Jim stayed on the surface long enough to make sure that Chief Han had everything under control for returning the Galileo and Spock's sparse belongings to the Enterprise. When Han's party was safely aboard, he and Sulu moved to a clear spot outside the shuttlecraft.

Jim flipped open his communicator. "Enterprise, two to beam up."

The familiar hum and sparkle claimed him. In a moment he was standing in the same transporter room from which he had beamed down. This time, Mr. Scott stood alone behind the console.

Jim stepped forward, glancing around. "Where's Lumley?"

Mr. Scott appeared very busy with his settings. "She, ah, had some things to attend to."

Jim frowned. "Besides beaming up our search parties?"

"They're almost all aboard, sir. Only five teams left."

"Excellent. Where can I find Mr. Spock?"

Scotty seemed extraordinarily preoccupied. "He's on the bridge, sir."

"Already?" Jim gave Sulu a surprised look. "He doesn't waste any time, does he?"

"No, sir. I'm sure you'll find he's already hard at work."

"Fine. So I take it a lion wasn't about to eat him when we beamed him up earlier."

"That, I couldnae say. You'll have to ask Mr. Spock."

"Hmm. So he's still a secretive fellow, eh?" Jim looked at Sulu and shrugged. "Let's go find Mr. Spock."

Sulu grinned. "Yes, sir."

They left Scotty absorbed in his console, and stepped into the hall. The place was deserted. It was curious. Jim usually passed one or two people on his way to the turbolift, but today there was no one.

"Quiet shift," Jim remarked to Sulu, as he touched the call button for the turbolift.

"They're probably busy running scans of Emagious III," Sulu speculated.

"Probably."

The turbolift doors opened. Jim blinked.

It was packed. People were literally in full contact with each other, crammed together. Even more bizarre was the looks on the faces of the crewmembers sandwiched within. As soon as the doors opened and they recognized the captain, various expressions from guilt to terror played over their faces.

Jim stared. "What's going on?"

They looked back at him, petrified.

"Crewman," Jim asked the nearest person. "What is all this?"

The man looked exceedingly nervous. "Nothing, sir."

"Nothing?" Jim gestured. "I see 27 people packed into a turbolift designed to carry 12, and you're telling me that nothing is going on?"

"Most of us are off-shift," said a tiny voice from somewhere in the middle.

"What about the rest of you?" Jim demanded.

Silence.

He suppressed a sigh. "All right, everyone who's on duty, get back to duty. The rest of you can tell me what you're up to."

The crewman Jim had questioned lowered his gaze, then sidled past Jim and Sulu. He was followed by another, and another. In a matter of moments, the turbolift was empty, with all twenty-something people walking silently down the hall.

Jim, astounded, watched them go. "I think," he murmured to Sulu, "that is the strangest thing I have ever seen aboard a starship."

Sulu looked equally mystified. "Was it a party, perhaps?"

"Before noon?"

Sulu merely shook his head.

Jim shrugged. "Well, as long as we have the turbolift to ourselves, let's go to the bridge."

With both Uhura and Spock on the bridge, Jim was assured that at least that part of the ship would be functioning in its normal manner. Yet, when the turbolift doors parted, he saw that he'd been wrong. At least five times the amount of personnel who should have been on the bridge were on the bridge. They were scattered everywhere, but clustered primarily around the viewscreen and forward consoles. Every one of them was looking toward the rear of the bridge. Befuddled, Jim stepped forward to see what everybody was staring at.

He stopped cold, Sulu one step behind him. He'd been mistaken; the overfilled turbolift was no longer the strangest thing he'd ever seen aboard a starship. The strangest thing had to be the sight of his repressed First Officer, standing thoughtfully next to his communications officer, pondering some sort of problem, in his underwear.

"Nothing, you hope," Chekov said over his shoulder from his console. "So you're saying it might affect us, after all."

"The possibility for interference is extremely limited," Spock replied.

Jim couldn't decide what was stranger: Spock standing there in his underwear, calmly answering questions, or everybody else pretending that it was perfectly normal for Spock to be standing mostly naked on a crowded bridge calmly answering questions... in his underwear. Jim felt that, whatever was going on, it had already far passed the point of being contained by him. All he could do now was damage control.

He stepped forward and cleared his throat. "Ah, Spock?"

Heads turned his direction. As on the turbolift, most of the crewmembers in the room jumped, fear and guilt sweeping over their features.

The only one who didn't seem affected was Spock. He began walking toward Jim composedly, looking far more relaxed—and far more buff—than Jim had ever seen him. His longish hair and state of undress lent him a primitive flavor. He moved with the easy grace of a jungle cat, muscles playing beneath his skin.

"I apologize for my attire, Captain." His voice hadn't changed, except perhaps for being deeper and richer in tone. "Mr. Scott insisted that I was needed immediately on the bridge, and hadn't time to change into my uniform."

Jim thought back to Mr. Scott's peculiar behavior in the transporter room. It seemed there was more than one guilty conscience floating around. Jim meant to get to the bottom of it—but not just at this moment.

Deliberately not looking at any person in particular, he folded his arms across his chest and said, in a mild voice laden with threat, "I'm sure most of you people have business elsewhere."

It was the turbolift incident in reverse. First one, then another crewman headed either for the turbolift or the hall entrance on the opposite side. They actually had to crowd together for a moment to get everyone through the doors. Within half a minute, the bridge was reduced to its normal operating complement.

Jim drew a breath. Collecting himself, he approached his First Officer. Sulu took his usual place at the helm; Jim wasn't sure, but he thought he heard him suppressing a chuckle.

"Well, Mr. Spock," Jim said, stopping a few feet in front of the Vulcan. "We're glad to have you aboard."

"Thank you, Captain."

"It seemed you were having a little trouble down there."

Spock frowned. "Trouble, Captain?"

"On the surface." Jim forced himself not to look at Spock's underwear. "Something surprised you, perhaps... while you were bathing?"

Spock's eyes widened slightly. "Why should you suppose so?"

"Well, you know." He gestured vaguely at the colorful cloth. "You're not dressed."

Uhura, at her station, turned abruptly away, covering a laugh.

But Spock's equanimity was restored. "I see. This is not a bathing costume, Captain. It is a sahr-fek. It is designed for running long distances."

"Oh." Well, a jogging suit was better than underwear. "And what were you running from?"

"Nothing. I was just running."

Jim was doubtful. "You were never in any danger down there."

Spock hesitated. "I experienced no incidents worth reporting."

That was Spock Speak for, "Yes, I lived through many dangerous incidents on Emagious III, but if I told you what they were, you'd probably panic in your predictable human way, and you'd never let me go anywhere again—so you will never hear Word One about it from me. Sir."

Jim frowned. "The scanners showed animal forms closing in..."

Spock nodded. "The pa'ash-limuk. But I was not running from them, Captain; merely with them."

"The 'flat-faces'?" Uhura giggled from her post. "Why do you call them that?"

Uhura seemed unusually giggly this morning. Then again, if Jim were a woman and he had a boyfriend who showed up looking like Spock, he supposed he'd be giggly, too.

Spock turned to address Uhura's question—showing Jim a far more generous view of Spock's backside than he had ever had any interest in seeing. "The pa'ash-limuk," Spock said didactically, as if he were teaching a class (in his underwear, Jim couldn't help thinking), "have a flattened oral disk anteriorly located on the lower part of the head. A radula-like organ or 'rasp tongue,' similar to that found in mollusks on Earth, allows them to attain nourishment by—"

"Yes, Spock, that's extremely interesting," Jim interrupted. "I'd like a full briefing about your discoveries on Emagious III at some point but—" Spock's position had enabled Jim to notice the waist pack that Spock was wearing; it seemed filled to the breaking point. "That pack looks uncomfortable." Spock's distance from the Galileo returned to Jim's mind. "Do you mean to tell me that you were running long-distance, across the plains, with only that much gear?"

"No, Captain," he said, turning back around, to Jim's relief. "This is the gear I brought with me on my journey through the mountains."

Jim nodded at the belt pack. "Just that."

"Yes."

"Can you fit a parka in there?"

"No. But I carried a jacket and long pants, which served the same purpose."

"You explored an alien mountain range wearing nothing but a jacket?"

"Negative. The weather was extremely mild. I found the sahr-fek quite sufficient for most of my explorations."

Jim felt his eyes widening. "Weren't you cold?"

"Not during the day."

"But there's ice and snow in the mountains, isn't there?"

"I wore gloves."

"Of course. Gloves." Jim felt lightheaded. "If you're wearing gloves, what else do you need?"

"Very little." Spock unhooked the pack and took it up in one hand, looking at it thoughtfully. Great; now he was wearing even less. Those straps on the sahr-fek looked mighty thin as they curled around his hips. "Actually, my gear comprises less than 22% of the pack's current contents."

"What else have you got in there? Food?"

"No, rocks."

Jim got that lightheaded feeling again. "Rocks?"

"Yes. I was carrying specimens back to the shuttlecraft for further analysis."

"Rocks."

"Mineral specimens from various locations in—"

"You were on a heavy-gravity planet collecting rocks?"

"I intended to analyze—"

"You were going to run 271 kilometers across the prairie in a bathing suit carrying a bunch of rocks?"

Spock looked slightly offended. "The sahr-fek is a traditional garment, Captain." He touched the front panel. "These markings are the symbols of my House."

Jim was not going to look at Spock's groin, symbols of his Vulcan House or no. He felt an almost overpowering desire to shield his eyes. It didn't help that he could see Uhura's shoulders shaking as she crouched in her chair behind Spock, or hear the snickers of Chekov and Sulu at their consoles behind him. He tried to find some neutral piece of floor to look at.

"Well, Spock, that's all very fascinating, but I'm sure you want to get cleaned up and dressed now."

"A change of attire would be most welcome, Captain."

You're telling me. "All right. You've been away a long time, so why don't we have Lieutenant Uhura escort you to your quarters? I have no doubt she'll be able to fill you in on all the exciting adventures we had while you were away."

Uhura's eyes grew dark and her lips parted slightly as her gaze locked on Spock. Jim had to look away, before her reaction communicated itself to him.

Jim rubbed his hands briskly, mostly as a distraction for his thoughts—which "salacious" was not nearly strong enough to cover. "Okay, you'll need some time to do everything. That is, to hear everything. Why don't we reconvene in—" Jim glanced at the chronometer and smiled. "91 minutes. Briefing Room Two. You can tell us all about your adventures on Emagious III."

"Thank you, Captain."

You should, Jim thought. "Lieutenant Uhura? Let's not keep Mr. Spock waiting."

She was out of her chair as if she had been catapulted. She gently tucked her arm under one of Spock's, gazing earnestly into his face. Jim could practically feel her raw need seeping through the air. He had to get them out of here before his hormones exploded.

Spock started moving again. Damn, he really did ripple when he walked, didn't he? That was... impressive.

Jim couldn't help saying, as Spock passed, "So, this is what you look like when you're in shape, huh?"

"No, sir."

Jim blanched. It got worse? Or better, or...

Spock extended his free arm clinically. "Normally my musculature is smoother in character and more lean. Apparently the gravity on Emagious III was heavy enough to encourage the formation of a denser muscle mass than is customary for me. I do not expect the condition to linger in these lighter-gravity conditions."

Dense was right. Spock's chest looked like an advertisement for the Greek God Home Assembly Kit. "Well, it looks good on you. Seriously."

"Looks are irrelevant; it is functionality that is key. But thank you for sharing that observation, Captain."

Hmm, the look on Uhura's face told Jim that Spock's functionality was about to get a full workout. The lucky bastard.

As he and Uhura started once more for the door, Jim couldn't help giving him one more little dig. "Try not to let yourself get so out of shape in the future, will you, Mr. Spock?"

Spock halted. That oh-so-superior eyebrow crawled toward the uncharacteristically scraggly dark fringe. "Captain, I fail to see how I am to maintain a level of fitness that required an average of 17.4 hours of running per day to achieve, with an additional 2.6 hours of—"

Jim started. "You ran 17.4 hours per day?"

Spock's stare could refrigerate medical supplies. "Yes."

"Well..." Jim shrugged. "Do the best you can."

"That is always my intention, Captain."

Jim waved a hand. "Dismissed."

Uhura nestled against Spock's side, murmuring something up at him as she guided him toward the turbolift. Spock in turn inclined his ear toward her—probably just for the closeness, as Jim was certain he would have no difficulty hearing her.

There they go, Jim thought, as they stepped into the turbolift. Two absolutely gorgeous people in their prime about to have 90 minutes of passionate, athletic sex.

Watching them go, Jim bit his lip—because it would have been unmanly to whimper.