Since the incident in the lift Daphne had not left Spock's side. She was hovering while trying not to appear to do so. She had briefly visited Jim, though her brother was still not awake or talking, and it had been a sharp reminder of how close she had come to losing both of them. Spock may be up and walking around but that didn't mean he should be. She could lose him yet and the longer this went on the greater that possibility came to being.
They were currently on the Bridge where Spock was interfacing with his alter ego, the ship's computer. She had an excuse to be hovering at least. They were researching the patterns and language of the runes and markings on the items found in the dead Mur'issidie's quarters. At times he would pause to send information to his science monitor and peer into it intently. The odd blue light cast him in shadows. His brow was furrowed in concentration. He looked demonic, possessed. If he occasionally closed his eyes or the muscles of his jaw tightened against the pain, it was probably only Daphne who noticed. During one such pause as he swallowed convulsively and the veins on the back of his hands stood out like sharp lines of malachite in rock, she had laid her hand gently on his arm.
"Spock?" she queried softly.
"I am fine," he said, shortly. She had sighed to herself. 'I am fine' could also mean 'except that I am bleeding internally' because, of course, in Vulcan logic an untold truth was not a lie. She had begun to suspect that, after his earlier slip into pain, he was now aware of the symptoms that warned of it. There was nothing she could do but shadow him, watch him as she had promised McCoy.
As for McCoy, he had discovered that the altered Mur'issdie woman had died of slow poison. Information on the actual Mur'issdie culture was scant, but no one had been able to find anything to indicate suicide was part of the assassination ritual, not even in the case of failure. Besides, as Spock had pointed out, even though one attempt to kill some or all of the Bridge crew had failed, the imposter would have had additional opportunities. If she had not died, she would not have been discovered.
Therefore, the only logical conclusion was that whoever had hired the assassin had also arranged for her to die as well. The knowledge had flooded Daphne with confusion and rage. The ability to be that cold hearted, that calculating, that ruthless was beyond her. Instinctively she had sought Spock, falling into his eyes because she could not fall into his arms. There she found an answering rage, though not an answering confusion. He knew how someone could seek such revenge. The sands of Vulcan had once run green with the desire for it. It was taking judicious use of Vulcan Disciplines and meditation to deny the stirrings of it in his blood.
Since they were unable to question the assassin directly they were left with nothing more than the artifacts she had left behind. With the images fed into the computer they were hoping to narrow down a location within the Mur'issdie solar system. The Mur'issdie lived on a series of moons around a central planet, each clan claiming a different moon while some lived in uneasy peace on the planet itself. A search of each moon would take months if not years if they could not find a clue as to their assassin's identity.
The bright spot in everyone's universe was the slow but steady recovery of the Bridge crew. Chekhov was scheduled to be released later that day and was already complaining that he was ready to go now. McCoy testily informed the young ensign that he would decide when he was ready and, besides, they were en route to Mur'issdie so they hardly needed a navigator right away. Sulu and Uhura were back on duty but helping with the investigation. Spock had assigned them to discover just who Lt. Ross had ever been, if a real human woman from Alpha Centauri had ever actually existed. The pair had gone off to the ship's library with grim determination on their faces.
When things began snapping into place it seemed to happen all at once. Uhura, through her extensive network of fellow communication officers and relay stations within the Federation, found out that there never had indeed been a real Lt. Ross, born on Alpha Centauri, graduated in the upper middle of her class at the Academy and been assigned to the Enterprise 3 years previously. As nearly as they could determine, the switch must have occurred at some time during an extended shore leave six months previously.
Daphne tracked the runes on the knife handle to a clan living on the seventh moon of the planet Mur, Isdaria. The first thing Chekhov was assigned to do on returning to duty was chart a course for the moon through the Mur'issdie solar system. The Russian applied himself to the task with unusual enthusiasm.
The Enterprise arrowed straight and true towards the answers its crew so desperately sought.