's doorchime, nor even when he chimed a monotonous rhythm that should have jangled even Vulcan nerves. Finally he pressed the entry button, but against Vulcan custom, found it locked. Worried, Kirk slowly walked away.

Don't let him get to you, he told himself. Everybody's entitled to a moody spell now and then. Uhura's probably right. Spock misses his daughter. But try as he might, Kirk could not convince himself. Whatever was wrong with Spock, it wasn't about T'Beth…or his father. Kirk sensed it, though he could not have explained how. The feeling was too elusive, like an itch he couldn't scratch, and as maddening as hell.

Morning brought no improvement in the captain's mood. After three unsuccessful attempts, Kirk gave up trying to get Spock alone for a talk. Short of dragging the Vulcan physically from the bridge (and he had neither the strength nor the guts for that) there was little he could do but stand aside, gritting his teeth right along with the others. Nothing, he discovered, could bring on a headache faster than an exacting Vulcan on New Year's Day. He retreated to his cabin and read a chapter of Jules Verne.

After lunch and aspirin, Kirk ventured back into the war zone and found Sulu in the command chair. Veins bulged on the first officer's neck. As Kirk eased up beside the con, he observed Sulu's white-knuckled hands gripping the chair arm.

Very quietly he said, "Mister Sulu, is anything wrong?"

Sulu gave a short, strangled laugh. "No sir, I'm fine. It's nothing I haven't suffered through before. I should be used to it by now."

"But you're not." Kirk realized that Sulu was not referring to a hangover.

The first officer gave no response. He really didn't need to. Kirk glanced over the officers and trainees manning the bridge stations. Only Uhura seemed halfway relaxed, or maybe it was just an excellent job of acting for her trainee's benefit. The young lady beside her at Communications seemed on the verge of tears.

Kirk bent over and whispered into Sulu's ear. "What's going on?"

Sulu struggled with his loyalties for a moment, then turned and whispered, "A message came through from some fellow on Minora, an Arcturan moon. The captain wanted it locked and channeled to his cabin." His almond eyes met Kirk's, full of pity and repressed anger. "The poor kid must've been pretty nervous. She really messed up and let some of the message broadcast over the bridge—that is, before Spock ran to the com board and took over."

"He…ran?"

Sulu nodded. "More like a sprint. The captain damn near bit her head off—and Uhura's." With a hopeless gesture, Sulu turned back to the view screen. "And just when things were getting better around here."

Kirk turned to the com station. Uhura caught his eye over the shoulder of her rattled trainee, and there was no mistaking her feelings, either. She said something to the cadet, who hesitated for a moment before escaping into the head. Uhura left her station and came over to the command chair.

"Well," she murmured, "I suppose I could be flogged for that—or better yet, transferred. But the kid needs a little time to herself."

"Good thinking," Sulu said just as low. "If she gets caught off-station, we can log it as a nature call. Even Spock takes those now and then."

Kirk could hardly believe what he was hearing. Since Spock's return from the Kolinahr discipline, he had occasionally retreated back behind an icy wall of reserve, but even at his coldest he always dealt fairly and patiently with his trainees. In the past year he had earned a reputation as one of the finest instructors in Starfleet. Now if all that was about to change, Kirk wanted to know why. He left the bridge determined to get some answers.

ooooo

Spock was not in his quarters. This time Kirk was certain, because the door opened at his touch and he checked every tidy, superheated corner of the Vulcan retreat. Frustrated, he paused by the captain's desk and his eyes settled on the shapely figure holographically preserved in crystal. He was not used to seeing a woman's image in Spock's room. And with that golden hair and amber eyes, T'Beth's mother had been a hauntingly beautiful woman. He wondered if Spock felt pain at the sight of his dead lover, or closed himself off from it.

And what pain was tearing at Spock now? Kirk had only to shut his eyes—and there is was again, a ghostly draft sweeping the corners of his mind. He found himself twisting the signet ring on his third finger—Spock's Christmas gift to him, booty from a little chess competition in Boston. He gripped the diamond-studded band as if that might somehow bring Spock closer or at least keep him from slipping further away.

Shaking himself free of the eerie mood, Kirk left for the VIP quarters. Sometimes rank could be a trial, but at other times—such as now—it was a distinct advantage. There was no need to hunt Spock down. He could settle into the comfort of his own cabin and have the captain paged. Priority one "code brass".

Kirk was just starting on a cup of coffee when the chime sounded at his door. "Come in," he called from his chair.

Spock stiffly entered. "Admiral, you wish to see me?"

"I certainly do.' Kirk gestured at an overstuffed chair opposite him. "Sit down, Spock. Relax."

The captain perched obediently on the edge of the chair, straight-backed and rigid as stone.

"Relax," Kirk repeated, as if he could order such a thing.

Spock's gaze fell to the carpet, but the taut set of his shoulders showed little sign of relaxing. How many times, wondered Kirk, have we been down this path before? What could he possibly say to break through that blasted Vulcan reserve?

"Spock. I know you have a very strong sense of personal privacy. But if something is troubling you, really troubling you, I'd like to think that you would confide in me. As your superior officer, but most of all as your friend." He almost brought up the conversation at Pashir, but decided against it. Reminding Spock of those wrenching moments of disclosure might cause him to retreat even further.

Kirk continued. "When you were my executive officer, you were the best in the fleet. Now you're getting an equally fine reputation as a captain, as an educator. I'd hate to see anything compromise that."

Spock looked up, eyes penetrating and unreadable. "Sir, is this a reprimand?"

"No, my friend. This is an appeal."

Spock looked at him in silence. "Be assured, Admiral, if there were any difficulty I could not manage…"

"Is it still about Sarek? Sarek and T'Beth?"

Spock jumped slightly as Sulu's voice broke over the intercom. "Bridge to Captain Spock."

The Vulcan tapped his com badge. "Spock here. Have we arrived?"

"We have Arcturus on visual, sir."

"Commence orbital approach. I am on my way, Mister Sulu."

Spock rose and started for the door before realizing he had not been dismissed, and that even common courtesy demanded something more of him. Stopping, he faced Kirk. "The situation on Vulcan has been satisfactorily resolved. If you will excuse me…"

So Kirk had guessed wrong. Never mind, he was not about to give up so easily. "Captain, I'd like to see you back here after the cargo's loaded. I'm meeting McCoy at the dining hall, but I'll be free later. Is 1900 hours convenient?"

"1900 hours." Spock's eyes grew distant and his voice went leaden. "Yes…I shall remember."

ooooo

Kirk had little appetite for dinner at the mess hall. His mental alert siren all but blotted out the aroma of broiled steak and Andorian mushrooms rising from his plate. It did not take McCoy very long to figure out something was wrong.

"Jim, you okay?" probed the doctor.

It was a relief for Kirk to put down his fork and quit pretending everything was fine. But how could he explain what was bothering him—this strange, uneasy feeling tearing at his guts? "Sure, Bones. Just some business on my mind, that's all." He pushed his plate aside. "I need to go check something on my computer."

Back at his quarters, he called up Spock's personnel folder—the highly detailed, classified version—and scanned the record for any mention of Arcturus, Minora, Memory Alpha, or Starswifts. Anything and everything even remotely connected with the current mission. It would have helped to know what he was looking for. There were enough references and cross-references to keep him busy for several minutes, but at last he slapped the desktop in frustration.

What was the use? The answer wasn't in any file. It was walking around the ship in a stubborn, tight-lipped halfling with delusions of Vulcanhood. Discouraged, Kirk left the computer and retrieved his personal flask from a cabinet. He splashed a finger of brandy into a glass and drank it down, letting the slow fire burn a path straight down to his toes. Setting the empty glass on the game table, he checked the wall chronometer: 1847 hours. He began to pace.

At 1900 hours he stopped and stared at the door, his heart pounding absurdly. He listened for the door chime until the chrono read 1904. Another minute passed, then another. Kirk tore his eyes from the shifting numbers and checked its accuracy with his wrist chrono. On the dot. Like a sleepwalker, he poured another brandy, but didn't drink it. He stomach felt knotted and queasy. The beginnings of a cold sweat broke over his face.

Spock was never late. Never.

When the door chime sounded, Kirk nearly jumped out of his skin. His heart lurched a few wild beats, then settled back down as he turned and glanced at the chronometer—1912 hours. There now, it's Spock. For once in his life, he's late.

But somehow Kirk knew he was only kidding himself. The chime rang again. Setting down his glass, he said, "Come in."

Commander Sulu walked into the room. His eyes were filled with apprehension. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Now that the waiting was over, Kirk was feeling a little calmer. It was as if he had already rehearsed this scene with Sulu and knew exactly what to say. "Alright, what has Spock done?"

Sulu was too caught up in his own concerns to register any surprise over the question. "It's the Starswift, sir. Captain Spock has taken it—somewhere. We keep hailing him, but there's no response…and our short-range sensors are malfunctioning." Looking a little nauseous himself, he swallowed hard. "Admiral, the Starswift isn't insured for flight. It's one of only five 'Swifts still space-worthy. Its value is immeasurable."

Kirk's first instinct was to run for hangar bay, grab a shuttlecraft, and start searching. Instead he sat down. Dashing around like an idiot cadet wouldn't get back the Starswift—or Spock. If the situation weren't so damn serious, he might have laughed at the image of Spock joyriding in a priceless museum piece. But this was serious, and there was nothing funny about it.

He had to ask. "Sulu, are you sure it's him?"

Sulu gave a dismal nod. "There were witnesses. No one in the hangar tried to stop him. How could they? He's the captain."

ooooo

It was a terribly helpless feeling. While Kirk's nature cried out for immediate, decisive action, there was little he could do but watch and wait and hope that Spock would show up soon—show up with a perfectly logical excuse for a stunt that hinted of madness.

Spock had left Sulu with the con, and the executive officer had matters well in hand. Meanwhile, Kirk assisted Sulu and Scott in their efforts to unravel the short-range sensor tangle. If the mess was Spock's doing, he had done a splendid job. Uhura was called in to help, then everyone else with a respectable computer rating, which included Doctor Fielding. Computer Central was overrun with people when McCoy came by to check on his medical colleague.

The doctor blinked at the torn-down circuit panel and said, "What in hell's going on?"

"Come with me." Kirk took McCoy to the observation deck and found a secluded spot in the lounge. For a moment he stood scanning the black nothingness between Arcturus and her two pitted moons.

"Well?" McCoy demanded.

Kirk drew a deep breath and pressed his hand to the cold sheet of steelglass. "Spock's out there, somewhere…with the Starswift." He told the startled doctor what few facts he knew, which didn't amount to much.

"Just great," growled McCoy. "Now that he has a daughter to look after, he goes and commits a court-martial offense. How perfectly logical."

"Spock always has a reason," Kirk said in the Vulcan's defense, but privately he was not so sure, this time. Dammit Spock, what are you up to? No answer came, not even a gut feeling. Kirk turned from the chill view of Space. "He might be on Minora. Earlier today Spock received some kind of message from there. He got pretty upset when a trainee accidentally linked the message to bridge broadcast instead of his cabin."

"Spock upset? Did any of the message come through? Can't you trace it?"

"Spock made sure to delete the source. I've gone over the bridge recording a dozen times. Only a few words, nothing significant. It sounded like a friendly old man, but Spock reacted as if…well, he came down pretty hard on the cadet."

McCoy shook his head and gazed out at Minora. "Secret messages, swiping the Starswift. Remind me to call Spock in for a psychological evaluation."

"First we have to get him back. Sulu considered sending out shuttlecraft, but it's doubtful Spock would answer a radio summons, even at close range. He's made it pretty clear he wants to be left alone. And there's something else to consider. So far only you, Sulu, and myself know Spock has no legitimate reason for 'borrowing' the Starswift. We're also the only ones who might guess that Spock screwed up the scanners. For now, for Spock's sake, I'd like to keep it that way. Shuttles flying around Minora in search patterns would be a little conspicuous. But it might come to that."

McCoy nodded in grudging agreement. "But Jim, how long can we just stand around and wait?"

ooooo

The sensors were partially functioning. Kirk and McCoy had moved their vigil to the hangar deck when a call came for Kirk over the intercom. A small spacecraft was approaching from the general direction of Minora—a small fuel-burning spacecraft containing a single Vulcanoid life form.

Kirk slumped against the transparent balcony wall and flashed a relieved grin at McCoy. He spoke into the intercom. "Good work up there. Sulu, have you established radio contact?"

A brief pause. "Affirmative, admiral. Would you care to talk with the captain?"

Kirk considered a moment and said, "No, I'll wait till he docks." Anger was already beginning to set in. Thinking of what Spock had just put them through, Kirk drew McCoy out of earshot from the control room crew. "I can't wait to hear his excuse, running off with a damn museum exhibit. Of all the slack-brained, juvenile—"

"Now Jim," soothed McCoy, "Spock always has a reason, remember? If you charge out there like a grumpy bear, you'll say something that you'll regret."

Kirk glared at him before turning back to view the bay. It seemed an eternity before the outer hull opened and the sleek Starswift settled onto its pad with a roar of thrusters. Thank God. It seemed to be in one piece—a little dingy and travel-worn, but otherwise intact. The hangar bay pressurized. Above the door, a signal light blinked from red to green, releasing the safety lock.

McCoy caught hold of Kirk's arm. "Jim."

"Stay out of it." Kirk said, pulling away. He opened the door, clattered down the steps, and strode across the hangar deck. How very graceful the 'Swift looked with its slim aerodynamic nose and backswept wings. Residual heat from her engines reached him. The air smelled of hot metal and rocket fuel, and Kirk found himself wondering, what must it be like to fly her? In that moment some rebel part of him could not help but envy Spock.

He reached the craft and ran his fingers over the cool, slightly abraded skin of the fuselage. Had she always been this sand-pocked? For Spock's sake, he sincerely hoped so.

Kirk took a deep breath and tried the hatch. It slid open with well-oiled ease. He raised a foot to the opening and hauled himself up by the handholds, clumsily straining a shoulder in the process. The injury did nothing to improve his mood. Slamming the hatch shut behind him, he rubbed his sore shoulder and turned to the pilot seat.

Spock was unbuckling the last of his flight harness. Standing, he came to attention, nearly cracking his skull on an overhead switch. "Admiral," he acknowledged.

"Captain." Kirk bit off the words. "Explain."

Spock drew himself up a little taller. His dark hair brushed the ceiling panel. "Sir?"

"This flight, Captain!"

Spock replied matter-of-factly, "I took the Starswift on an errand."

Kirk waited for the Vulcan to elaborate—there had to be more. But it soon became apparent that Spock was not going to volunteer any information. Kirk's patience snapped. "An errand? An errand? For God's sake, we have shuttlecraft designed for surface to ship transportation! We have transporters! Why in hell would you risk a museum exhibit—a rare, valuable spacecraft uninsured for flight?"

"With all due respect, sir…" Spock calmly drew a folded paper from his inner coat pocket and offered it to Kirk. "This will show that the Starswift was fully insured throughout the flight."

Kirk stared hard at the printout. It was authentic, alright. The Starswift had been covered for any contingency during the brief hours of flight. Spock personally had insured it through Lloyds of London at the cost of many, many paychecks.

Taken aback, Kirk handed over the statement. "Okay, so you insured it. That still didn't give you authorization to take it off the Enterprise and fly to who knows where on some personal whim."

Spock smoothly replied, "As captain, I am authorized to transport the Starswift. Flight is, by definition, a form of transportation."

"Don't play literal with me, Spock. You knew damn well what the orders meant. Your behavior proved it. An innocent man does not ignore radio summons. An innocent man doesn't cover his trail by jamming the ship's sensors."

Spock managed to look genuinely innocent as he raised a quizzical eyebrow. "There is a problem with the sensors?"

"There was. You must be losing your touch. The trouble was traced just in time to register your—" Kirk stopped, remembering yet another issue. "You left your command. How can you possibly justify that?"

The captain remained dispassionate. "At the time of my departure I was off duty. I logged my intention to leave the ship, and duly informed Commander Sulu."

"Informed him of what? That you'd be stepping out for a bit of larceny?"

Spock's eyes widened. "Larceny? Admiral, I did not steal the Starswift. That was never my intention."

The argumentative tone served to fuel Kirk's irritation. He knew he had better back off or McCoy would be right—he would say something truly regrettable. There would be plenty of opportunities for further questioning between here and Memory Alpha. No use drawing blood. "Not to worry," he said, forcing his fists to relax. "I'll get to the bottom of this in due time. Meanwhile, I trust you'll see that this craft is cleaned and polished to a high sheen?"

That much Spock agreed upon. "Aye, sir. It shall be ready for exhibit."

ooooo

Steamy water showered down on Kirk, easing him awake, soothing the butterflies that stirred now and then in the pit of his stomach. He had always disliked public speaking, and his promotion to Chief of Starfleet Operations had not magically transformed him into a silver-tongued orator. He still hated to give speeches. Until this morning he had managed to think as little as possible about the upcoming ceremony at Memory Alpha. But today was the day.

He finished rinsing and stepped, dripping wet, from the shower. What a luxury—no more sonic booths, now that the Enterprise made its own water. As he toweled himself off, annoying twinges in his shoulder reminded him of the pilfered Starswift. Kirk had argued with Spock all the way to Memory Alpha, yet today he knew no more about the captain's expensive joyride than before. He knew only that Spock had been spending every night in hangar bay, personally testing and retesting the Starswift's systems, and polishing her exterior with his own two hands.

And maybe, Kirk conceded, that's all I really need to know. Such excessive thoroughness in a human would strongly suggest guilt, and somewhere beneath that Vulcan veneer, Spock was also human. While he would not admit any culpability to Kirk, deep down Spock may have admitted to himself that he was wrong, and now, in his own inscrutable way, he was righting things. Vulcan self-punishment to ease a human conscience.

The thought of punishment returned Kirk's thoughts to the dedication speech on his desk. Sighing, he reached for his clothes.

ooooo

Even viewed from Space, Memory Alpha looked impressive to Kirk, for a planetoid. It was the thought of all that knowledge amassed there. Its vast computer system housed the combined learning and wisdom of every living race in the Federation, plus a few that were extinct. All sorts of museums were springing up from the main library complex. Culture, natural history, medicine. And as of today, one to honor the common yearning to fly.

Standing near the command chair, Kirk watched Memory Alpha loom nearer on the forward view screen. As expected, Space traffic was heavy, but under Sulu's expert guidance the cadet helmsman did a fine job securing the ship's orbit. Kirk glanced at the captain, expecting the usual "well done" for his trainee, but the Vulcan was strangely silent.

Kirk did a quick doubletake. Spock looked downright distressed, his eyes glassy and unfocussed. Reaching out, Kirk touched him on the shoulder. No response. He shook him a little. Spock's head was slowly turning toward him when he convulsed and pitched forward on the deck.