"Hey, Doc." McCoy looked up from a pile of hyposprays laid out on the low table before him. Hikaru Sulu stood by the doorway of the physician's lounge, a PADD tucked under his arm. "I didn't think I'd see you until our phaser recertification course tomorrow."

"That makes two of us. I tried to squeeze in some target practice this morning, but there was a line halfway down the corridor." McCoy ran his hand over the hypos and selected one. "What brings you to my chamber of horrors?"

Sulu gave a mock shiver. "I was just down in the botany lab, checking on Ernestine-"

"Who?"

"Ernestine. My Abrenian centipede snare plant."

"Ah." McCoy shook his head. "You and your plants. Why do you give them names, anyway?"

"So I can tell 'em apart." The helmsman shrugged. "Anyway, Kinney was there and asked me to swing by here and drop this off." He reached into the pocket of his uniform pants and pulled out a transparent packet of tiny green leaves. "Catullan spiral fern. He said you'd know what it was for."

"Just set it down here right next to my own personal disaster area." McCoy patted an empty spot on the table next to a clear polyplastic bin with his empty hand. "They're not perishable. But crushed and steeped, they make a surprisingly palatable fever tea."

As Sulu leaned over to leave the packet where McCoy had indicated, the doctor's empty hand shot out and yanked the helmsman down towards the floor. "Congratulations. You're drafted."

Sulu jerked his arm backwards, confused. "Come again?" He glanced towards the doorway.

"You got somewhere to be?" The hypo activated with a flick of the doctor's fingers.

Sulu shook his head. "I traded bridge shifts with Raymond so he could attend a ground combat exercise tomorrow. My time's my own for the next couple of hours."

"Then you're drafted." McCoy yanked Sulu down again, giving the helmsman no choice but to seat himself on the floor beside the doctor. "Help me out here."

"Sure, I guess." Sulu set his PADD on his lap, leaned forward towards the bin of hypos and removed one, twirling it. "What are we doing?"

"Pressure tests." McCoy passed Sulu a small device made of a spongy material. "Sync the sensor pad up with your tablet; the test program will automatically load. Once it does, press each hypo against it like you're giving somebody a shot." He demonstrated and studied the screen, nodding. "If it tests good, put it in the 'good' bin." He dropped the hypo in the bin. "Bad ones go here," McCoy added, indicating a similar bin that sat between them on the floor.

After syncing the sensor device with his PADD, Sulu reached for a hypo from the untested pile and injected it with a hissssss. "Sickbay looks like a ghost town. This one's good," he added, binning it and selecting another.

"Such is training week." McCoy's hand shot out to prevent the injector head of a hypo from rolling onto the floor. He deposited the pieces of the broken device in the 'bad' bin. "Everybody's everywhere except where they're supposed to be. Computer engineers learning a new programming code in the arboretum. Galley staff performing siege escape drills on the battle bridge. Sickbay staff taking a course in workplace trauma management in the holodeck, of all places. I'm supposed to join them in three hours." He glanced at the time code on his PADD. "I offered them the use of my lake house program, but apparently it's not as exotic as Parale."

Sulu smiled. "Can't beat those warm sea breezes." He selected another hypo and tested it, frowning as he tossed it away.

McCoy snorted. "I'm not going to miss a thing. They'll be too busy eating Paralean coconuts and dancing in the moonlight." He leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. "Once we're finished with these, the bad ones go to the tool maintenance department for repairs. Usually, I just send the whole lot down to engineering and let them run the tests," he added, "but I had some time to kill." Pop! He frowned at the hypo in his hand. "Ouch. Try that one on a living person and they'd have a nice suction bruise." He rubbed his neck, rolling his eyes. "We already get enough vampire jokes around here. The last thing I need is somebody leaving sickbay with a love bite."

"These two don't even turn on." Sulu dropped the hypos into the 'bad' bin and stretched his arms above his head, then reached for another. They worked in silence for several moments until Sulu paused and gave McCoy an uncertain look. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it.

McCoy's hand hesitated over the sensor pad. "What?"

Sulu shook his head. "I don't know if I-" He closed his mouth again. "I'm sure he's just-"

"For the love of Pete, spit it out. Who's just what?"

"It's Commander Spock." Sulu slumped back against the couch. "As I was leaving the shooting range half an hour ago, I saw Spock in one of the lanes. He was...well, he looked angry. He had one of those Aigren Phuse 380s we confiscated from the Lunar Dawn a month ago and was just pumping round after round into the holotarget." Sulu shook his head. "You two have a fight or something?"

McCoy let the hypo fall to the table. "What makes you think he's mad at me? Could be Jim set him off, or he and Nyota had a lover's spat. Who knows what's going on in that Vulcan brain of his? I may be his doctor, but I don't read his diary."

"Well, you do have a running feud going on over Contemplative Silence." At the lift of McCoy's brows, Sulu shrugged. "So I hear."

McCoy shook his head. "No, no. I'm the one who gets angry. Spock's the instigator. He just sits back and watches me have a conniption. Him and his silent noisemakers, blank screen movies..." He sighed. "Sometimes I swear he invented the whole thing just to push my buttons. Computer, locate Commander Spock."

"Commander Spock is on deck thirteen. Location: shooting range."

"Still?" McCoy rubbed his forehead with one hand.

"Told you he was mad."

"Mad? Have you seen the effects of a Phuse 380? If he's still firing away, I'm surprised he hasn't depressurized the entire range by now." McCoy got to his feet and stepped over the 'bad' bin. In three quick strides, he was heading to the door. "I'd better check on him." He stopped and turned to face the helmsman. "Can you finish up here?"

Sulu lifted himself up onto the couch and pulled the table closer, then selected a hypo. "Go. I'll put the fern leaves in your office when I'm done."

"Thanks, Hikaru." McCoy spun on his heel and hurried out of sickbay.

A pair of sliding doors parted at McCoy's approach. He glanced over at the security station that flanked the weapons range. The officer on duty was absent, the chair pulled away from the desk. McCoy spun the computer monitor around and entered his serial number into the visitor's log. He ran his finger up the list, stopping on Spock's name. "71 minutes already..."

He snatched up a pair of safety goggles and put them on, then did the same with a set of headphones before heading to the range window. A lone figure clad in a black undershirt and uniform pants stood legs apart in one of the lanes, arms held out in firing position. With a series of rapid orange energy bursts, he obliterated holotarget after holotarget, stopping only long enough for the energy gun to recharge.

McCoy waited through several rounds of firing until the Vulcan finally engaged the safety and lowered his weapon to the table, then pressed the intercom switch. "Spock. I need to talk to you. Spock..." He turned the comm button on and off, making the alert light blink. Only then did Spock remove his ear protection and turn around, shoulders tense. "Let me in." With a soft sigh of resignation, Spock pressed a button on the wall. A low buzzing sounded and McCoy entered the range. "I need to speak with you."

"Certainly. Is something the matter?" Spock set the headphones down on the table next to the 380 and leaned against the booth wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

McCoy removed his safety gear and adopted a similar stance, tapping on his elbow with his fingers. "I don't know. Why don't you tell me?" At the tilt of the Vulcan's head, McCoy gestured toward the weapon. "Interesting choice of gun for target practice. Illegal in thirteen sectors, if I recall rightly. Not exactly the kind of thing a Starfleet officer would typically train with."

Spock exhaled a quick breath. "You are correct on all accounts. I have often found, however, that it pays to have experience with a wide range of different types of weaponry, as one never knows what resources will be available to them in a moment of crisis."

"Baloney." Spock's brow twitched. "I saw your little one man firing squad demonstration, Spock. Unless you're planning to take out the entire Mortrian Militia singlehandedly, there's no need for such a gratuitous display of firepower." McCoy pulled a chair away from the back wall and gestured toward the one opposite him.

The Vulcan stiffened. "You can hardly term it a display. I was not expecting an audience."

"I know that. What I don't know is why." McCoy leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Care to share?"

"No." Spock removed his goggles and set them down. "If you will excuse me, I have a physical training session in the gymnasium." He turned to leave the room, but McCoy stopped him with a hand to his arm.

"Why? So you can destroy it with your bare hands and make a boatload of work for a maintenance team?" McCoy huffed out a breath. "Look, tell you what. Consider this a private counseling session." He reached over and switched off the viewing window, then the intercom. "Just tell me who made you mad. I swear, I won't tell a soul. Cross my heart," McCoy added, making the symbol over his chest.

Spock pried McCoy's hand from his upper arm. "Let go of my shirt."

"Was it Jim? I'll beat him up for you," McCoy offered, making a fist.

Spock's lip twitched. "I am sure you can think of a reason for that which does not involve me." One eyebrow raised.

Leonard's shoulders slumped. "All right, then, I'll let him beat me up for you. Eh?" He looked Spock in the eye and tilted his head to one side. "Come on? Not even a little?"

"Ha ha. Are you satisfied?" When McCoy did not answer, Spock picked up the chair McCoy had previously pointed out to him and set it down across from the doctor, then took a seat, back straight. "Proceed with your counseling session."

"Come on, I can't talk to a wall. Loosen up." McCoy hooked an arm over the back of the chair.

Spock settled back in his seat, but kept his hands folded on his lap. "You claim to seek the motivation for my actions today, and I suspect you have already attributed it to an outburst on my part." He exhaled. "In that, you would be correct. I received news from New Vulcan that...greatly upset me today."

McCoy's face fell. "Your father?"

"No." McCoy opened his mouth to say something, but Spock silenced him with a raised finger. "In answer to your next question, there has not been a death. You may recall a mutual acquaintance of ours, T'Mar."

"Of Helios device fame?" Spock nodded. "How's she doing?" McCoy asked.

"Quite well, doctor. We occasionally correspond regarding the progress of New Vulcan and her research." Spock cleared his throat. "Recently, she attended a terraforming conference on Inasie VI. After lectures had ended for the day, she and some colleagues browsed around the marketplaces." His fist clenched. "At one of the kiosks, she met a Dijeerian merchant who had a variety of items for sale, which he claimed were 'Vulcan' in origin. In addition to a variety of teas and some replicated objets d'art, there were several items of merchandise related to..." His voice trailed off. "'Vulcan Quiet'."

"A magic potion that'll make you stop talking? Shut up and take my money." At Spock's glare, he held up a hand. "Kidding. Go on."

Spock picked up a tablet from the table nearby and handed it to McCoy. "'Vulcan Quiet' is a knock-off of Contemplative Silence."

"A knock-off?" McCoy laughed. "You're joking."

"A very cheap knockoff, I might add." His brows lowered. "Even the name is absurd. Vulcans do not preface everything with the word 'Vulcan' any more than Humans do with 'Human'."

"Oh, sure." McCoy set the tablet in his lap. He held up one hand and began counting on his fingers. "Except for the Vulcan Science Academy, Vulcan Learning Center, Vulcan's Forge, Vulcan Geological Administration...shall I go on?"

"In that case, 'Vulcan' refers to the institution or location's planet of origin. I am speaking of the way you label objects. Vulcan mint, Vulcan strawberry, and Vulcan robe, for instance. We prefer to use the correct term in our own language." Spock indicated the tablet. "T'Mar sent me a copy of a Vulcan Quiet program. As you can see, it bears little resemblance to the genuine article."

McCoy turned on the tablet and tapped an icon in the lower right hand corner of the screen. A video loaded and began to play. He studied it for several moments. "I don't see a difference."

"Look closely." Spock leaned toward McCoy and pointed at the upper left corner of the video. "Note, for instance, the lines that move up and down the screen."

"What lines? I don't see any-"

"The subtle differences in color gradation, ranging from the darkness of a starless sky to a deep charcoal."

McCoy squinted. "Still no."

"The single white pixel that appears and disappears at random intervals throughout the program. Reminiscent of a certain paint droplet-"

McCoy threw his hands in the air. "Oh, for cryin' out- Can't you let that go already?!"

"Shh." Spock held up a hand to silence the doctor. He cocked one ear towards the tablet's speaker. "Do you hear that, Doctor?"

McCoy tilted his head to the side, straining to hear. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

Spock turned up the volume. "Listen again. Carefully, this time."

McCoy cupped one hand to his ear. Soft notes emanated from the tablet. "Ah. Sounds Hawaiian." McCoy hummed along with the music and waved his fingers back and forth. "Mmm, mm mm mm, da, da...oh, sorry," he apologized, glancing up at the Vulcan. "You were saying?"

Spock's lips pressed tightly together. "I was saying, as you can plainly see, Vulcan Quiet is a blatantly obvious attempt to capitalize on the success of Contemplative Silence."

Leonard nodded. "Or to break up the monopoly. Appeal to the lowest common denominator, mayhaps." He shrugged. "I prefer Shut Up and Think myself."

Spock raised his chin. "It is an affront to everything Vulcans and Silence stand for."

McCoy chuckled. "Maybe they oughta sue. Call you as an expert witness." He held his hands up in the air. "You could turn out the lights and let the silence speak for itself."

"As an amateur, I am hardly qualified to testify on this matter. However, should they bring such an action against the makers of Vulcan Quiet, I will make a point of following the proceedings closely. I expect they would emerge victorious, given the amount of evidence in their favor." Spock stood and began to pace back and forth, hands behind his back. "In addition to this...abomination, there were several works of literature, articles of clothing, and games, all in varying shades of gray or dark blue." A shudder. "Can you imagine?"

McCoy covered his face with both hands. "Believe me, I'm trying." He leaned forward on the table. "That offer's still good, by the way. If you're interested."

Spock raised a brow. "Which offer?"

"Getting Jim to beat me up while you watch." McCoy rubbed the back of his neck and winced. "Although to be honest, I kinda feel like he already did."