For the first time since he could remember, Jim Kirk was in a god-awful hurry to finish up a planetary survey and get the hell out of the area.

He didn't pace around the bridge or drum his fingers on the chair's armrests, though it took an incredible amount of concentration not to. A few sideways glances from Sulu and Uhura had suggested everyone could tell he was wound tight, which didn't assuage his sense of urgency one bit, though it did remind him to at least try to appear calm and collected.

A tiny, uninhabited planetary system secreted away in a complex stellar construct was the sort of thing he had dreamed of when they'd been given the five-year mission, and he intended to make the most of such a find. The questions it raised seemed limitless, and the science team was burning the candle at both ends trying to gather all the data they could. Under any other circumstances, he would have been planet-side with Spock to experience the discovery first hand, taking as much time exploring the environs as the fascinating nebula and its surrounding, treacherous halo would allow. (Per Spock and Chekov's calculations, they had about twelve more hours before the path through the halo closed.)

These were not just any circumstances, though. It wouldn't be a good idea for both himself and Spock to be off-ship with an unpredictable nebula on one hand and a neutral-at-best alien vessel on the other.

He let his eyes wander to the small display of the exploration ship that was sitting a polite distance off their port side. It wasn't nearly the size of the last Praxidian vessel he'd seen, but it was the same night-black color and had the same long, sweeping lines that arced from the tall, vertically oriented bow to the flared stern. He told himself it would just be another few hours, and he could go back to hating and avoiding them for the rest of his life.

Chekov's voice cut through his contemplation. "Captain. The results of the scan are ready."

He moved to Chekov's station and examined the data. The majority of it was math: calculations, predictions, and tables, all pertaining to a nearby white dwarf star. He went over the numbers, then focused on the handful of images that accompanied them while Chekov explained the findings.

"It is accumulating a large amount of hydrogen on its surface, possibly from the nebula's halo, or the remnants of the stellar envelope further in. It is difficult to tell from this angle. If we made a closer pass, we could take better readings."

Jim nodded and looked from the images to the numbers and back. Somewhere inside of him a voice said, Something's not right.

"I'm sorry, sir?"

He cleared his throat. "Is there any way we can boost the sensitivity on the ultraviolet telescopes and take better images from here?"

Chekov frowned as he thought that over. "If Mr. Scott has some material he can spare, we could construct new filters for the detectors. That might give us the best improvement in the smallest amount of time."

Jim straightened. "Kirk to Engineering."

"What can I do for you, Captain."

"It's actually Mr. Chekov you're doing for, Mr. Scott. He needs to make new filters for the EUV telescopes. I'm sending him down now. Get them done and installed as quickly as possible."

"Will do, Captain."

Chekov nodded and left for the turbolift, and Jim considered the images of the white dwarf again.

What am I not seeing.

For a disorienting second, it felt like he saw the data through someone else's eyes, and that someone was disappointed in the quality compared to what it had once used to predict stellar phenomena to the second.

"Spock to Enterprise."

He started out of whatever reverie he'd been in. In his peripheral vision he saw Uhura narrow her eyes at him. "Spock. You about done down there?"

"Not quite, Captain. There is something here I think you should see."

Bad enough there was one Praxidian ship in the vicinity; now he was looking at a second.

It was resting on the ground at the lowest point of a steep valley ringed by towering pinnacles, and were it not for Spock's geoscanners (and an instinct he couldn't ignore no matter how much he tried) he would've taken it for an abandoned, monolithic city due to the plant life, ice, and rocks riddled over it and around its base. Spock's data estimated it had been in place for a minimum of three hundred years, possibly longer, and there was no sign of an impact crater; it had come down as gently as something of its size could.

The ship's lines were clear to him with only a glance at the readings, and one of his hands fisted briefly, because what was worse than finding another Praxidian ship was finding a Praxidian warship. (And the only thing worse than either of those things was his inexplicable ability to recognize it as such.)

He grimaced and said to Spock, "This is why they're here."

Spock's survey team was spread out along a windswept river delta behind them, taking samples, while he and Jim stood on a small rise that let them see into the valley. It was colder at this exposed location, and Spock was bundled up against the weather to a much greater extent than anyone else. If he hadn't been so worn out, Jim would've found it funny.

"You are certain it is one of their ships?"

"Positive."

Spock gave him one of those looks which said he was, sooner or later, going to drag an explanation out of Jim about these new certainties of his. "Will we tell them?"

Jim rubbed at his eyes. He didn't want to tell them anything aside from where they could stick their ships; what he wanted to do was put as much space as possible between himself and every Praxidian in the galaxy. "Not sure. We know they're not benign, but this group's been pretty well-behaved." His eyes traced the shape of a phaser battery, and he wondered how he knew what it was. "What do you think?"

Spock considered the ship, then Jim. "It would be a way for the Federation to be in their good graces for future negotiations," he admitted. "And given your past interaction with them, helping them relocate a ship of theirs would be a way of putting yourself above reproach, and could even be a form of proof that you do not hold a grudge against them."

"I don't hold just a grudge against them, Spock, I hold an entire fleet of grudges."

Spock didn't smile, but Jim thought he saw the corners of his eyes gather just so. "Then at least you can offer the appearance of not holding any."

"Right." He sighed. "How much longer do you need?"

"Another hour will suffice."

"Okay. When you're done, pack up, take your team's shuttle, and go back to the Enterprise. Uhura and I will stay here and have a conversation with that General of theirs, then take the other shuttle back."

"Might I recommend the doctor remain as well?"

"Why?"

"Because, Captain, you have for the last two weeks appeared unwell, yet you have not seen fit to have doctors McCoy or M'Benga address whatever might be amiss. It would be prudent to have one of them close by. Dr. McCoy accompanied us as our medical staff, making him the obvious choice."

He was too tired to be mad at Spock for making his health a priority (never mind that per a prior agreement of theirs he also didn't have the right), but it was hard to not resent being backed into a corner over it. "Fine," he said, trying not to sound petulant. He flipped open his communicator. "Bones."

"McCoy here."

"Once Spock's done he's taking his team back to the Enterprise. You and Uhura and I are going to have a chat with the Praxidian General before we head back."

"What kind of chat?"

"The kind where I give them what they're looking for and we get out of here before they turn it on."

After some crackling and a considerable pause, McCoy demanded, "Who exactly volunteered me for this?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "Kirk out."

Spock seemed satisfied. Jim tromped down the hill towards the shuttle to talk to Uhura.