Scott took a deep breath. It could've been worse. "Aye, Captain. Scott out." He looked at Donnelly again, saw the color drain from the young tech's face. He managed a smile before returning to the energy-flow monitoring board. "Don't worry, lad," he said amiably. "The captain doesna bite—and if annaone can get tae the bottom of this, he's the one tae do it."

Donnelly seemed skeptical, but nonetheless nodded. His eyes settled on the board, on the so-called "malfunction" readings. "Why would Reichert dosomething like that, Mister Scott?" he asked at last.

Scotty felt the shiver dance along his backbone. "Now that'sa question best left for the psyche specialists, lad. Why annaone would want tae blow up the ship—and themselves along with it—is beyond my ability to comprehend." He winked, feeling a little more at ease, and moved into the dimly lit corridor which would lead to the Jeffries tube. The damage had to be somewhere in that region. "Here, lad," he said, indicating a belt-attachment filled with intricate tools. "Hand me that flow-sensor kit." He hoisted himself up into the catwalk, accepting it from the young ensign's hands—which, the engineer noted, were trembling. "Now get yourself back over tae that board and give me a yell when those readings start tae stabilize."

Donnelly moved quickly, but chanced a look at Anderson as he returned to the main room. His partner's eyes were wide, disbelieving.

"Just how close did we come, Dave?" Anderson wondered once Scott had disappeared into the shadows and catacombs of engineering.

Donnelly shrugged, pretending nonchalance. "Don't ask," he said, eyes on the board. Within a few moments, the readings began to stabilize, to approach normal. "There, Mister Scott," he called into the communication panel. "That seems to be it."

Within another few minutes, Scott reappeared, a wide grin of relief playing on the rugged features. He walked over to Donnelly, slipped one arm warmly around his back. "Yae can tell your heart to start beating again, lad," he said. "Luckily our friend didn't have the experience to send us up in one big bang."

But he went to the flow-board, checking it and rechecking it himself … just to be sure.

On the bridge, Captain Spock rose and went to stand at the science station, looking briefly over First Officer Chekov's shoulder. For some reason, the computer facility beckoned him, calling him in a way which was scarcely natural; the gentle hum of the circuits and microprocessors felt far more "right" than the harsh reality of the command chair. But he dismissed the illogical thought nearly as quickly as it presented itself. After being a starship captain in the Alliance for nearly seven years, now was a poor time to consider a major career alteration.

"All sensors monitoring nothing but empty space, Captain," Chekov provided automatically. "No Romulan vessels even near the edge of the Neutral Zone."

Spock nodded almost to himself. "And Mister Scott's present status with engine repairs?"

Chekov activated a series of controls, monitoring the engineering computers and comparing the information to ship's normal. "Matter/anti-matter energy flow now stable, sir," the first officer responded. "Engineer Scott signals that his repairs are now complete and that he is en route to Sickbay as per your orders."

"Very well, Commander Chekov," the Vulcan replied. "Notify Doctor McCoy that I shall be there presently." He turned and strode toward the doors; but before reaching the lift, his ears detected the faint whine on an incoming communication. He glanced at the communication panel, saw Uhura place the subspace decoding nodule in her ear, and waited. The standard morning's transmission had contained nothing out of the ordinary; if FleetCom was attempting to contact them now …

Presently, Uhura turned from the panel, automatically placing the nodule into the recording slot on the main board. From there, the message would be permanently inscribed into the ShiKahr's records.

"Lieutenant?" Spock asked when the communications officer made no effort to relay the message. He noticed that the woman appeared shaken, eyes wide.

Uhura's brows furrowed as she met her commanding officer's eyes. She eyed the nodule carefully. "I … I'm not sure, sir," she responded at last. "That message—it couldn'thave been correct."

The Vulcan moved to the communication panel instinctively. Something felt wrong. The dizziness was there again, but he fought it, drove it away with sheer willpower alone. "Precisely what was the message, Lieutenant?" he inquired, momentarily annoyed at having to ask a second time.

Uhura shook her head, glancing around the bridge. No heads turned; nothing seemed out of the ordinary. "It's on a priority code, Captain," she said quietly. "I think you'd better hear it yourself." Her eyes locked with the Vulcan's once more. " Privatelymight be best, sir."

A slanted brow rose. "Indeed?" But he trusted the communications officer implicitly. "Very well, Lieutenant Uhura. Have the message transferred to Doctor McCoy's private office and instruct Mister Scott that I shall meet with him in my quarters later this evening." He continued holding Uhura's gaze for a moment longer, wondering what could have brought such fear to her eyes. But he turned from the bridge and stepped into the waiting lift.

He would know soon enough.

Captain Spock entered Sickbay to find the lights already dimmed for night; approximately ten patients lay sleeping on the diagnostic beds, and save for the gentle hum of the medical computer, all was silent. He quickly passed by the beds, taking a moment to study the sleeping faces. Some he recognized, others were strangers; yet he experienced a peculiar affinity for each of them. A young female Rigelian lay peacefully on her side, and for an instant, the Vulcan wondered how she had risen to starship posting at such an early age. She could have been no more than nineteen Rigelian years of age. Curiously, the captain looked at the panel above her, mentally summoning a text-book accurate recollection of what her symptoms represented. The answer came almost without effort: hemoatrophia. Minor, he deduced, judging from the stabilized readings. She would soon recover; and for that, the captain was grateful. Regardless of all of Sarek's teachings, he still felt compassion—particularly for his crew, his ship, and for the few lifeforms he called friends. If Vulcan wished to consider him T'kaul'amafor that fall from logic, it was a sentence he would willingly accept.

He paused at the foot of the Rigelian's bed for only a moment longer, then moved on toward Leonard McCoy's office. But before reaching the door, it opened of its own accord and Lieutenant Christine Chapel stepped out, almost bumping into him in the darkened area.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, nonetheless careful to keep her voice lowered. "Captain Spock."

The Vulcan inclined his head. "Nurse Chapel," he replied formally. "I trust you have been well."

The nurse smiled warmly. "Yes, Captain. Thank you." She held out a mini-comp for the Vulcan's inspection. "Doctor McCoy has Ensign Reichert sedated at the moment. He was … quite violent when Security brought him in."

Spock nodded, studying the sparse information contained in the recording mechanism. Basically, it identified the patient, listing his symptoms as: paranoia, self-destructiveness and hallucinations. The Vulcan lifted a brow, then turned back to Chapel, unable to completely dismiss his own incident of the previous afternoon. "Nurse," he began, "have there been any … additionalcases of … hallucinations?"