They were going home. With Earth less than four days distant, a gathering of friends met in the officer's lounge for a quiet celebration. Though it was Commander Uhura's birthday, there was also another cause to celebrate as this training cruise came to an end. That cause—namely, Spock—sat between Uhura and Admiral Kirk, dutifully consuming a specially fortified beverage prescribed by Doctor McCoy to add weight and rebuild endurance. And the supplement was working. Day by day the Vulcan grew so much more like his old self that one could almost forget how deathly sick he had been only a short time ago.

But Jim Kirk could not forget, nor could the other friends present— First Officer Sulu, Commanders Scott and Uhura, Doctor McCoy and his colleagues Chapel and Fielding, as well as Chief Rand. Not all of them knew the full, bitter details of Spock's recovery, but those who did appreciated his health all the more. Whenever Spock caught their eyes lingering on him, they smiled, apologetic and self-conscious, before turning aside. If it seemed that Spock was doing a little observing of his own, no one thought very much about it. At least now he was looking at Lauren Fielding, which was a welcome improvement over the cold way he had once treated the doctor. Word was out that he had recommended her for a citation.

A server filled Kirk's glass with champagne, and he accepted a slice of cake. It was nicely decorated in Uhura's honor, white inside and out, with pastel flowers on top. He watched with curiosity to see what Spock would do with his piece. As usual, the Vulcan indulged in a few small bites, carefully avoiding the icing. Several toasts were proposed, at which Spock politely sipped from his champagne, but the level in the glass scarcely dropped.

Feeling relaxed and happy, Kirk eased back in his chair and smiled across the table at McCoy. The doctor looked as proud as if the miracle of Spock's recovery had been entirely his doing, not Lauren's.

Kirk raised his glass and said, "To birthdays. To miracles. To life." Everyone responded, glasses held high, and in the midst of the toast he heard Lauren's pleasant voice. He looked at her with renewed interest.

Christine Chapel dabbed her lips with a napkin and stood up. "As much as I'd love to stay," she said, directing the words to Kirk's end of the table, "I'm afraid there's some work I need to finish." The muscles in her face visibly tightened as she turned to Lauren Fielding. "Doctor. I could use your help in sickbay."

Before the younger woman could say anything, McCoy cut in. "No need for that, Chris. I'll help you out. I have to go back, anyway."

Kirk suppressed a grin as the two walked out together. It was becoming glaringly apparent that Chris Chapel did not like the newest addition to the Medical Department. No doubt jealousy was at the root of the problem. Not only was Lauren well-liked by McCoy, the newcomer had also been assigned as Spock's personal physician, instead of Chris, when the Vulcan was quarantined on Gamma Vertas IV. And perhaps most irritating of all, Lauren alone had returned Spock from the brink of death. Everyone knew Chris had been sweet on Spock for years.

It would have been fun to stick around the Enterprise and see how things developed, but Kirk had already been away from his desk at Headquarters far too long. With Spock commanding the Enterprise again, Nogura was demanding to have his Chief of Operations back where he belonged. Maybe all the fuss should have made Kirk feel useful and important, but the recent taste of starship command had left him realizing just how much he missed being a captain. No admiral's braid could ever compensate for that.

Kirk emerged from his thoughts to find Sulu leaving the table. He could not help envying the First Officer whose duties called him to the bridge. Standing, Kirk stretched his legs and excused himself for an evening of long-distance paper pushing.

ooooo

As the lounge door closed on Kirk, Uhura rose from the table, a Vulcan lyrette in hand. "How about some music?" she asked, heading for the circle of couches beside a view port.

Spock prepared to rise, fully intending to decline the invitation, but Rand was already on her feet speaking. "Nyota, I'd really love to," said the Transporter Chief, "but I can't stay. Sorry." Then she, too, was out the door.

Spock looked expectantly at Mister Scott.

"Ah, lass," Scott sighed as he pushed out of his chair. "I hate to eat and run out on ye like this, but I left a couple of trainees…"

Uhura waved him off, and Spock found himself alone with the two remaining women.

"Captain?" Uhura faced him pleadingly, the lyrette held out in invitation. "Just for a while. I sing, you play, Laurie listens."

Spock wanted to say no. He flexed his fingers, trying to find enough residual stiffness to excuse himself, but his joints moved freely. There was no physical basis for his reluctance to play, and it would not do to disappoint an old friend on her birthday.

"Very well," he said, and briefly considered mentioning that Doctor Fielding played the flute. But it was Fielding's place—not his—to volunteer such personal information.

Beaming with pleasure, Uhura maneuvered him onto a couch facing the stars and the strategically positioned audience of one. Spock was acutely aware of Lauren Fielding's presence. There was no locking her out as he once had, if indeed he ever truly had. Something in him had given way and however much he directed his mind elsewhere, a part of his attention lingered on the embarrassed young doctor. And he knew for a certainty that Lauren Fielding was embarrassed, even if he did not fully comprehend why.

Uhura lit near him on the arm of the couch and began to hum a familiar melody. As she burst into song, Spock's fingers sought out the correct chords on the Vulcan instrument. His hands felt clumsy and the notes they produced sounded pale beside Uhura's rich, expressive voice, but Uhura winked at him and grinned as they finished the piece together. She applauded enthusiastically, as much for herself as for anything he had done. Another set of hands joined in clapping, and Spock ventured a direct look at Fielding. The doctor's eyes were on Uhura, outwardly bright and smiling, but with a troubling suggestion of pain in their blue depths. Golden wisps of hair had escaped from her braid. Soft-looking tendrils curled about her forehead and cheeks as if she had deliberately arranged them as a distraction. But of course she could not know that they distracted him, or how he sometimes wondered how her hair would look, worn loose and flowing about her shoulders.

"Wait," Uhura was saying, "I know just the song. Something I learned from a trader a long time ago. Spock, you remember Cyrano Jones."

Spock drew his thoughts back into line and looked at Uhura. "Ah, yes. As I recall, Mister Jones gave us a considerable amount of tribble."

Uhura leaned back and laughed so hard that tears filled her eyes. Across from her, Fielding smiled politely, obviously mystified by Uhura's attack of mirth.

"Oh, that's a good one," Uhura choked out at last. "A considerable amount of tribble!" Chuckling, she said, "Don't worry, Laurie. We're not really nuts. I'll have to explain it to you sometime."

Settling down, she hummed the trader's tune once in its entirety for Spock, and then began to sing. This new piece demanded more concentration from Spock and he paid little attention to the lyrics until the third stanza. What he heard made him distinctly uncomfortable.

"Oh, he knows his duty

But when the golden-haired beauty

Lets down her tresses

He freely confesses

Something warm rises in him…"

Spock's fingers went stiff as he struggled to shut out the bawdy words and continue playing.

"Yes, he knows his callin'

But she's such a darlin'

Her skin smooth as peaches

Whenever he reaches

Out to pluck her and taste her…"

Spock felt increasingly annoyed with Uhura. Did she not remember the incident at Mega Morbidus? How under an alien influence he had behaved abusively toward Doctor Fielding? Was Uhura intentionally setting out to embarrass them both? He glanced at the doctor. Her eyes were averted and she was blushing hard.

Spock put an end to the song with a single sour chord. There was laughter and he found Uhura smiling down at him from the arm of the couch. For a disconcerting instant it seemed she was, indeed, making an unseemly jest at his and Fielding's expense.

Then she said, "I guess we're kind of rusty."

"Rusty?" Spock relaxed somewhat as he recognized the slang term as a good-humored observation. She did not realize that he had deliberately ruined the performance, or why. "You mean…out of practice."

"I mean we'd never make it as a lounge act."

A shrill whistle from the intercom broke into the conversation. "Captain Spock, this is Sulu."

Glad for the reprieve, Spock tapped his com badge and said, "Spock here."

"Sir, sorry to interrupt," came the First Officer's voice, "but we've picked up something interesting on sensors…"

ooooo

The unmarked spacecraft on the viewscreen appeared to be a derelict, once probably involved in some kind of illegal activity. From the command chair Spock studied the torpedo-shaped vessel while the bridge crew and their trainees gathered information about it. After eighteen months as captain, it was still difficult for Spock to set idly while his curiosity cried out to be satisfied in a more direct manner.

"Communications," he said.

"Still no response, sir," came a boyish, eager-sounding voice.

"Confirmed," seconded Uhura. Though officially off-duty, she had followed Spock to the bridge.

"Continue hailing." Spock permitted himself a fond look at the science station. The junior officer on duty was consulting with her trainee over the sensors. Glancing up, the trainee suddenly found herself the focus of her captain's attention.

She cleared her throat nervously. "Sir…signs of some equipment operating. Environmental support barely functional."

"I'm picking up marginal life readings." The science officer frowned down at her panel. "Very faint, Captain—a dozen or so. Unable to determine their form."

Sulu had left the helm trainee and stood beside the command chair. "The crew," he grimly suggested.

"A distinct possibility." Spock resisted an urge to study the sensors himself. Elbows resting on the arms of his chair, he steepled his fingers and eyed the battered, unidentified vessel. "Prepare an away team, Mister Sulu. You will beam over and investigate."

ooooo

At times like this, Hikaru Sulu was quite content with his position aboard ship. There was nothing quite like the thrill of beaming into the unknown, armed only with a phaser, a tricorder, and old-fashioned human intelligence. It was his one big advantage over Spock—freedom to be out here on the front lines, in charge, while Spock waited back on the Enterprise like the sensible captain that he was. Unlike Kirk, who had unnecessarily risked himself more times than probably even Spock could remember. Sulu smiled to himself. My kind of guy, Kirk…

His movements restricted by an environmental suit, Sulu led the way with his flashlight, probing the dark interior of the chamber they had beamed into. Their lights passed over tangles of exposed conduits and located a closed hatch.

Sulu consulted his tricorder. Though the indications of life seemed too weak to pose any direct threat, he kept his phaser ready as another man worked the hatch. Pale greenish light spilled from the opening. There was a labored hum of machinery kicking in, and an eerie vibration crawled up his feet. He froze, half expecting to be blown out of existence. But nothing exploded. Nothing rushed toward him. From the hatchway he saw glowing panels set in dingy metallic bulkheads.

"The readings are coming from in there," confirmed a team member.

Breathing again, Sulu reported through his helmet mike, "Captain, we're reached the source of the life readings. No sign of imminent danger. We're going in now."

"Proceed," Spock answered.

As Sulu entered the chamber, overhead light panels lit brightly and began to flicker. The team followed him inside and put away their flashlights. The thrum of equipment pulsed around them as they spread out to explore.

Sulu holstered his phaser and held his tricorder close to a glowing green panel. "They're here, alright," he informed the captain. "Closed up in these wall capsules, whatever they are. I'm picking up a heartbeat now, eight per minute and slowly increasing. I think—" He broke off and took an involuntary step backward as the readings began to soar. Comments from other team members reached the captain's sensitive ears.

"Mister Sulu," Spock called. "What is happening?"

A sharp hiss of released pressure made Sulu jump. All up and down the chamber the same noise was repeated as the panels cracked open and slowly hinged outward. Sulu stared, dumbfounded, at the rows of small bodies coming into view. His helmet camera should be sending an image to the bridge viewscreen.

"Captain, can you see this?"

"Affirmative, Sulu."

Sulu moved in for a closer look. How still they seemed, how frail and alien-looking in the green glow of their capsules. Captain, we're going to need a doctor over here. Better yet, a pediatrician."

ooooo

"I thought you said they were green," Uhura remarked to Sulu. Her motherly gaze took in each of the thirteen sleeping children lying on monitor beds in the sickbay ward. "They're not green at all…and they're adorable."

"It was the lighting," Sulu said in his defense. "That silvery Gamman skin really reflects color. But you're right, they are awfully cute."

Standing apart from the two officers, Spock overheard their comments as he watched a medical team move among the beds.

"Poor little things," Uhura said. "I wonder who they are…and what happened to the crew…"

Sulu shrugged. "I don't think there ever was a crew. The ship seems to be a drone, and as far as we can tell, the shipboard computer failed—all but the revive system that our poking around set in motion."

Fascinating, Spock mused. He had sent genetic information to Gamma Vertas and was awaiting a reply. Most likely the children had been taken during a Donari raid for use in slavery and experimentation. But why place thirteen abductees into cryogenic stasis and send them out through Space?

Coming up beside him, McCoy said, "After being in stasis, it's better that they come out of it gradually like this. They should recover in about five hours. I'll have Doctor Fielding come on duty then. There's no telling how these kids will react, so I'll need someone who can communicate with them. What about you, Spock? Did you pick up much of the language when you were at St. Vincent's?"

"Not as much as I would have liked," Spock admitted. While at the Gamman mission he had been far too ill to master the mutes' two lingual forms. The sight of the children stirred painful memories of that time, yet he found himself wanting to be near them. Pushing aside the contradictory feelings, he said, "It is unfortunate that Doctor Fielding and I are the only ones aboard ship with any knowledge of their signing, but I have ordered Gamman pipes made for children and our translators programmed for the musical language."

"Well, we shouldn't have to worry about it for long," McCoy said. "Have you heard anything from Gamma Vertas yet?"

Spock moved McCoy farther away from the others and spoke in a low voice. "Not yet. Unless we can arrange a rendezvous, we will arrive there in five-point-one days."

"Five days!" McCoy grimaced. "That's ten days round trip. Nogura will be spitting mad. He wants Jim back now."

"Nogura will not be pleased," Spock agreed in a less colorful but no doubt accurate forecast of Commander Starfleet's reaction to this latest change in plans. "But the delay is unavoidable. Admiral Kirk will agree."

"You mean Jim doesn't know yet?" With a sigh the doctor looked across the ward at his silver-hued patients.

Spock followed his gaze. The young Gammans held a curious attraction that was hard even for him to resist. Mentally pulling away, he said, "Inform me at once when they become conscious. I will be in my quarters."

ooooo

In the small hours of the morning Spock jerked awake, gasping for air, blood pounding in his ears. Rising on one elbow in the dark, he struggled to catch his breath. The nightmare panic of suffocation eased. He was not at St. Vincent's, dying. His body was free of disease. He was aboard the Enterprise, back in command.

Breathing easier, he dismissed the nightmare from his thoughts and sat up, settling his feet onto the carpeted deck. A vague uneasiness sidled back through his mind, but before he could examine it, Doctor McCoy's voice broke from the bedside intercom.

"Captain, are you up?"

He leaned over and pressed the intercom button. "Yes, Doctor."

"Good. The children are coming around fast. Laurie's already signing with a couple of them."

"Thank you, Doctor." Spock turned on the lights and reached for his clothes. "I will be on my way."

ooooo

One by one the children emerged from their long sleep, silvery eyes opening to gaze with quiet curiosity at their surroundings. Their first reaction was to smile—at the doctors and nurses examining them, at the flashing medscanners, at each other. The doctor and nurses smiled back readily, for it was a rare pleasure to have so many youngsters aboard ship, and these silver-tones Gammans were particularly charming.

Spock spent the remainder of the night moving from child to child, learning their lyrical names—names such as Raindancing, Bird-in-Flight, Cloudshadow, and Windstorm. He joined his growing knowledge of Gamman signing to that of Doctor Fielding and achieved some degree of communication, but no useful information was revealed. Finally he said to the doctor, "Either they do not know how they came to be in the drone, or they're withholding that information."

"Why would they withhold it?" Fielding said, touching the smooth cheek of the boy being questioned. Summerday grinned back at her, showing straight white rows of teeth. "Their stories match perfectly."

"Yes," Spock agreed, "rather too perfectly."

The doctor turned, eyes wide and accusing. "What do you mean by that?"

Spock's eyebrow crept upward. Since resuming command, his working relationship with Doctor Fielding had been agreeable. He had extended a special effort to make it so, acknowledging to himself that their past difficulties had been largely his fault. Perhaps, he considered, the appealing nature of the children had aroused her parental instinct. Having had some experience now as a father, he could understand—but not to the point of abandoning logic.

"Try to maintain your objectivity," he advised, not unkindly. "A truth scan will determine if they are being honest with us. And Doctor, it will not hurt them any."

Though still frowning, she nodded. "Of course, sir. You're right."

All the scan results leaned toward honesty. It could mean that Doctor Fielding's trust in the children had not been misplaced, and they were telling the truth—at least as they knew it. For now Spock kept any further doubts to himself. From a quiet corner of the ward he watched the children venture from their beds and trill messages to one another on the pipes sent up from Procurement. Minute by minute the young mutes grew livelier and more articulate. As their level of activity increased, Spock experienced a nagging sense of disquiet. Briefly closing his eyes, he attempted to follow the whisper of foreboding to its source, but the energetic children interfered with his concentration. Their shrill piping felt painful on his ears. Abandoning the effort, he walked out the door unnoticed.

ooooo

In the officers' mess, the breakfast crowd was starting to thin out. Alone now at his table, Admiral Kirk nursed a second cup of coffee that was as black as the mood stealing over him. His thoughts turned to Uhura's party last night. He was going to miss that easy comraderie, but he reminded himself that things had not been so rosy when he first came aboard at Christmas. There was more to life than the Enterprise. Once he got back to Earth, back to his work at Headquarters, his outlook would probably improve. Maybe he wouldn't miss any of this as much as he imagined.

Kirk held to that thought as the last of dayshift finished their breakfasts and the third watch began showing up for their meals. He was downing the last of his coffee when Doctor McCoy walked in with Lauren Fielding. Busy with the food dispensers, they didn't notice Kirk until their trays were filled and they turned, eyes scanning the room for a place to sit down. He motioned them over to his table, glad to have someone to talk to.

"Good morning, Admiral," Lauren said, dropping into a chair. She emptied a packet of brown sugar onto her oatmeal and began to eat hungrily.

Already seated, McCoy mumbled a greeting between bites of omelet and toast. They both looked suspiciously tired and rumpled for people about to go on duty. And come to think of it, they were late.

"Were you two up last night?" Kirk guessed.

McCoy left his fork hovering in midair and looked at him strangely. Lauren glanced from Kirk to McCoy.

"Well, just great," McCoy grumbled. "He still hasn't told you."

"Who hasn't told me what?"

With a sigh McCoy put down his fork and proceeded to brief Kirk on all that had happened overnight. When he told the admiral about the detour to Gamma Vertas IV, there was a sudden tautness around Kirk's mouth that could have been mistaken for anger. "Hell," McCoy griped, "this was supposed to be Spock's job. If you're mad, go jump him."

Kirk loosed an unconvincing smile of regret. "It's alright, Bones. The delay can't be avoided." Settling back in his chair, he thought with genuine warmth of the marooned children whose plight guaranteed him more time aboard the Enterprise with his friends. The specter of his office at Headquarters now seemed only a pale, distant threat. "Poor little kids," he said. "What do I get to meet them?"

After their breakfast, McCoy and Fielding brought Kirk to the recreation deck. The track-gymnasium hall was a hive of noisy activity. Everywhere Kirk looked, equipment was being secured, cots set up, and children's playthings delivered. In the midst of all this commotion wandered silvery-skinned youngsters, their metallic eyes intent on everything that was happening, their cherubic faces eagerly returning smiles.

Kirk found them so charming that he stayed behind after McCoy and Fielding left. He initiated a game of catch with a lad and was soon mobbed by all thirteen Gammans. They pressed in, piping notes or signing busily in a language he did not understand. It was a relief when Doctor Chapel came to his rescue.

"Aren't they something?" she said. Her newly programmed universal translator blurted a confused stream of overlapping phrases. It, too, was overwhelmed by the exuberant din of young pipers. "If they'd just slow down and talk one at a time," Chapel lamented, rubbing at her temple as if her head hurt.

Kirk already felt the stirrings of a headache and did not envy Chapel her job as the children's daywatch supervisor.

"Children," she said loudly and distinctly, "come with me!" The translator synthesized a spurt of music that caught the youngsters' attention. They compliantly followed the doctor to another part of the hall where a trainee waited with a data padd.

Kirk turned to leave and found the rest of the gym empty now except for a lone technician making adjustments on a food dispenser. A peculiar feeling prickled the skin along his spine as he looked at the neat little row of bunks. Then, laughing at himself, he walked out.

ooooo

The sound of his doorchime broke Spock's concentration and he looked up from his computer for the first time in hours. He tried flexing the stiffness from his neck and shoulders, but some remained as an aftereffect of his illness. Rising, he pulled himself as straight as any Vulcan and said, "Come in."

Admiral Kirk entered the cabin and Spock eased into a more relaxed posture. "Jim," he said to his old friend.

Kirk grinned mischievously. "Spock, just because you miss your daughter, it doesn't mean you have to go shanghai a whole shipload of kids."

Spock did not rise to the bait. The young Gammans set his nerves on edge, and his study of their culture had revealed nothing to account for it. Were the spells another tedious result of his ordeal of Gamma Vertas IV and the addiction that followed? A new symptom, just when he was making good progress toward full recovery? "I had intended to tell you about the Gammans myself, but I became immersed in some research." He stopped, cleared his throat. "Are you also aware of our change of course?"

"Bones put me up to date. He even gave me the grand tour of the rec hall and introduced your cute little guests."

"Yes, cute," Spock said dryly. It seemed that Kirk was drawn to the youngsters, just like everyone else. Spock preferred not to discuss his personal misgivings. He was saved from having to say anything when Doctor McCoy's voice, sounding urgent, broke over the intercom.

"Sickbay to captain. You'd better come down here."

ooooo

Spock entered sickbay with Kirk at his heels. Thinking that one of the children might have fallen ill, he was unprepared when McCoy led him to a curtained-off area of the ward. Here was no Gamman, but a valued member of the Medical Section, a woman who had been part of his lives, part of all their lives, for years.

"Chapel!" The name burst from Kirk.

There was no response from the patient. Christine Chapel lay on a diagnostic bed, her eyes closed as if in sleep, her features pale and composed.

"No sign of a pathogen," McCoy reported. "All functions normal, aside from a minor shift in brain activity—but nothing to account for this."

Spock studied the wall monitor. Its readings were indicative of coma.

"But I was just talking to her a few minutes ago," Kirk protested. "She was on the rec deck with the children…"

With the children. Spock looked sharply at McCoy.

Deep lines of worry etched the doctor's face as he said, "She was in the children's dorm area when she collapsed. A technician saw it happen. One minute she was fine, and then…"

As the three men looked at one another, Spock's sense of unease grew. "The children should be quarantined and closely observed. I will post a guard station with a monitor screen at the entrance to the hall. Everyone entering the gym must wear a field belt."

Kirk eyed him closely. "You think it's those kids?"

"I think caution is in order."

McCoy nodded and ran his fingers through his graying hair.

With the restrictions in force, Spock strapped a protective fieldbelt around his waist and entered the gymnasium. He had expected to be alone with the children and his concerns, but found Doctor Fielding drawing blood samples. For a moment he stood near the entrance watching how her gentle touch put the children at ease, and remembering the comfort of those same hands as they cared for him during his illness. But now was not the time for such thoughts. Focusing his attention on the children, he moved ahead

Doctor Fielding heard him coming and glanced up. Her eyes warmed above a brief, apologetic smile. "Captain. I'm afraid there's nothing to report yet."

He stopped beside her and was swiftly engulfed by the wave of silvery bodies. "I…did not expect any progress this soon," he assured her distractedly. The crush of children weighed on his mind with a strange, dull pressure. It was a distinctly unpleasant sensation, but by employing a Vulcan distancing technique he was able to sign a courteous greeting to the children. Then he began to question them about Doctor Chapel. Sad-eyed, they shrugged innocently and shook their heads in apparent ignorance.

Spock found their responses irritating. His head throbbed from the strain of being near them. Little by little his questions grew sharper and colder, narrowly hinting at the nebulous suspicion the Gammans aroused in him.

Pausing in her work, Fielding watched him closely. Suddenly she said, "They bother you, don't they, sir?"

Startled, Spock turned to her. The doctor's piercing blue gaze sent a pang straight through him.

"Children make you uncomfortable." Her voice took on a bit of an edge. "I'm not saying you can't be good with children. I've seen you with your daughter…and there was Windsong at St. Vincent's. Remember her? That little girl fell in love with you."

The absurd claim jolted Spock out of his silence. "Doctor Fielding, that is not—"

"But you broke her heart," she interrupted. "Don't you know that? After everything she did for you, would it have been so terrible at the end to offer her a decent goodbye?"

Spock stared at her, dumbfounded. If he had behaved improperly on that occasion, there was a reason for it. More than anyone, Doctor Fielding knew why. Whatever her purpose for bringing this up now, whether or not he had actually hurt Windsong, this conversation was entirely inappropriate. In the tone of command, he said, "You forget yourself. Tend to your duties, Lieutenant."

Her eyes flashed. "Thank you, Captain, for reminding me of my place."

ooooo

Fielding's distressing show of temper was still fresh in Spock's mind when he was called back to sickbay at midwatch. Chapel's condition was unchanged, but now another comatose woman lay nearby. Spock stared at Lauren Fielding, his features composed, his stomach leaden.

McCoy's voice was hushed with shock. "She was working with the children, wearing a fieldbelt. Everything was fine, and then…just like Chris."

Spock turned from the painful sight and set his mind working on the crisis.

"It's not a pathogen," McCoy reiterated fiercely. "Dammit, I'm not going to rest until—" His voice broke off, his shoulders slumped. "All the anger in the world won't help those two."

"Nor will driving yourself to exhaustion," Spock pointed out. He had learned firsthand about physical frailty, and the wrench of losing a beloved friend or relative was not confined only to human culture. "You were close to Christine," he observed.

"Were?" McCoy bristled at the unfortunate choice of word. "She's not gone yet, Spock. And as much as it may gripe you, neither is Laurie."