The End of the Beginning

Part 1 of 4

He reversed the log tape and began again."Captain's log, Stardate 5682.2. The Enterprise is enroute to Vulcan on a mission of considerable importance to Federation science...." The captain hesitated only a moment, but in that moment his mind wandered once more. Federation grant to the contrary, his ship was once again being used as a taxi service--this time for two obscure scientists whom no one, perhaps not even Spock, had heard of before the orders came. Well, no matter. After a two-week R and R on the Vulcan Federation Preserve, the ship's mission would have taken her to the Centaurus Colonies anyway. "A medical team on a Federation grant is to be taken to a Class M planet in the Alpha Centauri system, formerly codenamed 'Blacktower' but officially named 'Tara' after it was colonized by Earth. Among the twenty-three thousand human colonists on Tara live several thousand Kiso, refugees from a war that almost devastated their planet. There has been intermarriage between the two races, but no living children have been born of these marriages. All research indicates that the Kiso are genetically incompatible with humans, having a copper-based blood similar to that of Vulcans. The medical team consists of a human physician named S.R. Halsted and a Vulcan geneticist named Sutek. Both have been specializing in hybrid genetics and obstetrical procedures on Vulcan, the galactic center of this type of research. Their grant will enable them to continue their research on Tara under the auspices of the Federation. ETA on Tara, one standard month from now. My orders are to personally contact Sutek and Dr. Halsted before going on leave."

Kirk switched off the recorder and sat brooding uncharacteristically throughout the last minutes of his watch. Their arrival on Vulcan had been delayed for over an hour because of an unexpected ion storm, and it was unlikely now that they would get clearance to begin beaming down until the following morning. And even then, he had been ordered to contact the potential passengers before going on leave himself. "Sometimes," he said as McCoy wandered onto the bridge and came to stand near his chair, "I wish somebody else were the captain. Gladhanding future passengers isn't my idea of a good way to start shore leave."

"It shouldn't take long."

"I don't care how long it shouldn't take. I've got better things to do." He did not smile, and McCoy glanced at him.

"Something wrong, Jim?"

Kirk began to speak and then checked himself again, remembering that no one else knew of his and Spock's most recent adventure. "A while back," he said slowly, "a girl made a play for me and I...just wasn't interested." Now a faint grin appeared as he glanced sideways at McCoy. "Told her I had enough green memories. How's that for a classic line? I must be losing my touch."

Relieved, McCoy grinned back. "Was she attractive?"

"Well--" Kirk sighed, but it came out almost a chuckle. "In a way."

McCoy shrugged. "Not your type?"

Kirk eyed him speculatively, his grin fading. When he spoke, his voice held a note of wistfulness."What type is that, Bones?"

"Captain," Uhura said from her station, "I have Vulcan Space Central for you."

"Put it on screen, Lieutenant." As an expressionless Vulcan countenance appeared, Kirk automatically began the formal request to assume orbit. "Vulcan Space Central, this is the U.S.S. Enterprise requesting permission...."

Deja vu. Sudden, unexpected, overpowering. In the few seconds it took him to complete the arrangements, Kirk tried distractedly to figure out why he had the profound impression that all this had happened before, in exactly the same way.

Certainly not recently. It was almost a year since the Enterprise had been ordered to Vulcan, and even then Kirk had not been on the bridge when they assumed orbit. He and his senior officers had been in their quarters, donning their dress uniforms for a diplomatic reception for the delegates to the conference on Babel.

"...Regrets." The impassive space controller went on to say that the Enterprise would be able to assume orbit in a few hours. Kirk resigned himself to the fact that shore leave would not commence until the following morning. "...And from all of Vulcan, welcome."

Again Kirk experienced an overpowering sense of deja vu, this time accompanied by an equally strong sense of foreboding.

"Thank you," he said. And then he remembered.

He began to issue orders in his official voice, resisting the impulse to look toward Spock's station. The watch was over now, and there was considerable activity as relief personnel took over. Spock appeared unperturbed as he spoke briefly with his relief, and his captain dared to hope that James Kirk was the only one who heard a voice from the past: "I await you...."

Like hell she did. As he headed for his quarters, he fought a growing sense of anger, frustration, and disappointment. The Enterprise had been on patrol for nearly six standard months with nothing but an occasional brief respite for the crew. He had been anticipating shore leave with his usual enthusiasm. But the memory of T'Pring, outlined against the firey Vulcan sky on the Enterprise's main viewscreen, had somehow turned his anticipation to bitter resentment.

"I make my choice--this one!"

So much, he thought, for a life. His or Spock's.

And much more recently, another woman--one with whom he had once believed himself in love--had taken over his body. At the time, his primary concern had been his quest for credibility in an incredible situation. But now--now the depth of his own bitterness made the memories of T'Pring and Janice Lester greener than those of Edith Keeler.He was, he decided wryly, turning into a misogynist.

"That'll be the day."

Jim Kirk looked up from his soup and grinned. In one mood, he craved Spock's logical and often gently perceptive reactions to his own extremes of temperament. But in another, there was nobody quite like Bones.

"That's better." McCoy, whose appetite had not been affected by the captain's mood, pushed away his empty bowl and regarded his friend thoughtfully for a moment. "You got something else on your mind?"

"Time. I'm worried about Spock. It's been a year since--T'Pring. I wonder how much time he has left."

"Enough." The response was automatic, a fact learned well and then put aside until needed. But then McCoy frowned slightly. "Go on. Eat your dinner."

"What do you mean--enough?"

"Eat. Conversation on serious topics is bad for the digestion."

"Bones."

"All right." McCoy sighed. "The information in my possession, Captain, was in a top secret communique from Starfleet Command that all chief medical officers on all Starfleet vessels received about ten days ago. To be shared only with the ship's captain, and at the CMO's discretion. Now eat your soup. Spock isn't in any danger. We can talk about it later."

Kirk laid his spoon aside. "Explain."

"Jim--"

"Do I have to make it an order?" Belatedly, Kirk glanced around the officer's mess. But he and McCoy had arrived late, and they were alone. "There is something about this that's getting to you, isn't there?"

"I think," McCoy said grimly, "that somebody must have died." He too had stopped eating when Kirk began to press him, and now he struck the table with his fist. "God, what a waste! If all of us had been informed from the beginning --"

"What makes you think somebody died?"

"It was just a memo, but it was obviously written by a Vulcan. I'm guessing that it was Silard, the CMO on the New Intrepid. And no Vulcan is going to write a memo on that subject unless something pretty awful happened."

"Go on."

"Well, it was brief, all very scientific and objective. The cause, the symptoms. You remember. We saw them. I guess Spock was a fairly representative case. There wasn't much in the memo that you and I don't already know. Except that somebody's figured out that when a Vulcan is in Starfleet or otherwise separated from his home environment, it'll happen to him about once every six point something something standard years. That's the average. The range is four to eight years, and once the individual cycle is established, it's 99 something something percent predictable."

"Where'd they get their data?"

McCoy smiled grimly. "Maybe they did a survey?"

"Very funny."

"Telepathic survey?"

"Bones --"

"I'm not being funny. I'm playing guessing games. Don't ever tell the doctor anything. Just send him a goddamn memo." McCoy sighed. "I'm serious, Jim. Can you see a bunch of Vulcans sitting around discussing how often they get that way? But they aren't about to quote means and medians and ranges without data either."

"Standard deviation?"

"You bet. Inside job, and very thorough. But no signature."

"What was the sample size?"

"Four-thirty-six. And that's no sample. That's every Vulcan in Starfleet, including Spock."

"Statistics," Kirk said heavily, "won't keep him alive."

"Your soup is cold."

Kirk pushed the soup away and began on his main course. In spite of his questions, he felt reassured. At least someone was attempting to deal with the problem. And if a Vulcan was in charge of disseminating information, chances were good that the job would be done right. Vulcans were notoriously adept at circumventing bureaucracy.

"So," McCoy went on, "Spock has at least three years to make other arrangements--whatever they do when the thing falls through. Maybe he'll take care of it this leave. He's still planning to take leave, isn't he?" Kirk nodded absently. "Jim, if this still bothers you, why don't you ask him about it? I don't think he'd take offense if it came from you."

In spite of himself, Kirk grinned. "Offense, Doctor, is a human--"

"Forget it." They both chuckled. But then McCoy turned thoughtful again. "We haven't seen much of that lately."

"No. Not since--" But Spock's journey into his own past was also something that McCoy did not know about. "Not lately. But he's a bit put out with me right now. I don't think this is the time to come around asking personal questions."

"Put out? Why?"

In memory, Kirk again experienced the horror he had felt when Spock was thrown from the landrover as boiling lava threatened to overtake it.

"He thinks I made a crucial decision for the wrong reason. But I think we can work it out."

The Enterprise assumed standard orbit at 1930 hours that "evening" by the ship's chronometer, which also happened to be the middle of the night in ShiKahr. Resigned to the fact that the beginning of shore leave would indeed be put off for several hours, Kirk passed the early part of the evening playing three-dimensional chess with his first officer.

The recreation room was almost deserted, for most of the crew had turned in early in anticipation of being allowed to go planetside at 0800.

"It seems odd," Kirk said as Spock contemplated his next move, "that Sutek is on the staff at the outworlders' hospital while Dr. Halsted is at the Science Academy Medical Center. Seems like it should be the other way around, doesn't it?"

"Sutek's area of specialization is hybrid genetics," Spock answered without looking up. "Salk Memorial has an excellent pediatrics department. It is not unusual for the mothers of Vulcan/human hybrids to take their children there for treatment." His voice was expressionless, but Kirk sensed disapproval in it. "I know nothing about Dr. Halsted, but it is rather unusual for an outworlder to be on the staff at the Academy."

"Well, he's only twenty-five, and he's already got a Federation grant. Maybe he's some kind of a genius. Even with hypno-instruction, most human physicians are still doing a residency at that age."

"If you will consult the information provided by Starfleet Command, Captain," Spock remarked mildly, "you will find that Dr. Halsted is still 'doing a residency', but was chosen because the RFP specified that one member of the team be human. Humans specializing in hybrid obstetrics are almost nonexistent."

"Most of the population on Blacktower is human."

"Indeed. A most logical specification."

They played in silence for a while. Then Kirk, aware that Spock was relaxed, asked casually, "By the way, are you still mad at me for saving your life?"

Predictably, one eyebrow rose. "Mad, Captain?"

"You know what I mean." Kirk moved a piece carefully.

Spock studied the triboard thoughtfully before answering, and Kirk again sensed that his friend was not quite as ready to question emotional motivations as he had been before returning to his past to save his own life. But he also knew that Spock felt duty-bound to argue this case, and he knew why. Even though Spock had been an essential member of the team, Kirk's immediate insistence on stopping the landrover had not been motivated by his concern for the safety of an alien artifact. And Spock knew it.

"Your action threatened the success of the mission," the first officer said slowly. "Returning the soul of Alar to the Skorr should have been your only concern." He moved a pawn from first to second level without looking up.

"Were any other members of the team skilled in null-g combat?" Kirk looked up innocently and moved at the same time. "Check."

Almost as though he had anticipated the move, Spock made one of his own. "When you halted the landrover, Captain, you could not have foreseen that we would be required to immobilize the Skorr defector in null-g."

"I could very well foresee, Mr. Spock, that I would most certainly need the assistance of someone other than a champion lock-picker and an amazon with a good sense of direction." Looking straight at his friend, Kirk did not miss the faint flicker of amusement in the depths of Spock's eyes.

"The saurian could have assisted you in--"

"I didn't see him trying."

"Post hoc rationalizations cannot change the facts, Jim." Spock's voice was gentle, almost sad, as he dropped his gaze to the game. "Check."

"If you weren't essential to the mission, why were you chosen for it?" Kirk started to move, hesitated, frowned, looked up, and grinned. "Looks like a stalemate." Spock frowned faintly, eyebrow again on the rise. "Tell you what," Kirk went on easily. "Next time I'm tempted to save your life, I'll take a few moments to calculate how essential you are to the mission before I do anything rash. On one condition." Spock had looked up, directly at him. "You do the same for me."

For a moment, their gaze held. And then Spock looked away.

"Good night, Mr. Spock," Kirk said gently, rising. "Sleep well."

But he was not pleased with himself, and even before he reached his quarters he knew why. For the first time that he could remember, he had used Spock's friendship to get the last word.

Strange. If it were Bones, he wouldn't have thought twice about that aspect of it. Nor would McCoy, in the reverse situation. But with Spock....Before he fell asleep, he had vowed that this first time would also be the last.

Having been informed by vidphone that Dr. Halsted had taken two hours off and could not be reached, Jim Kirk set out for the hospital for offworlders, Salk Memorial, at about 0830 ship's time the following day. It was, he knew, the middle of the afternoon in ShiKahr. A minutely calibrated twenty-six-hour chronometer on the control panel of the rented groundcar showed the time to be 14.37 in the time zone he was in, 16.02 in the next, and on around the planet for some fifty different zones, separated from one another by irregular, seemingly patternless time differentials. Leaving the computations to Vulcan minds, Kirk activated the groundcar's programming, adjusted the Earth-made AIRKOOL, silently thanked heaven for Earth-Vulcan trade, and settled back for his ride. Outside it was mid-winter--about eight-five degrees Fahrenheit in the shade.

As he had expected, Salk Memorial was a tall, narrow building among other tall, narrow buildings in the offworld section of ShiKahr. The architects had been a human/Rigillian team. Both races had a continuous mating drive and an unconscious mind to go with it; by contrast, Vulcan architecture was distinguished by the rarity of spires and the relative infrequency of circular domes. Having realized this fact, the captain of the Enterprise commenced to speculate on whether Vulcans possessed an unconscious mind, and promptly got lost.

The groundcar had been programmed for Salk Memorial, but not for the main entrance. Kirk found himself in a congested parking area, and realized that he had chanced to arrive at the hospital's emergency entrance at a time when a number of patients were being admitted all at once. Most of them were youngsters, and all of them were burned, some quite severely.

He never learned what sort of accident had caused this suffering. But it had apparently involved a group of offworld children between the ages of ten and fourteen. Hesitating, he saw human children, an Andorian boy, a rainbow-striped amphibian, and a triped humanoid species he did not recognize--all miniature representatives of their own races, all in pain. And--a Vulcan child?

There were not enough diagnostic beds sunbursting from the center of the huge room to accommodate all of the patients immediately. Some of the stretchers had been momentarily allowed to remain on the intake conveyer. Immediately on Kirk's right as he hesitated at the entrance, looking in, was a Vulcan boy who appeared to be in his early teens, apparently unconscious. His arm and chest were badly burned, although he had obviously been given temporary first aid.

Poor kid. Kirk stepped closer, being careful not to touch the child. Fine-boned, thin, straight black hair. The eyelids fluttered, and it occurred to Kirk that the boy might not be unconscious.

If only he had listened more carefully after he and McCoy had returned from the planet Neural. But he had been upset and depressed about Tyre and his people, and the fact that Spock was strong and whole again had been enough for him. Now all he could remember McCoy saying was: "M'Benga says Spock wasn't unconscious except right at first. They only appear to be unconscious."

"Don't be afraid," Kirk said softly to the boy on the litter, a boy who looked very much as Spock might have looked at the same age. "You're in a hospital. There are people here who can help you."

The gray-green eyelids flickered once more, and Kirk was positive that the boy had heard him. He could see the thin body relax a little.

"Captain," a voice behind Kirk asked, "are you a relative?" Young. Human. Male. White-suited. Confident. And in his hand, an airhypo.

"No. I just--" An airhypo? "Uh--Doctor, are you going to give this boy a painkiller now?"

Suspicion stared back at him. What's it to ya? "He's in pain, isn't he?"

"Look, I think he's in a trance." The medic stared. "A healing trance. Vulcans can heal themselves, but they have to be conscious."

"You don't say. Stand aside, please."

"Now wait a minute, mister--"

"I can have you thrown out of here, you know. Are you a relative or aren't you?"

"Take a look at the kid, will you?" Kirk said as quietly as he could. "He's trying to--"

"Are you a physician, Captain?"

"Tommy," said a female voice at Kirk's elbow, "take a look at the patient like the man says, okay?" The emphasis was slight, though obvious. The tone was firm, but there was a weary familiarity in it, almost as though the speaker had said the same thing more than once.

Still infuriated, Kirk glanced over his shoulder. Mid-twenties. Blue eyes, very nearly on a level with his. Brown hair so clean that the sunlight caught in it across the crown....

"Hell, Sarah--go home, will you?" The young medic was obviously at the end of his patience, but his tone was more affectionate than insulting. "Salk isn't your territory anymore."

"I have business upstairs." But Sarah's mind was obviously no longer on her colleague. As she moved past Kirk toward the patient, he saw that she was dressed in a white, short-sleeved tunic, belted with a tie at the waist, and with some sort of emblem on the right side of the chest. Her hair was drawn back, though not severely, to reveal rounded, human ears, and then wound at the neck in a manner that was both neat and attractive.

She bent over the child, not touching him. "Simon," she said softly, and then added something in another language that sounded like Vulcan. "All will be well," she finished in English.

"You know this kid?" Tommy asked. He was already glancing around the room, determining where he might be needed. "Look, sweetheart, this one's all yours if you want it. Trances and all that stuff--it's a little out of my line. I mean, as long as you're right here--"

"Go on," the girl answered, not turning. "He's part of T'Loreth's pilot group. I'll stay with him for a little while. He knows me."

"You have an appointment upstairs?"

"No. I'm just dropping in."

"Okay. Thanks." The young man glanced at Kirk and made a sketchy salute. "So long, Admiral."

When he had gone, Sarah moved away from the patient, perched on the conveyer near his head, and gazed thoughtfully at Kirk. "How did you know Simon was in a healing trance?"

"I--guessed. I've never actually seen it, but my first officer is a Vulcan." Kirk hesitated. "Simon isn't a Vulcan name. Almost sounds like a compromise."

"His father is human. Simon has been living on Earth. His mother died when he was born."

"She wasn't--betrothed to a Vulcan as a child?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You are well informed."

"Too well, maybe." Kirk smiled, and Sarah smiled back, almost involuntarily. But he was used to that.

Beautiful, he thought. Who's a misogynist?

And so he explained about his leave, and asked her to join him for dinner at the Officers' Club on the Federation Preserve. "To talk about Vulcans, of course," he finished, still smiling.

"Of course." The blue eyes met his calmly, but with a glint of amusement. "No," she said. "Thank you."

Kirk stared. "You're...busy?"

"No, Captain," she said gently. "I'm not."

Their gaze held for a moment, and it crossed his mind that the only other person he had ever met who could skewer a guy with no malice at all was his first officer.

The boy on the litter stirred and opened his eyes. "I can't do it," he said, his voice heavy with un-Vulcan despair. He stared helplessly at Kirk. "I haven't been back here long enough to learn how to do it right. Are you a doctor?"

The hopelessness on that thin Vulcan face touched Kirk deeply. Forgetting Sarah for the moment, he put his hand on the child's arm. "You'll learn. Don't give up."

"I can't do anything right," the child said flatly.

"You expect too much of yourself." Did they all have to suffer so for not being Vulcan enough? "You were doing just fine a few minutes ago. Too many people talking around here, that's all."

The boy stared at him, wanting to believe. "Are you sure you're not a doctor?"

Kirk shook his head. "Your doctor's right here," he said gently.

"Where?"

"Simon--" Sarah began.

The youngster started violently, eyebrows askew, and turned his head to look at Sarah as she moved into his line of vision from where she had been sitting on the conveyer. The kid looked, Kirk thought, as though somebody had jumped out of the closet at him.

"Doctor?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." For the first time, she looked less than confident. In fact, she looked baffled. "Captain--"

Kirk nodded. "I'm going. I'm looking for a research scientist on staff here. Sutek. He's a Vulcan. Do you know where I can find him?"

"Sutek?" For a moment her attention focused on Kirk again. But Simon stirred restlessly, obviously in pain, and the moment passed. She gave Kirk precise instructions for getting to Sutek's lab, and then hesitated. "Thank you for trying to help." Her eyes moved briefly to Simon and then back. "I think you might have."

A quarter of an hour later Kirk left Salk Memorial, the first half of his assignment completed. Sutek, although much younger, reminded Kirk of Spock's father--polite, skilled in Vulcan-human protocol, but essentially unreachable. Well, one down, one to go. Then the hell with the pair of them.

After the captain of the Enterprise left his office, Sutek immediately returned to his work--at the moment, a thorough perusal of a journal article dealing with his area of specialization. A stoic, sturdily built Vulcan in early adulthood, he was bonded but unmarried, and his work was his life. And so he quickly became absorbed in the words that passed across his viewer--so absorbed that when a second visitor came to the open door about a meter behind his right shoulder, he did not hear her light step on the soft acousticarpet of the passageway.

Sutek had been reading when Jim Kirk appeared at the same open doorway earlier. But then he had looked around immediately, although the captain's footsteps had made no more sound than those of the second visitor. Now oblivious, he remained absorbed.

"Sutek?"

The Vulcan started violently and then turned, his face momentarily a study in angled planes. "Ah--" It was almost a sigh. "Sarah."

"What is it that I do--or don't do?" Familiar with the office, she crossed to a chair and sat down, leaning forward intently. "That's the second time in an hour that this has happened, and it's happened before, but not so noticeably. What is it?"

Now in complete control, Sutek studied her gravely. "I can only speculate. I should prefer not to. Let us say that I did not hear you approach." He raised his eyebrows slightly. "Nor did I expect to see you here this afternoon."

"I had some free time, and I wanted to talk to you. About Tara. I remembered that the tenth and the twentieth are your reading days."

"It is perhaps unfortunate that you did not remain at the Science Academy this afternoon, or did not arrive here earlier. The captain of the starship that will convey us to Tara visited me between 14.57 and 14.62. I believe that he is even now enroute to visit you at the Academy in order to...hope that you have a pleasant trip."

"Captain? Gold shirt, fair, brown hair, nice smile, about your height?"

"Indeed."

"Well." Sarah smiled, amused. "What do you know."

"I know only what I have told you, Sarah," Sutek replied expressionlessly. "May I inquire as to the purpose of your visit?"

"Of course. But may I use your vidphone for a moment first? If the captain wants to see me, I'd better let T'Loreth know when I'll be back."

In a few seconds there appeared on the small screen of Sutek's vidphone the head and shoulders of a strikingly attractive Vulcan woman who might have been anywhere between forty and ninety. She too wore a short-sleeved white tunic with an emblem on the chest. "Sarah," she said calmly in the Vulcan manner of vidphone greeting to a caller to whom the recipient is well known. Then she continued in a manner that a human observer might have identified as friendly interest. "Were you able to locate Sutek?"

"He's right here. I'm in his office." Sarah went on to explain about the starship captain. ""Please tell him I'll be back about--" She consulted Sutek's chronometer. "About 15.75."

"About?" One of T'Loreth's eyebrows rose slightly, as did one of Sutek's.

"Yes, about," Sarah answered affectionately. "The captain is human. I shall arrive in your office between 15.73 and 15.77, but if you told him that, he wouldn't believe you."

T'Loreth gave a barely perceptible shrug. If she were human, she would undoubtedly have raised her eyes skyward and sighed. "As you wish." The tiny screen went blank, but Sarah knew that there was no discourtesy in that abrupt sign-off. T'Loreth was a Vulcan who had no more to say. Consequently, no more would be said.

"Now." Sarah faced her companion, who had remained seated at his desk. "Have you read the Federation social ethics monograph on the Tara colony?"

"Indeed."

"We're going to be working with two races," she went on almost hesitantly. "One of them--my race--has practiced legal abortion for three centuries, and the other had practiced infanticide for ten--until the human colonists 'civilized' them. I've lived and worked with your people for almost three years. I know that no Vulcan considers abortion ethical under any circumstances, but on Tara it seems to be the basis for a compromise in social ethics." Sarah paused, smiling almost apologetically. "There's an English idiom: 'Don't rock the boat.' It means--"

"I have encountered this idiom."

"Then you understand me when I ask if you intend to try to rock the boat on Tara."

The Vulcan did not respond immediately. Then he asked quietly, "Do you?"

"Why do you ask? You don't usually answer a question with a question."

"You have used the word 'civilized' with what humans call irony."

"Maybe. But you still haven't answered my question."

"No, Sarah, I do not intend to 'rock the boat.'" Sarah stared, obviously taken aback. "Do you?" Sutek repeated.

"No."

"Then we are of one mind in this matter."

After a moment Sarah said slowly, "I'm s--I regret that I misjudged you, my friend. A human with your convictions would probably have gone on this assignment with the intention of converting the whole colony."

"Vulcans do not expect other worlds to live by the standards of ours."

"Yes. I should know that by now. But mine is a race of missionaries." Sarah rose, hesitated, made her decision, and held out her hand. They shook hands firmly, and then she raised hers in the Vulcan salute even as he did. "Live long and prosper, Sutek. I think our assignment will go well."

Sarah arrived at the Vulcan Science Academy at precisely 15.28, for her talk with Sutek had taken far less time than she had anticipated. But she saw no point in keeping T'Loreth and the captain waiting. Her superior was a busy department head, and the sooner the captain could be about his business, the sooner he could find another dinner companion. If that was what he was looking for.

She had expected the captain to be surprised to see her again. But when he was not, she assumed that T'Loreth had explained where and with whom Dr. Halsted was, and that Kirk had drawn his own conclusions about who "Simon's doctor" was. He appeared businesslike, introducing himself, wishing her a pleasant journey on his ship, and declaring himself to be at her service should she require information or assistance before their departure. "The doctor here knows where to reach me," he finished, and smiled for the first time since Sarah had entered the office.

"Through the Officers' Club, no doubt," Sarah murmured. "It's on the Preserve, isn't it?"

Facing away from T'Loreth and toward Sarah, Kirk did not even blink, and his smile did not waver. "You have an excellent memory, Doctor." There was a moment's silence, and then he went on smoothly: "The dining room at the club is excellent too. Would you care to join me for dinner this evening?" Then, to Sarah's combined exasperation and delight, he placed his hands behind his back, still grinning, and mouthed silently No hands.

Trying to keep a straight face for T'Loreth, who was watching her, Sarah began faintly, "Well, I--"

"You're not...busy, are you?"

"No," she answered, permitting herself a smile that she hoped would alleviate the need to laugh. "I--" The man was impossible. So damnably pleased with himself, and yet she could not be angry. "I'll be off duty after 1800. If you want to call me here about then--"

"Fine. I'll do that." Hands still behind his back, he turned to T'Loreth and bowed slightly. "It's been a pleasure, ma'am. Thank you for your time."

After he had gone, Sarah sank into a chair, staring helplessly at T'Loreth. "Now why did I do that?"

T'Loreth's eyebrows rose. "I do not understand what it is you have done. You have neither accepted nor rejected the captain's invitation."

"Oh. Well, that's a stall. Gives me time to think it over. He understands that. But I shouldn't have encouraged him."

"Then why did you?" There was the barest trace of affectionate amusement in T'Loreth's eyes.

"I like him." In memory, Sarah saw Jim Kirk leaning over Simon, his hand on the child's arm: You expect too much of yourself. "Which is odd. I usually don't care for his type."

"His--?"

"Sorry. Translation: I find Captain Hornblower sexually attractive for several reasons. But I'm afraid that's...about all he's interested in."

"Afraid?" T'Loreth echoed gently.

After a moment, Sarah said softly, "You are very un-Vulcan at times." When T'Loreth did not answer, she went on slowly, "If I ever met a man who meant what he says...." She sighed . "Now where would I find a man like that?"

"On Vulcan, perhaps."

"Oh, no." She shook her head. "I'd never want to get emotionally involved with a Vulcan, T'Loreth. I don't want to speak in a way that might offend you, but --"

"We have discussed Vulcan biological imperatives," T'Loreth said expressionlessly. "Were I unable to converse with you on the subject, I would soon be...out of a job?"

Sarah shook her head again. "I can't say I'd find the prospect appealing, but that's not what I meant. It's--well--they come here, you know, these human women who marry Vulcans, and we implant their genetic synthesizers, and deliver their babies, and keep all our statistics and congratulate ourselves on our success rate. And everything's just fine. Except that not one of them is happy. Either they're starved for emotional contact or they don't want it because they can't deal with it. I've gotten so I can spot which they are in less than five minutes. In all your years in this field, have you ever met a human woman married to a Vulcan who was happy?"

"One."

"Happy?"

"Indeed."

"Was she a patient here?"

"A patient, yes. But she and I were--what you would call friends. We have not spoken together often in recent years. The courses of our lives have diverged."

"One," Sarah repeated sadly. "Well, do I remind you of her?"

"No, Sarah. You do not."

"Anyway, I think I'm telepathically unqualified for bonding." Abruptly: "Am I psi-null?"

T'Loreth hesitated. "I should prefer not to speculate."

"That's what Sutek said this afternoon right after I scared him out of his wits. Vulcans don't hear me coming, do they?"

"It is not an auditory--"

"Oh, I know that. You know what I mean."

"Indeed." T'Loreth frowned slightly.

"Well, explain it to me, then."

"It would be well," T'Loreth said slowly, "if you were to cultivate the habit of speaking as you approach a Vulcan when you are not in his or her visual field. Although most of us require physical contact for effective telepathic communication, we also receive faint psionic transmissions at the approach of even another Vulcan. One might liken it to a stirring of the air. With members of other races unskilled in shielding their minds, the transmissions are more noticeable, although unintelligible. At the approach of a human, one expects to experience considerable 'stirring of the air.' At your approach, Sarah, there is nothing."

"Well," Sarah said faintly, "that's good to know. I guess."

"It is neither good nor bad. It is simply a fact."

"Yes, of course." Sarah gazed thoughtfully at her superior. "You know, you're the only one here I can talk to like this. Not just here on Vulcan. Anywhere. You always make me feel sort of--unjumbled."

T'Loreth inclined her head slightly. "I accept your gift of self."

"The obligation is mine," Sarah answered, marveling at how easily the words came. Once, as a new resident on an alien planet, she had been uncomfortable with the Vulcan equivalent of "Thank you," and even more so with the proper response. Now even this was part of her life, almost part of her self. She rose, smiling now. "I feel so unjumbled I might even have dinner with Hornblower. Or pretty soon I'll get to the point where I get along better with Vulcans than I do with humans. We couldn't have that, now could we."

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