The "things" had been found in an ornately carved box behind a panel in a dresser, which was a hiding place designed only to be hidden from the casual observer. Inside the box was a glass bottle with a raised relief, a long lethal looking wire strung between two wooden handles that also bore marking burned into them, an assortment of tools both common and ancient, and a knife with a handle made of some ivory-like material. While the security team moved efficiently around them still ransacking the room, Daphne examined each one closely. Spock observed in silence, his hands laced behind his back and no trace of pain in his manner or expression. McCoy shifted from one foot to the other like a fidgety parrot, glancing back and forth between Spock and Daphne.

"Well?" McCoy demanded when an eternity had passed without Daphne speaking or looking at an object.

"Mur'issdie," she pronounced, with authority,"Very old." Spock lifted an eyebrow and she clarified, "As an educated guess, somewhere in the vicinity of 1700 Federation standard years."

"Mur'issdie," McCoy repeated, incredulous, "Just like that. You're not even going to verify that with the computer?"

"Lt. Caras is an expert in archaeology and ancient artifacts," Spock broke his silence finally, "If she says they are Mur'issdie, then they are."

"The Mur'issdie don't have any ties to the Federation," Daphne had ignored McCoy, her thoughts already rushing ahead to find a connection, "There are none in Star Fleet."

"Well apparently there WAS at least one," McCoy groused.

Spock was also ignoring the doctor. He was sharing a look with Daphne so intense it seemed their thoughts were passing along it.

"They are a well know assassin cult. It is a deep part of their culture, going back for millennia. It followed them into space and is one of the reasons the Federation has not sought diplomatic ties with them. It is rumored not even the Klingons will deal with them," she paused, "They do not view assassination as most of the galaxy does. For them, releasing the spirit from the prison of physical captivity is a sacred act."

McCoy spat out a sound of disgust.

"Basically humanoid, it would take little to alter one to pass as human," Spock went on.

"I don't know of any reports where they have contracted to kill outside their own though," Daphne said.

"That only means there are no reports," Spock said.

"All right, wait a minute, you two," McCoy cut in, finally catching up, "You're saying that someone planted a Mur'issdie assassin on this ship to kill the entire senior Bridge crew?"

"Or a member of it," Spock replied, "The rest being collateral damage."

"Collateral damage!" McCoy burst out, "Spock! You're talking about our Bridge crew – Uhura, Chekhov, Sulu. For god's sake Scotty and I would have been there too if we hadn't been running late!"

Spock let McCoy vent, waiting until he ran out of steam and simply stood fuming, raking one hand threw his disheveled hair.

"I was merely making an observation, doctor, not a moral judgment. Whoever hired this assassin and why, he did not seem to care how many were killed."

"But that's crazy," McCoy protested.

"Is it?" Daphne asked, "Even while I was posted on the Hood I heard the reputation the Enterprise was gaining. Is there an enemy race this ship and crew haven't thwarted? The Klingons in particular have good reason to hate this ship and yet they can no longer act against it in open aggression due to the Organians."

"Subterfuge does not seem to suit their culture however," Spock observed, "I doubt the Klingons are behind this. But Daphne is correct. There are any number of other possibilities."

"It is too personal to be the act of a government, or even a group," Daphne said, shaking her head, "This was vengeance. I do not know who the target was, and we cannot know that without more information. But this was a deliberate act on the part of a single person, aimed at taking life not damaging the ship. I think there is little doubt that the perpetrator may have been Lt. Ross, whoever she really was; but she was only hired to do it."

All the eyes in the room suddenly rested on Spock. With Kirk still recovering, he was their commanding officer. The next move was now firmly in his hands. McCoy was watching the Vulcan with particular intensity. Spock had never made any secret of the fact he did not seek command of a starship. But at the moment something was driving him, hard, and McCoy suspected that he would not willingly relinquish the Enterprise to anyone.

But McCoy also knew the extent to which the Vulcan was controlling his physical condition and that made his command decisions subject to scrutiny as far as the doctor was concerned.

"Spock," McCoy said, trying to sound reasonable but dropping his voice so only the Vulcan should be able to hear him, "Do you want me to give you something? Pain medication? Anything?"

The First Officer shook his head emphatically. "No." A pause, contemplation and for a moment McCoy got a glimpse of what it was costing Spock to stay on his feet. "It will only dull my thought process and turn my stomach."

McCoy grunted. He had thought of that, but his need to act and to fix anything that was broken was nearly as strong as Spock's. "All right," he conceded, "It probably would at that."

Spock's eyebrows lifted. "You agree with me?"

"Yes. Surprised?"

He appeared to be considering the sudden turn of events. "It is perhaps not as unexpected as one would think, since you rarely do that which is expected to begin with," Spock observed, "and I harbor little hope that this one agreement will serve as some precedent for the future."

The CMO took a long, long look at his friend and colleague and then grinned, "You better believe it won't."

Spock gave the doctor a withering look and then crossed the short distance to the comm unit on the wall.

"Bridge," he said.

"Kyle here, sir."

"Set a course for the Mur'issdie star system. Best possible speed."

"Aye, sir."