ONE

There were plenty of two-word phrases that McCoy dreaded hearing. "Inoperable condition" came to mind, or "casualty report." However, these phrases did not appear with any frequency in his daily message log. So perhaps the two-word phrase he had the most cause to dread was "Protocol Briefing." In his office, McCoy stared at the workstation screen and cringed at the sight of these words. It was all well and good that people on other worlds had different beliefs and behaviors, but that made it a pain in the neck to be a Starfleet officer: you had to learn how to eat lunch properly on six hundred different planets. McCoy had come aboard the Enterprise to practice medicine, not etiquette.

Officially, the message was from Jim, but no doubt it had been researched by one of the anthropologists, composed by an administrative aide, and sent by a yeoman. Such was the nature of Jim's messages. He was not the type to run the ship from a computer terminal.

OVER THE PAST SEVEN MONTHS, REPRESENTATIVES FROM THE UNITED FEDERATION OF PLANETS HAVE USED THE CIVILIAN-RUN DEEP SPACE STATION J33-3 AS A BASE FROM WHICH TO STUDY THE PLANETOID TELEP, AND JUDGE ITS QUALIFICATIONS FOR ENTRANCE INTO THE FEDERATION.

THEIR ENTRANCE HAS NOW BEEN APPROVED, AND THE FEDERATION AMBASSADOR IS READY TO OFFICIALLY ADMIT TELEP, DURING A CEREMONIAL DINNER ABOARD THE SPACE STATION. THE MISSION OF THE ENTERPRISE IS TO SEE TO THE SAFETY OF ALL CONCERNED DURING THE CULMINATION OF THIS PROCESS, AND TO FERRY THE AMBASSADOR BACK TO HIS HOME PLANET, ANDOR, AFTER THE DINNER WITH THE TELEP HEAD OF STATE. THE ENTERPRISE IS DUE TO ARRIVE AT J33-3 AT 1400 HOURS. OUR SENIOR STAFF ARE INVITED TO THE CEREMONIAL DINNER. ADDITIONAL PERSONNEL WILL BE SUMMONED TO J33-3 OR TO TELEP ITSELF FOR DUTIES AS NEEDED. SHORE LEAVE IS AUTHORIZED FOR OFF-DUTY PERSONNEL ONCE THE ADMISSIONS PROCESS IS COMPLETE.

DUE TO THE NATURE OF OUR VISIT, IT IS OF UTMOST IMPORTANCE THAT ALL CREW MEMBERS EXHIBIT EXEMPLARY BEHAVIOR. THIS INCLUDES CONCESSIONS TO THE CUSTOMS OF THE VISITING TELEP CITIZENS. THE FOLLOWING BEHAVIORAL CODES MUST BE STRICTLY OBSERVED IN THEIR PRESENCE:

- THE HEAD OF STATE IS TO BE ADDRESSED AS "MISTER PRIME MINISTER."

- IF NECESSARY, THE PRIME MINISTER'S WIFE IS TO BE ADDRESSED AS "HER/YOUR LADYSHIP." HOWEVER, PLEASE KEEP DIALOGUE WITH HER LADYSHIP TO A MINIMUM. DO NOT ASK FOR HER OPINION IN ANY MATTER. DO NOT ASK HER A QUESTION WHICH COULD BE ANSWERED BY THE PRIME MINISTER.

- FEMALE SERVANTS ARE TO BE ADDRESSED ONLY BY THE PRIME MINISTER OR HER LADYSHIP.

- THE PRIME MINISTER'S SECURITY GUARDS ARE TO BE ADDRESSED ONLY ON MATTERS DIRECTLY CONCERNING HIS SAFETY.

- MEAL ETIQUETTE: DO NOT PLACE YOUR LEFT HAND UPON THE TABLE. DO NOT CONSUME DISHES OUT OF ORDER (FOLLOW THE LEAD OF THE TELEP IN THIS MATTER). DO NOT RISE FROM YOUR CHAIR FOR ANY REASON UNTIL YOU ARE ENTIRELY FINISHED. FEMALES DO NOT SIT OR BEGIN EATING UNTIL ALL MALES HAVE DONE SO.

- IN THE PRESENCE OF ANY TELEP CITIZEN, FEMALE CREW MEMBERS MUST NOT SPEAK UNLESS SPOKEN TO.

- FEMALE CREW MEMBERS MUST NOT CONTRADICT ANY STATEMENT MADE BY A MALE.

- FEMALE CREW MEMBERS MUST NOT TOUCH A MALE SHE IS NOT MARRIED TO...

The list went on. It had to be someone's idea of a joke. McCoy scrolled back to the top, to read the message again. He had encountered misogynistic cultures before, and had resigned himself to the fact that such things went on existing, but this was an exceptional situation. Whether on duty or shore leave, how was the crew supposed to function when half of them were socially crippled?

He began reading again:

...THE ENTERPRISE IS DUE TO ARRIVE AT J33-3 AT 1400 HOURS...

McCoy glanced at his chronometer. It was 1345 now! He shut down his terminal, alerted Chapel and M'Benga that he was leaving for J33-3, and hurried back to his quarters. He wasn't sure how long he would be asked to stay on the Space Station. The resident physician might want him to look the staff over, or compare notes with him. He tossed his medical kit on the bed, along with an empty satchel, and proceeded to fill the satchel with a change of clothes and a few other essentials. As he was headed out of his quarters, Spock was walking by, carrying nothing. He eyed McCoy's satchel.

"The J33-3 staff have assured us that they will be seeing entirely to our needs for the duration of the visit." The way Spock said it suggested that this information had been included in the Protocol Briefing, and McCoy cringed thinking of what else he'd missed by not finishing it. But there was no time for worry. He went back into his quarters and reappeared a moment later, having discarded only the satchel.

"They don't have my medical kit on J33-3," he said. Since Spock had stayed put while he'd dropped the satchel, he assumed there was a reason for them to walk together to the transporter. "Can you believe that Protocol Briefing? How am I going to remember not to ask Her Ladyship if she enjoyed the dinner? What if I ask her if she's in good health? Is that considered an opinion?"

"It is true that Telep society has an unusually rigid social stratification," Spock replied. "Due to the sparse information available on the Telep culture, I was not able to find a root or precedent for their rigidly defined gender roles. However, I did learn a few more details about the role of females on the planet." When the turbolift arrived, Spock nodded for McCoy to enter first, then he continued: "There are rare instances where women are allowed to rise to some of the highest levels of power, but I do not believe these conditions are relevant to our current situation."

McCoy was ready to ask what these conditions were, just out of curiosity, when the turbolift stopped at the transporter room. Arriving just after them, through the corridor, was Kirk, who jumped right in between the two of them and stepped up onto the transporter pad, with his usual ironic enthusiasm in the face of diplomatic pomp and circumstance. "Hope you gentlemen are ready for what will surely be a relaxed, informal dinner with a few easygoing dignitaries." He smirked at his own cleverness. "Energize."

***

Because he had not been asked to wear or pack one, McCoy had held onto the faint hope that this ceremonial dinner would for whatever reason not require him to wear a dress uniform. When the bridge crew were greeted by the civilian manager of J33-3, he made no mention of their attire. His assistant showed the crew to their quarters; apparently there would be no question of whether they would have an extended stay. To his dismay, the first thing McCoy spotted when he entered his quarters was a dress uniform, laid out beside a standard uniform and a sickbay jersey. Hope is a good breakfast, McCoy thought, but it makes a bad supper.

Having been informed that the dinner would begin at 1700 sharp, McCoy decided to spend the spare hours he had checking out J33-3's sickbay and conferring with the resident physician.

When he arrived, all he found was a nurse. His first impression of her was that it was a shame that she was in a grumpy mood, because it was spoiling her good looks. Then again, he thought, you could say the same of me, except I don't have the looks to spoil.

"Doctor Evans is on a break. Again." She rolled her eyes. "The chief engineer taught him to play backgammon, and now he's addicted. He gets out whenever he can, to go to the dining hall to play. Thankfully J33-3 is blessed with a healthy crew. Backgammon! Really!" She caught herself, paused as if to begin again, and said, "I'm Nurse Phelan. Are you Doctor McCoy?"

"Oh, were you expecting me?"

The nurse's nervy, swaying body language signaled that she very much needed to get something from the dispensary to complete her task, and was just trying to get this conversation over so she could accomplish that. "Doctor Evans has been anticipating your visit."

"Did he have something to discuss?"

"He said he hoped you knew how to play backgammon."

McCoy smiled, despite knowing it would further annoy the nurse. "I got the Protocol Briefing for the Telep, but I don't think I've spotted any yet. Is everyone on J33-3 human? How will I tell the Telep apart?"

"Oh, the Telep are humanoid, but you'll know them when you see them. The ambassador is Andorian. They picked the most charismatic ambassador in the Federation, you know, because the Telep are wary of outsiders. Who knows why they're so anxious to join the Federation. But then, I'm just a nurse." She shrugged, to indicate that her train of thought had run out.

"No one is just a nurse, my dear. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to find Doctor Evans."

***

He had to ask a few ensigns for assistance along the way, but eventually he found the dining hall where the doctor was taking his break. Dr. Evans sat hunched over a game board, with disc-pieces scattered about, on the board and off. Evans' expression told McCoy that the match was about to end, and not in his favor.

Sitting across from him was the ambassador, who wore the traditional costume of an Andorian dignitary. He seemed amused at the imminence of his victory, but his face carried no malice or vengeance. He was obviously playing for the fun of it. If he were to speak like McCoy's granddaddy, he would say, "Winning is just gravy."

Once the ambassador had succeeded in bearing off all his pieces, Evans finally noticed McCoy. As McCoy wore a standard uniform with no medical insignia, Evans did not know what to take him for.

"You ought to get back to sickbay, Doctor Evans," McCoy chided. "You've got a nurse who's a little peeved at your extended absences."

"Please, Doctor McCoy, make yourself comfortable." The Andorian gestured to the seat Evans was giving up.

McCoy lifted his hand, resting it lightly over his sternum. "How did you know who I am?"

"I've been expecting the arrival of the Enterprise, and familiarized myself with her officers. You were an Enterprise crew member seeking a doctor, but were not held in sickbay as a patient, so it seemed likely that you were another doctor." The ambassador smiled.

"We'll have a chat later, Doctor McCoy," Evans said. "For now I guess I have some damage control to run with my staff. I wish O'Donnell had never taught me that damn game." He was almost through the doors, the paused and turned back. "Do you by any chance play backgammon, Doctor?"

McCoy laughed. "Go on, get outta here!" He shooed Evans away with a wave of his hand. The doctor blushed and went on his way.

"Have a seat," the ambassador insisted, and McCoy excused himself to the replicator to get a drink before he accepted the invitation. "You are the first Enterprise crewman I have encountered. Has Captain Kirk arrived yet?"

"He's around," McCoy said. "He'll find you soon enough. What are you doing here so close to dinner? Don't you have lots of last-minute preparations to make?"

The ambassador dismissed this notion with a subdued wave of his hand. "At this point there is no doubt that the Telep will be admitted into the Federation. They have no resources of particular value, but they meet all the technological and bureaucratic requirements, so they can hardly be refused."

"But I heard the Telep are touchy about foreigners. Might they balk at the last minute of negotiations?"

The ambassador shook his head. "Telep's 'touchiness' is not xenophobia, rather, it is…well, the Telep have a word for it, it's difficult to pronounce, but it basically translates as a desire to protect their own culture. They understand that some of their ways are anathema to the principles if the Federation, and they are worried about preserving them."

"So why do they want into the Federation in the first place? Isn't that the wrong place to go to prevent cultural contamination?"

Suddenly, for the first time, the ambassador looked quite serious. Because he was dealing with a Terran, he leaned forward, which was a human signal that candor was being established. "That is what troubles me," he said. "Telep seems to want for nothing. They have food, peace, minerals, precious metals. They need the Federation for something, but I do not know what. I have been allowed only the barest glimpses into their society. Doctor, I was hoping you and Evans would be able to give physical examinations to the Telep who visit the Space Station. Perhaps their need will be revealed in their physiology."

McCoy had never refused this sort of proposal, but it made him uncomfortable. When he practiced medicine, his goal was to ensure the health of a person, not a bureaucracy. "I'll see what I can do," he said cautiously.

"Excellent." The ambassador's friendly demeanor returned. He rose. "Now please excuse me. I do have some preparations to make."

"I guess I do, too," McCoy said, and hoped he could retrace his path back to sickbay.

***

Fidgety and not at all hungry, McCoy looked with disdain upon the still, calm figure that was Spock. As he tugged at his dress uniform collar he snarled, "Is there anything that could faze you?"

"Were I to describe such a thing," Spock said, "you would, at the very least, be unable to enjoy your dinner."

"I'm unable to enjoy my dinner anyway," McCoy said as the turbolift door opened. "Diplomatic functions give me an upset stomach."

The five of them - Kirk, Spock, Scotty, McCoy, and Uhura - filed off the turbolift into the foyer. Kirk had insisted that his senior staff take a few minutes beforehand to get accustomed to statesmanlike formality and Telep etiquette. Spock and McCoy's exchange, unstatesmanlike as it was, was not what broke their attempt. Rather, it was the turbolifts. Uhura was expected to board last, following the men. But then she was expected to leave last, following the men. This required her to shuffle between the four men to stand at the back, and that involved incidental physical contact. "This is going to be a disaster," she said while smiling primly.

"Relax, Lieutenant," Kirk muttered, just before they entered the dining hall. "If you make a mistake, we will stand in front of you, and take the brunt of the stones." And the doors opened.

Along one side of the long dining table were six Telep, one seated and five standing. The Enterprise senior staff approached them from behind, and circled around single-file to sit opposite them. As McCoy approached the table, he would have been hard-pressed to determine which was the Prime Minister and which was Her Ladyship. From behind, both appeared as masses of auburn hair flowing over layers of thick robes that rendered them shapeless. McCoy was third in the procession, and seated himself between Kirk and the ambassador. It was easier to distinguish them now; the Prime Minister, seated, was sporting a beard which appeared never to have been cut. To his left, Her Ladyship stood, waiting for all the men to seat themselves. Uhura stood on the other side of the ambassador, and looking out of the corner of his eye at her McCoy detected a little waver in her stance. She was obviously terrified to make a false move, but was wearing her brave face, and McCoy felt badly for her.

When Her Ladyship finally sat down, so too did the two female servants, one on either side of their master and mistress. They were girls, likely, rather than women, and wore plain uniforms and crew cuts. They spooned the various dishes onto the plates of the Prime Minister and Her Ladyship, and one discreetly removed stray bits of food from the Prime Minister's unwieldy beard. They had plates in front of them, and McCoy admired their balletic sense of timing, for they seemed to know exactly when their master and mistress demanded their attention, and when it was safe for them to whisk a few bites into their own mouths.

Two guards stood behind these four, motionless and at attention. Who knows how long they'd already been standing in such a fashion when he'd arrived there, bit after only a few minutes seated at a table McCoy was already impressed with their discipline. At first he took them for men of heavy build. But a surreptitious glance or two at them, and he determined that the size was, rather, their armor, the flourishes of which seemed to spray in all directions, weighing them down even as it made them appear about to take flight.

McCoy realized belatedly that he ought to pay more attention to the dinner conversation; he feared he might be tested on it later.

"To tell you the truth, Captain Kirk, I haven't been feeling well as of late." Annoyed, the Prime Minister swatted away the hand of his servant-girl, who was apparently being too attentive at the moment. "It's all that sitting around in legislative halls. Being in close quarters with so many politicians is no good for one's health, you know?" He laughed, in a way that suggested that his joke was very funny and he expected everyone else to laugh as heartily as he was.

McCoy chuckled politely, a serving spoon in one hand. "I have to agree with you there, Mr. Prime Minister. Can you tell me, what is this delicacy I'm currently spooning onto my plate?"

"Oh, you wouldn't be able to pronounce the Telep word, but suffice it say, it is a blend of legumes found in the tropical regions of our world, with all the appropriate spices, naturally."

"Naturally," McCoy inclined his head. He sampled the legumes. Not bad. "If you like, Mr. Prime Minister, I could give you an examination." He realized this might be presumptuous, so he tried to tack a bit of a joke onto the end. "Perhaps I can find out how detrimental the legislative body is to your own."

The Prime Minister laughed. "That is a very kind offer, doctor, and I will take you up on it just as soon as I find a spare moment."

Her Ladyship was squirming now, and though this escaped McCoy's attention, Spock watched her intently until she seemed to calm down again.

"I must confess, for all the grief they can give me, I do look forward to returning to my people, just as soon as we make official our agreement. Not that I haven't enjoyed my stay here." He nodded toward the ambassador. "You have all been excellent hosts. My wife agrees." Her Ladyship did not move to acknowledge this. "And we are flattered by the Federation's willingness to host us for many years to come."

The Prime Minister wheezed, then made a gesture to his servant-girl that she should take out a handkercheif and wipe his brow. "Doctor, I think I will have that examination sooner rather than later. It seems I feel worse by the hour, now. Oh…" The Prime Minister slumped over, and on either side of him, Her Ladyship and the servant-girl gasped and began tugging at his robes, trying uselessly to bring him back to consciousness.

For the first time, the guards moved, pushing aside the women and lifting the Prime Minister from his seat. McCoy would not be intimidated by these thugs, and wedged himself between them so he could use his tricorder on the Prime Minister. There was no doubting the device's readings: the man was dead, and McCoy said so.

One of the guards kneeled on the ground and took the Prime Minister's hand. "My beloved master. I thought I had done all I could to serve you. Now I see that I have failed. I have failed, and there is no honor left for me!"

He drew a great curved knife from his belt, and turned it on himself. McCoy pitched forward to restrain the guard, but could do so only with Kirk's assistance.

"You miserable wench!" The guard hollered, as though he were a theater actor who was aware his voice would carry all the way to the back row. "I knew all along that you would be no different!"

Two of J33-3's security guards, whom Spock had summoned, rushed in and wrestled the guard from Kirk and McCoy's collective grip. "What is the meaning of this?" Kirk addressed the guard.

"Her Ladyship," in the guard's mouth the title was a slur, "has poisoned my master! Oh, it is always the wife, do not doubt that!"

"Settle down, you!" the J33-3 security man said, though he was having a hell of a time holding the Telep guard still while avoiding the razor edges of his armor. The guard was obedient, to the extent that he said no more. Instead, the tried to spit on Her Ladyship, but he was jostled by his captor, and the spittle landed far in front of her.

The manager of J33-3, a man named Keet, came barreling in at that moment. He had been more than a little bitter about not being invited to this dinner. But seeing what he was seeing now, perhaps his feelings on the matter were changed.

"Mister Keet," Kirk said without hesitation, "a very serious accusation has just been made. Murder, in cold blood. Please explain to our friends from Telep what procedures they will now be subject to."

The civilian Keet straightened himself up. This would be his big chance to look impressive in front of the Federation types who'd been walking all over him the past few weeks. "Telep's status as a Federation member was pending. Calamitous events which involve a planet while they have pending status must be recorded for consideration by Federation authorities. The Station must now be sealed, and an investigation must be conducted by representatives of the Federation. No one leaves or comes aboard, not by shuttle nor by transporter. If suitable investigators are not aboard, the invesitgation is conducted remotely. The investigators will determine when is the proper time to transport those involved in the crime to the proper correctional or judicial facilities. Once this is carried out, the crime is under the jurisdiction of those facilities, and those not involved in the crime may return to their respective vessels."

Kirk blinked. "Thank you, Mister Keet, that was very…clear and succint."

The doors opened, and Doctor Evans and Nurse Phelan appeared with an anti-grav gurney. McCoy helped them load the Prime Minister's body onto it. He was shocked at how light the body turned out to be. The robes must have weighed more than he did, and they hid what McCoy estimated to be an emaciated body. As they left, McCoy called out over his shoulder, "I assume the first step in the investigation will be to determine cause of death, so if you'll excuse me." He exited unceremoniously, and his assumption must have been correct, for he was not stopped on his way to sickbay.

TWO

After he'd completed the autopsy on the Prime Minister, McCoy was informed that he would be expected to perform examinations on all those present at the dinner, to determine if anyone else had been poisoned. He was also expected to be present at each inquest. This is what frustrated him. He would need to examine each person whenever he could squeeze them in between inquests. That was no way to run a show; it was cold comfort to him to know that they wouldn't need him to perform an autopsy on bureaucracy, just yet.

Despite all this, McCoy couldn't contain his delight at getting Jim Kirk up on the examining table.

"Well, Jim," McCoy said as he made notes on his data slate, "you need to eat less protein and more fiber, you could stand to lose a few pounds, and your blood pressure is through the roof. As usual."

Kirk crossed his arms, and his eyebrows went up. "You're not even going to turn on your medical scanner, doctor?"

"I don't need to, to tell you that." McCoy retrieved his tricorder and gave Kirk a once-over. "To be honest, I don't see that this will do a lot of good. I found all the reasons for the Prime Minister's death - acute respiratory and heart failure - but I couldn't find the reasons for the reasons. There was no abnormal plaque build-up in the arteries, no damage to the alveoli. If I can't determine what killed him, how am I supposed to determine if it could also kill us?"

"Indeed," Kirk said, "and how to determine who killed him? Spock can't find anything in our admitedly sparse data on Telep that describes any crisis involving spousal homicide. Our best hope is just to gather a trifle of information from these hearings, and then turn the whole mess over to Telep law enforcement, once their ship arrives here. They're travelling at their top speed, warp two, so they won't arrive here for four days. You'll have to keep the body preserved here; the Telep ship is bringing the documents detailing his final wishes, how he wants his body disposed of and so on."

Kirk hopped off the exam table, declaring the exam over. "See you in the conference room on deck five, twelve hundred hours," he said, and bounded out of the room, leaving McCoy to stew about having to spend at least four more days on the Space Station. He didn't like it here. It looked quite like the Enterprise, but it smelled different.

***

Each of the Telep present at the dinner were called from their cells, in turn, to sit before the inquest panel. The panel consisted of Captain James T. Kirk, senior J33-3 security officer Declan Fitzpatrick, Science Officer Spock, Chief Medical Officer Leonard McCoy, and Doctor Samuel Clayton, the social scientist who was the ambassador's closest advisor during the early stages of his negotiation with the Telep.

McCoy was the last of the panel to arrive at this inquest. He took the seat between Kirk and Fitzpatrick.

"Any new developments?" Kirk asked, as McCoy settled in.

"Still inconclusive," McCoy admitted. "I just can't figure out what killed the poor devil. And I have to tell you, that does point to foul play. If it were natural causes, I could detect it. I'm not crazy about these inquests, but if someone would just drop a hint in their testimony about what it is in his system that I can't see…"

He was interrupted by the whoosh of the doors as a security team escorted in Perek, the guard who had accused Her Ladyship of murder the day before. Perek appeared much smaller than he had at dinner, for he lacked most of his armor. In addition to the obvious blade weapons the guards carried, much of their equipment served both defensive and offensive purposes, and had to be removed. He was divested of his helmet, which was spiked, his mail-coat, which was bladed, and his boots, which concealed hand-held weapons. The security team had offered him Starfleet-issue boots, but he had refused them, and now he was a comical sight, wearing his breast-plate and plain shoulder-guards and yet barefoot.

McCoy was pleased that Perek was the first up. He wanted information quickly, and Perek seemed to be very…forthcoming.

"Perek, please have a seat," Kirk said, trying to sound both genial and authoritative. He disliked these inquests no less than his CMO. No one here truly had the legal authority to detain an accused criminal, but without an operative judicial unit on J33-3 Kirk was forced to assume a provisional role as legal administrator, so that the Federation could decide what to do about Telep's pending status. Only then could the accused submit to the authorities of their homeworld.

Fitzpatrick explained all this to Perek, who all the while stared at Kirk dubiously. He would not look anyone else in the eye. McCoy wondered if Perek knew Kirk by reputation, or if he simply had the innate ability to sniff out who was the alpha male.

"Perek," the security officer was reading from a standard Federation document. "You are not accused of any crime. Your testimony serves only to facilitate the transition of this case from Federation jurisdiction to the law enforcement of your homeworld. However, it is testimony, and knowingly giving incorrect answers is punishable. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand." Perek was still looking directly at Kirk.

"At dinner last night," Kirk said in an abnormally flat tone, "you did not hesitate to accuse Her Ladyship of murdering the Prime Minister. What prompted this accusation?"

Perek laughed, a purposeful laugh meant to illustrate disdain rather than amusement. "Just by asking that question you demonstrate how ignorant you are of my people and our ways. You are not fit to conduct this hearing." He stood up and turned to the recording unit. "I demand to speak to a representative of my government!"

"Sit down, Mister." Kirk could not be fazed. "A representative is on his way. When he arrives, I can tell him you were cooperative, or I can tell him you were uncooperative. Now, maybe you're right about my being ignorant of your ways, so why don't you enlighten me: what do they do on Telep to people who do not cooperate with law enforcement authorities?"

Perek did quite a good job of explaining what they do, by sitting down and behaving himself for the remainder of the hearing.

"Perek, I will ask you again to explain why you accused Her Ladyship of murdering her husband."

"It is what wives do. They murder their husbands."

Spock leaned forward in his seat, steepling his fingers. "Is this a cultural tradition, or a rite, perhaps?"

"No, it is murder. On Telep, a woman has no more rights than a beast, which is as it should be. But there is an exception which Telep women have begun to exploit: if a married man dies, his widow replaces him. If he was a senator, she takes his seat in the senate. If he owned a business, the ownership passes to her. Not to his sons. Once women realized that they could seize power this way, they began poisoning their husbands. For a while, it was rare, almost unheard of to do this. Now, it happens every day, and always it is poison. Never a stabbing, or a violent death. By doing this women are only proving why they should not have any rights. They are not capable of dealing with others honestly. They only way they know is to be devious."

"Let us endeavor to adhere to facts," Spock said. "Are you---"

"Those are facts," Perek spat.

"Are you saying that these women have a single universal method for killing their husbands?"

Perek sighed. "We only know that they poison the men. We do not know how it is done."

"How do you put the women on trial if you don't have a method?" Spock asked.

"You don't need a method! They have the motive and they have the opportunity! If you spent one day on my planet, you would see how obvious it is that these women are guilty."

McCoy squeezed himself into this barrage of vitriol. "Can we go back to the poison thing for a minute? Now, what exactly is this poison? Where do you get it from?"

"It is a secret that the women keep, amongst themselves. No one can get them to confess how they acquire it. And believe me, we have tried." This statement was followed by a gruesome silence.

"If your job was to protect the Prime Minister," McCoy said, "and you know that women have a…tendency to poison their husbands, how is it that you could not keep him from being murdered?"

"I told you, women are devious! You cannot watch them every minute of the day. And they have more secrets than that. But the Prime Minister - my beloved Master - he was like any other man. He thought he was the exception. He was certain Her Ladyship would never do anything so deplorable. If it had been up to me, we would have had a guard whose only job was to watch her every move, but the Prime Minister would not allow it. She was permitted to move freely in the palace."

"But can't you have a…I don't know, someone who tastes the Prime Minister's food, to see if it is poisoned? If the risk is so great…"

"The poison acts slowly. Testing the food is no good. We have never successfully prevented a death that way."

McCoy frowned. "So, you don't have any idea what this posion is, how it is acquired, or what it does. You only know it exists."

"Correct." Perek still only looked at Kirk, but McCoy could read his expression well enough from where he was. It said, If you don't believe me, I'll be happy to pummel you until you do.

"What is the punishment for murder on Telep?" Kirk asked.

"Death." Perek seemed to like saying the word.

"So if this…problem you're having is so endemic, you must be carrying out a lot of executions."

"Unfortunately, no. Telep has a fair judicial system. Too fair. If the woman does not confess, and no direct evidence is found, she cannot be convicted."

"So how are the women accused of these murders being punished?"

"They are stigmatized. They assume the various mantles of their late husbands, but everyone knows how they attained them, and that is a sort of punishment. But when you are a woman, you do not think of that. You think you have nothing to lose and everything to gain."

McCoy took his stylus and wrote a note on his data slate. He continued to question Perek, and as he did he nudged the slate over to Kirk:

THEY WANT FEDERATION TECHNOLOGY TO HELP THEM FIND THE POISON SO THEY CAN EXECUTE THE WOMEN.

"Yes, well, thank you, Perek, you've been very helpful." Kirk nodded to the security guards, who escorted Perek back to his cell.

Kirk turned to McCoy. "And will the Telep get what they want?"

McCoy shook his head. "They won't get it from me, not with what little I've found."

***

The second guard, Rurik, walked in just as certain as Perek was of Her Ladyship's guilt, but was much more garrulous about it. He believed that any answer he gave to any question would only serve to further condemn her, and so he spoke at great length about Telep culture, about women who had assumed their husband's powers, the day-to-day life of Telep women and men, things which had little direct bearing on the case at hand but which painted a grim picture of Telep, as a culture of suspicion and fear.

Doctor Clayton took notes at a furious pace. He feared the recording they were making might become official evidence, and being a civilian he would then no longer have access to it.

McCoy tried to ask about the poison, but Rurik was no help. He didn't seem interested in any poison. He placed the blame squarely on these new uppity, ambitious women. He began a new soliloquy on this topic, which became particularly accusatory and florid, and Kirk interrupted him to say, "I'm sorry, but I just don't buy it. If being married to a woman is so dangerous, and if this danger is so embedded in Telep society, then why do men marry at all? I mean, it can't be so pervasive, if men are still willing to marry."

Rurik smiled. "Captain Kirk. Are you not always at the mercy of a lady? You fell in love with her, you cling to her, you are devoted to her, even though deep down you are certain that she will eventually be the death of you." He inclined his head toward the observation window, where the Enterprise hung suspended in space. She was sleek, beautiful, and yes, Kirk had to admit that perhaps one day she would be a murderess.

"And you, doctor. At dinner I saw you consuming a fermented beverage. As a physician, you must know that there are toxins in those drinks which have detrimental long-term consequences." Though it was not his intention, Rurik saw that he was making the panel uncomfortable, so he leaned back and adopted a more agreeable tone. "The point is, people do things every day which might kill them. Why?"

The point was clear, but Kirk articulated it in order to satisfy Rurik. "It…does us no good to live our lives in fear."

Rurik nodded sagely. He thought he was terribly clever.

THREE

The doctors were expecting two little girls, but instead they got Spock. He entered sickbay and made a beeline for McCoy, ignoring Dr. Evans and Nurse Phelan as he passed them.

"Something wrong?" McCoy asked. "We're about to do the physical examinations on the servant girls."

"My request will only take a moment. The food replicators on this station are an older model, and they will not produce the supplement drink which you had designed for me on the Enterprise. Because I am a guest here, I cannot reprogram the replicator."

Why did Spock ask McCoy, rather than Evans, the resident physician? Perhaps Spock did not trust Evans. "No problem," McCoy said. "As soon as I'm finished here I'll slap it with a medical override and get that in there for you."

"Thank you, Doctor." Spock turned to go, and McCoy reached out to touch his shoulder to ask for one more minute of his time. At the last instant he remembered that Spock preferred to be called after rather than touched. "Er, one second, Spock." He stepped in close so that he would not be overheard. "How's it going with the food?"

"I continue to be puzzled, Doctor," Spock whispered. "I have run samples of the dinner through all available chemical, thermal, and radiological tests, but have found nothing anomalous. Perhaps the Prime Minister was poisoned, but with a slow-acting toxin, earlier in the day."

"Or perhaps he wasn't poisoned at all. Maybe I was convinced yesterday, but really, all we've had to go on are the stories of those misogynist guards."

"When questioned, the servant girls corroborated all of the cultural data given by the guards."

McCoy knew Spock was not defending the guards, or playing Devil's advocate; he was only stating a fact. But McCoy had a feeling that logic would lead them astray here.

When he heard the doors open, McCoy jumped away from Spock, as though the two of them had been caught doing something. The security team led the girls in, and McCoy directed one to get on his exam table, and one to get on Evans'.

"Spock, will you come back here at twenty-one hundred hours? I want to finish our discussion." He turned to the girl without waiting for Spock's answer. "Alright, my dear. Now I want you to know, I am going to do my best to respect your customs. I'm not going to touch you, I'm only going to use my medical equipment to scan you, alright?"

The girl nodded and kept her eyes downcast.

According to the tricorder and the biobed scanner, there was nothing wrong with the girl. The tricorder indicated that she was fourteen, although Telep physiology might be skewing that estimation. She had a chip implanted in her shoulder. She was a virgin. She currently had twenty-seven visible teeth, with three more still in her gums.

"Have you been mistreated in any way since you boarded this Space Station?"

The girl shook her head.

"Since you were placed in your cell, have you received food and water in appropriate quantities?"

The girl nodded.

"Are you warm enough in your cell?"

The girl said, "It is not important."

"Oh, I get it." McCoy tilted his head. "Let me put it another way. If you told me that it is colder in your cell than it is on Telep, that wouldn't be expressing an opinion. That would be a fact."

The girl thought about this for a moment, then said, "It is colder in my cell than it usually is on Telep."

"That's more like it. I'll have them adjust the temperature. Alright, then." McCoy was about to tell her to hop off the table, and excuse her to her cell.

As he set his tricorder aside, she whispered, "You still don't know what killed him, do you?"

McCoy was puzzled at this sudden remark, but said simply, "I am not allowed to discuss my findings."

"Heart failure, right?" For the first time she looked at him directly. Her eyes were big and bright. "And lung failure? But you can't figure out why."

He tried to keep his body language neutral, but she must have known that what she was saying was intriguing.

"The poison is undetectable on Telep. The men don't have the technology."

"And that's why Telep wants to join the Federation," McCoy whispered.

"Yes. They think you will give them the secret. But only the women have the secret. The toxin comes from the [here she used a word McCoy could never have hoped to pronounce] legume. The ones you ate at the dinner." McCoy blinked. "Don't worry. Only the outer shells are poisonous, and only over a long period of time."

McCoy mimed using the scanner on her once more, while Evans and Phelan orbited around the other girl on the opposite side of the room, and the security team stood by the door, staring blankly. "Why are you telling me this? It will only condemn your mistress."

"No, it will not, because she didn't do it. I know my mistress. She truly loved my master, more than she would have loved having his power. You must find a way to prove she is innocent. I have told you all I know."

McCoy nodded. "My dear," he said aloud, "you are in perfect health. I hate to say this, but you are ready to return to your cell." He gestured to her guard, but it was up to her to be cooperative and go along, for he was not allowed to touch her.

***

The doctor was holding a drinking glass half-full of vegetable sludge when Spock showed up. Spock accepted it, expressing as much gratitude as he felt comfortable expressing. He put the glass to his lips, paused and looked at McCoy cautiously, then proceeded to drink deeply. McCoy was amused but said nothing. No doubt Spock had been craving those nutrients his body had been deprived of for the last two days, and McCoy was flattered that Spock felt well enough about him to commit such an indulgence in his presence. He watched the contracting muscles in Spock's throat for a moment, then caught himself, and said, "There's more good news. The servant girl I examined today told me something interesting."

He described to Spock his encounter with the girl. Spock listened intently but without astonishment. "There are still legume samples in the lab," he said, "although we have none of their pods. I will begin a new series of tests focusing on these samples."

"Now, here's the problem." McCoy took the empty glass from Spock and set it aside to be sterilized later. As he led Spock into his temporary office he continued, "What happens when we find the toxin? That girl told me what could be the best-kept secret on her planet, hoping she could save her mistress. But if all we do is prove the legumes were poisoned, it'll be signing Her Ladyship's death warrant, along with every other widow on Telep." He invited Spock to sit. "Maybe the girl's right. Maybe Her Ladyship is innocent. But if we don't find a way to vindicate her…" He turned away, unable to face the stoic Vulcan who was taking this whole issue of life and death very calmly. "There's something about this situation that isn't quite right. What if the girl isn't what she seems? Maybe she was told to give me that information, before the Telep even arrived here. There is just something about this situation that doesn't seem…logical."

Spock tilted his head. "Your grasp of logic has never impressed me."

"You're saying that women killing their husbands en masse is logical?"

"All societies," Spock said, "no matter how flawed, contain within those flaws the mechanisms for self-correction. Whether consciously or sub-consciously established, the Telep, by providing women legal loopholes in widowhood, left themselves a cultural back door. The sitatuion the Telep find themselves in was bound to happen eventually, and the purpose is to show the Telep the error of their ways. Just as Vulcan's early violent culture was its own undoing. Ours was a way of life that could not sustain itself. The very nature of Vulcan society became the motivation to rebuild it. The Telep will eventually see the error in their social structure. If we provide them with the solution to their poison quagmire, or if we are able to give them an antidote, it may delay that realization, but not forever." Spock rose and inclined his head toward the doctor, to acknowledge his hospitality and company. "I will return to the forensics lab and recalibrate my tests based on this new information."

McCoy saw Spock out, and after the doors shut he picked up the discarded glass. The inner surface bore a parabolic curve of vegetable matter film, and at the peak, a lip print. McCoy sterilized the glass and wondered if it would be better at this point to try a nap, or to just keep on working.

FOUR

It was the simplest accident, it could have happened to anyone, but Ensign Eberly seemed to grow more mortified each second she remained in sickbay. Stepping down into the bar area in the recreation center, she had twisted her ankle, and now McCoy was seeing to it. The tendon was hardly damaged. He had a regenerator handy (the Knitter, it was called by overzealous athletes who relied on it), but to use it would be overkill, he thought.

All the time he was examining her, she was shaking, just a little, as though the twisted ankle had been some devastating bit of bad news. McCoy advised her to take the rest of her shift off, and keep her foot elevated. He gave her a pain inhibitor, and was ready to send her on her way. Just about.

"Ensign, something else must be bothering you. No one gets so upset about a strained muscle. Is there something you'd like to talk about?"

Eberly looked away, quite close to bursting into sobs. Three things are inescapable, McCoy thought. Death, taxes, and a woman's tears.

"Would you rather have a nurse to talk to?"

"No!" she gasped, unable to hold herself together. She admitted, "It's not about my ankle at all. Or, I guess it kind of is. It's just that you were touching me, Doctor, and…" She paused, like she knew perfectly well what she was feeling, but didn't have the words to express it.

McCoy held very still. He could not imagine a direction this could go that would be any good.

"I'm just so glad," she blurted, "that a man is treating me so nicely! Ever since the Prime Minister died, none of the men on this Space Station will talk to us, or even look at us. They're all afraid we're going to marry them so we can kill them."

McCoy laughed, out of relief and amusement. But he knew Eberly might take this reaction the wrong way, so he quickly explained: "My dear girl. You just need to be patient. Once this mess is wrapped up, you'll be back to getting more attention than you care for. And I'm not telling you that as a doctor, I'm telling you as a man. We have short memories. Alright?"

The ensign nodded, tugging self-consciously at the hem of her skirt but smiling. Having forgotten the pain, she got ready to hop off the table, but McCoy restrained her and reminded her first of all to remove her other boot, and then not to let anyone see her going from sickbay to her quarters out of uniform.

As she left, he called after her, "Stay off those damn heels until tomorrow!" Then he hastily added, "Ensign." Spock had just entered sickbay.

"It is good to see that our current crisis has not diminished your adherence to utmost professionalism, Doctor," Spock sneered.

McCoy turned and leaned against the biobed where Eberly had been sitting. "Nor has it diminished your inability to stay away from me. I am dismayed, but also flattered. Now, that's two emotions." He held up two fingers, in a V. "I've got to pick up your slack, you see."

"If you will accompany me to the forensics lab, I have some test results which have proved…illuminating."

With a flourish of his hand, McCoy invited Spock to lead the way.

J33-3 boasted a forensics lab whose sophistication was equal to that of the Enterprise. For purposes of this research, McCoy saw that Spock had lined up a series of specimens, and above them a variety of lamps.

"As I mentioned previously, I conducted numerous tests on the food involving heat, chemicals, and radiation, but all were inconclusive. But there was one medium I had neglected before: light. So I placed the legumes under our electromagnetic spectrogram, with significant result. Observe."

There were four lamps on the table. The first was a hard x-ray light, as McCoy had guessed due to its being situated behind a transparent shield. Spock switched it on, but it failed to produce a reaction in the slide below. The second lamp was ultra-violet, although Spock had kept the light at sub-mutagenic intensity. He switched on that lamp, with a similar result. The third was a standard visible-light lamp. Again, nothing. The fourth lamp was closer to McCoy than it was to Spock, and McCoy reached to turn it on at the same time as Spock did, and their hands briefly touched. McCoy yanked his hand back, as if he had been burned. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I know you don't like---"

"There is no offense taken," Spock said.

Of course there's no offense taken, McCoy thought as he rolled his eyes, because that would be an emotion. But he kept his mouth shut.

Spock switched on the far-infrared lamp, at a setting of 275 gigahertz. The sample beneath it glowed with a faint white light. He explained, "Once I discovered this reaction, I asked the computer for all elements and compounds which have a comparable reaction to the far-infrared segment of the electromagnetic spectrum. For purposes of this investigation I ruled out all but one."

"And let me guess." McCoy threw his hands up. "There is no possible way that I could pronounce it."

"On the contrary," Spock said, letting the comment pass him by, "it is quite simple to pronounce. Xanganese."

"Xanganese? I've never even heard of it."

"That is understandable. It is an element found on only a few planets, all in this sector, but none yet members of the Federation. Therefore, Federation databanks contain very little information on it, and our instruments do not recognize it. But what we know about it is this: Xanganese cannot be absorbed by any organic material. It will remain on organic surfaces indefinitely. Our skin would not absorb it, nor would our organs. Were you to ingest xanganese, it would coat the lining of your gastrointestinal tract, then travel through your bloodstream to your heart and lungs. This xanagnese coating prevents the absorption of oxygen and nutrients…"

"Resulting in organ failure. The girl said it was something in the pods. But how is it that the legumes themselves aren't dangerous, if they also contain xanganese?"

"It is a matter of quantity. The legumes contain only traces of xanagnese. The pods must contain much more. I cannot be certain, as I do not have any pods. I suspect, based on the information in the Federation databanks, that if I were to place a pod under this light, it would glow brighter by a factor of one-hundred and twenty-five. And even then, the resilience of Telep physiology would require extensive consumption to cause organ failure."

"I'll bring you some tissue samples from the Prime Minister," McCoy said. "And if they glow?"

Spock nodded. "Then we will know that the Prime Minister was deliberately poisoned."

***

Slide after slide proved it: the Prime Minister had been poisoned by xanganese. It coated his internal organs, giving each of the slides McCoy had made an eerie glow. When he held the far infra-red light over the Prime Minister's body, the cadaver lit up hideously. It was not only on his mouth but on his hands, and anywhere his hands might have brushed, leaving smudges and streaks of it.

McCoy strode over to the intercom with the intention of asking Spock to come by, but just before he pressed the button a voice burst over the speaker, startling him. "Kirk to sickbay."

The doctor drew his hand back, as though he'd just forgotten how to use the intercom. Then he quickly got his bearings and pushed the button to respond. "McCoy here."

"Bones, the Telep vessel has just arrived. They have sealed documents with the Prime Minister's last wishes, and details for the care of his body. I'll have my yeoman bring them to you."

"Tell them to take the documents to the forensics lab. That's where I'm going with the body. McCoy out."

***

For the past four days, even when asleep, Perek had been able to hear his captors approaching, and had straightened himself up so that they would only see the Telep guard at full attention and entirely prepared to attack or defend, as the situation might warrant. But today he heard no footsteps before the door opened. Perek was caught slouching on his bunk by the man with pointed ears, whom the ambassador had identified at dinner as a Vulcan.

"Your government," said Spock to Perek, "has sent a vessel to this Space Station. They wish you to testify against Her Ladyship in a court of law on Telep. I am to escort you to the shuttle bay, from which you will depart at oh-nine-thirty hours."

Perek wore an expression which suggested that he'd known all along that events would unfold this way. No one had believed him, but now he'd been vindicated.

As they walked down the corridor Perek said, "All signs point to Her Ladyship's guilt, eh? I did tell you so."

"The testimony gathered does not conclusively indicate her guilt. However, we have identified the toxin which killed the Prime Minister, and your government is anxious to use this discovery to indict her."

Perek kept pace with Spock's long strides, but his tone changed suddenly. "You mean, there's a way to prove…that she did it?"

"It is probable."

"Hm. Well, that's good. Put a little sense into our women. A little fear."

The guard was silent the rest of the way, which Spock found a relief. Typically, when a humanoid had a few minutes alone with Spock, they would reveal their curiosity about him and his homeworld, sometimes with a single sly question, sometimes with a boisterious barrage of them. Spock found it tiresome; they were always the same questions.

Spock led Perek past an open doorway topped with a sign: FORENSICS AND ANALYSIS.

Perek must not have known anything about Vulcans. He must have seen this one's slender physique and mild demeanor and taken him for a weakling. That or desperation were the only possible explanations for his attack, because clearly Spock could best the guard in physical combat.

He took a leap and clobbered Spock, forcing him into the Forensics lab. He picked up the first sizeable weapon within arm's reach, a compound microscope, and tried to subdue Spock through blunt trauma. But Spock dodged each blow, and before he could disarm Perek, the guard disarmed himself, throwing the microscope in frustration. Perhaps he was only accustomed to using blade weapons, or perhaps he'd just never been challeneged. But his eyes lit up when the frail, human starship surgeon entered the room to see what all the racket was.

Spock was concerned now. He himself was more than a match for the guard, but the doctor was not. The light armor Perek wore precluded the use of the neck pinch. Spock was quicker than the guard but he would need to get closer than arm's reach in order to neutralize this threat.

When he saw the guard flailing about, McCoy froze with shock. He honestly had no idea what was going on or what he ought to do about it. He was a man who could talk his way out of someone's hands around his throat, but until those hands were actually there, he was no good. And now Perek was headed straight for him, presumably with the intent of taking him hostage. But the guard hesitated for a fraction of a second, to look for something else he could use as a weapon. Spock used this instant to lunge at the guard, and he managed to restrain one arm. But with the other arm, Perek swung around and cracked Spock square in the jaw. Throwing the punch set him off balance, though, and between the two of them Spock had the quicker recovery. He tripped the guard up, and Perek fell right into Spock's arms. With both hands Spock flung him against the wall. When Perek struck the spectrographic instrument panel, he was knocked out cold. As he slid down the wall, his skull hit the far-infrared switch. Under the lamp, his hands glowed brightly.

McCoy gaped at the slumped, luminescent guard. "I think Jim is going to want to see this."

"Indeed," said Spock. "And the crew of the Telep vessel."

"I'm guessing Her Ladyship would be interested as well."

"Also, the ambassador."

McCoy swallowed. "Well, one of us had better start pushing that intercom button, then."

***

Kirk brought with him to the lab two Telep law enforcement officers, who recoiled at the sight of the glowing Perek. "Calm down," McCoy snapped. "He's not dead, and he's not sick." He explained, in the quickest, simplest way he could, what had happened and what the glowing hands meant. The officers continued to stand there, weapons in hand, just looking at Perek.

"So, you'll probably want to put him in restraints, before he regains consciousness," Kirk hinted. The officers snapped to and did so.

"We will also be taking the Prime Minister," one of them said to McCoy. "What do the documents say about the transport of his body?"

"The documents!" McCoy hadn't had a chance to open them before Perek's rampage had begun. He picked the envelope up off the exam table and broke the seal. "There are two data wafers in here," he reported. He read the labels. "One looks like a set of instructions, and the other one looks like a…last will and testament?" McCoy popped the wafers into the computer, which translated the files within and put them onscreen for McCoy to read. He skimmed the documents for information relevant to the care of the Prime Minister's body, but instead found a pertinent passage of another nature which he began to read aloud: "In the event of my death, my wife, Her Ladyship Tanep, daughter of Rakep, is not to succeed me as Prime Minister. The Prime Minister is always the most likely target of assassination on Telep, and I love her too much to subject her to this danger. Rather, I decree that the post will be filled by the captain of my guard, Perek, whom I trust above all others and whom I have been grooming to replace me."

No one seemed to have anything to say to this. McCoy looked out at a room full of stunned or stalwart faces. He moved on to the second set of documents, reading them in silence and saying finally, "He left no special instructions about the transport of his body, only the interment. I will retrieve the body from stasis and take it to the docking bacy, per Starfleet regulations."

The officers were a little behind. "You mean," said the one who was holding Perek in restraints, "this is our new Prime Minister?"

***

The ambassador continued to pay every respect to the Telep as he saw them off in the docking bay. Her Ladyship thanked the ambassador for his kind words and his efforts, and bowed to him. Neither Spock nor McCoy said anything to her, so she could not speak to them, but before boarding the vessel she turned back to regard them fondly, and bowed. Her servant did the same, with less grace and reserve, and Her Ladyship felt it necessary to gently guide the grinning girl up the ramp before she did something improper.

Spock said, to McCoy, "It appears we have spared an innocent life, or at least an innocent reputation. Still, it is unfortuante that we did not have time to find an antidote or treatment for the legume toxin."

McCoy agreed, but stopped mid-nod when he realized, "Wait a minute. Telep was never admitted into the Federation." He turned to the ambassador. "So even if we found the antidote, we couldn't give it to the Telep. It would violate the Prime Directive."

The ambassador gazed wistfully at the ship as it retracted its ramp and prepared to embark. "Indeed. The Telep will have to find their own way our of their problem. I only hope that it happens in my lifetime, so that when they are truly ready to join the Federation, I may once again oversee it."

McCoy folded his arms over his chest. "I hate to sound hard-hearted, but I hope it's not too soon. I'm glad to be finished with this mess. I've got plenty of messes to deal with in my own sickbay." He turned to Spock. "I'm going to my quarters to get a couple hours sleep before the bureaucrats let us go back to the ship. I'll send you my notes later on, and you can add them to your report when you log it."

Spock took one step toward McCoy, making the space between them the absolute minimum comfortable distance for a casual conversation between Terrans. "Actually, Doctor, I was hoping we might make a collaborative effort. Once we have returned to the ship I will arrange for a time to meet you in your office."

Something inside McCoy lurched. He nearly took a step back in surprise, but caught himself. It was too soon after Spock had closed in; to recoil might be interpreted as a rejection. So now Spock was volunteering to spend more time with him? A human, laden with emotions? What's gotten into you? he thought, but gave a Spock a curt nod of agreement and reiterated that he was returning to his quarters. When he got there, he did not sleep.

FIVE

Honestly, McCoy knew his staff were more than competent. But sometimes a person just likes to make himself feel better by believing that the universe would collapse if he weren't there. He examined the specimen before him and frowned.

As Christine passed by him on her way to the dispensary, McCoy caught her and said, "Nurse Chapel, I think there must have been a fingerprint on the lens. You'll need to send all these plates back to the lab to be redone." He held one out to her, to represent the spoiled set.

Christine took the plate from McCoy's hand and muttered, "Yes, doctor." She gathered up the rest of the set. Her tone had not been apologetic, so McCoy guessed it was not her mistake in the first place, but Hell, he couldn't be here every minute of the day to double-check everyone's work.

McCoy reached out for his data slate, the one which contained all his notes from the Telep incident. He held it in his hand and considered it carefully, as though the object was a material manifestation of his dilemma.

Even after all the time they'd spent in close quarters while on J33-3, Spock had still asked for McCoy's company while he put together his report on the incident. This was unusual for Spock, who typically preferrered to compose reports in isolation.

McCoy did not like being the subject of Spock's uncharacteristic behavior. When someone he knew began to act differently around him, he would suspect that meant they felt differently about him, and them he would start to wonder if perhaps he felt a little differently about that person.

"Christine." McCoy was immediately embarrassed because his voice had cracked on the first syllable. "Christine, if Spock stops by, tell him he can find me in my quarters." There was really no question of "if." Spock had arranged a time and he would not forget.

McCoy took his data slate and fled sickbay. His stomach was fluttering. He thought that maybe he understood why that was, but he couldn't be certain yet.

***

Nervousness had apparently not compromised his sense of timing. It was barely a minute after McCoy entered his quarters when the door chimed.

"Come on in," he said, and set himself down on his bunk. There was only one chair at his desk, and he offered it to Spock.

"Perhaps it is better," Spock said as he clutched his own data slate, "that our discussion will be conducted here, in privacy. I wished to meet with you personally not so much to collaborate with you, but rather to consult with you."

Before McCoy could think the words, they were out of his mouth: "I thought maybe that was the case. That's why I had us meet here." He then realized that this was a lie, albeit not a malicious one. He wondered if Spock had sensed that he'd just lied, and he decided to try hard not to lie anymore, just in case.

"You are comfortable, then, with me speaking to you in your capacity as ship's counselor."

"Sure, that's what I am, here. Ship's physician, counselor, surgeon, advisor…occasional court jester…" He paused after saying this, then winced. Right, he doesn't laugh, not even politely at a bad joke. "So what's on your mind?"

"The Telep affair was quite fascinating. I have been exposed to a new facet of human love."

"Being First Officer on a ship with Jim Kirk, I'd venture to guess that you've witnessed too many facets already."

Spock ignored this. "It seems that love and intrigue are linked almost without exception among humans. For a person to exploit the love another person feels for them…it is something never seen on Vulcan."

"Yes, but I'll tell you something else you never see on Vulcan: a smile." McCoy put his data slate aside, and Spock did the same, gently setting it down so it produced two little taps on the surface of the desk. McCoy did not know if Spock was merely imitating the physical gesture, as he sometimes did to make a human feel more at ease, or if he was imitating the spirit of the gesture: removing a material obstacle to indicate psychological comfort and openness. McCoy continued: "It may seem to you that love always leads to disaster, Spock. A sampling of Earth's greatest literature alone will convince a person of that. But love doesn't just drive people to murder or betrayal. It can drive them to great heights, to dreams. I believe it is just as common for a man to want to do the right thing, out of love for another person."

Spock was not convinced. "A man should want to do the right thing because it is right."

Even though he knew it was condescending, McCoy couldn't help but smile at this. On the bridge of the Enterprise, Spock was precise and confident, and facilitated Kirk's decisiveness. If you asked the 422 other members of the crew, 420 of them would tell you only of these qualities, because those were the only ones they'd witnessed. And the other two, Kirk and McCoy, might only tell you of those qualities, to protect his reputation. But they would be thinking also of the other Spock, the confused, lonely Spock, who struggled so hard to understand what the human condition was all about, like a man trying to reach the end of a book to which new pages were always being added.

"Spock, I'd like to help you. Really. But what we're talking about, it's not something that can be understood by having someone explain it to you. If you want to know what it's all about, you're just going to have to fall in love."

Emotional control or no, McCoy could tell that Spock didn't like hearing that at all.

Perhaps the doctor was correct. Perhaps good deeds were not done for their own sake, as Spock had become accustomed to on Vulcan and which he had believed happened on Earth. Perhaps they were motivated rather by love. Familial love as motivator he could understand: a man performs exceptionally well in his employment, so that he might receive an increase in pay and be better able to provide for his children. This was logical. But to be motivated by a desire to have or maintain a romantic relationship with another person, especially a relationship which had questionable societal value; this Spock did not believe he would ever fully understand.

McCoy watched Spock take the data slate from the table and hold it against his chest with one arm, as he stood and made for the door.

"Wait," McCoy said. He took a wafer from his own data slate and held it out. "At least take my notes from the Space Station. If you have any questions, let me know."

Spock pinched the wafer away from the doctor, careful not to touch him. He paused for one more second, and said, "I will consider the things you have told me." He then experienced a brief sensation which at first made him believe there was a malfunction with the ship's artificial gravity. But then the feeling was gone, and Spock left McCoy alone, with his own thoughts.

FIN.