Chapel frowned as she considered the question. "No …" she finally replied. "Not directly, anyway." She indicated one of the diagnostic beds with a quick nod of her head. "The closest is Yeoman Devoran. She came in this afternoon, complaining of migraines and dizziness." Chapel laughed somewhat uneasily. "She also mentioned something about … well … seeing … ghosts."

"Ghosts, Nurse Chapel?"

The nurse shrugged. "She didask me to keep it confidential, but … what with Reichert going a little crazy, I thought you might need to know."

Captain Spock nodded, glancing at Yeoman Devoran's sleeping form. He'd seen her only briefly, recognized her as being from Security Division. "She did not mention precisely what these … ghosts … looked like, did she, Nurse?"

Chapel shook her head, brows narrowing. "No … No she didn't." She paused, checking the readout above Devoran's head. "Doctor McCoy examined her completely, and wasn't able to find anything of a physical nature to account for the anomaly. He prescribed a mild tranquilizer and suggested she remain here for observation. I believe the doctor's also scheduled a full psyche exam first thing in the morning."

The Vulcan considered that—and realized it was precisely hisreason for not having reported his own incident. If FleetCom heard rumors of a starship captain experiencing hallucinations … His half-human blood had already caused enough mayhem with the High Council; no point feeding prejudices.

He nodded curtly. "Thank you, Nurse. That will be all."

As Chapel turned to leave the Sickbay, the Vulcan strode to the doctor's inner office, waiting for a moment as he gazed quickly at Yeoman Devoran.

Reality wavered, but he chased the ghosts away with some silent incantation. Logic prevailed.

Doctor Leonard McCoy studied the readout above Reichert's head for the hundredth time, still not able to fully believe what every medical test confirmed: dual encephalograms—two distinctly different sets of brain waves. And even in the most pronounced cases of schizophrenia, McCoy had to admit that he'd never witnessed anything quite as bizarre … or impossible. It was as if Reichert's brain functioned on two different levels—each independent of the other.

His brows drew closer together, blue eyes squinting in thought as he looked down into the young man's face. The eyes which stared back at him were wild—trapped-animal wild and haunted; and even under the heavy sedation, the once-handsome features were twisted into a grimace which was both pitiable and frightening.

McCoy smiled warmly, ignoring the uncanny caterpillar-shiver which skittered up his spine. "Feeling any better now, Carl?"

Reichert merely stared at him, green eyes hardening dangerously. He did not speak.

Absently, McCoy reached out, touching the young ensign's arm in a reassuring gesture. "Don't worry, kid," he said. "We'll find an answer and have you out of here in no time." But even as he spoke the words, he wondered if they were a lie. In the entire history of the Alliance, no one had ever attempted to destroy a starship. For himself, McCoy wondered how this would affect the future of humans on board interstellar cruisers; the Vulcan High Council had been reluctant enough to accept Terrans in the first place … and something like this wasn't likely to go unnoticed.

But his attention was diverted as the gentle bell chimed on the sealed entrance to the security office.

"McCoy here," he responded automatically. "That you, Spock?"

"Affirmative, Doctor," the Vulcan's filtered voice responded.

Going to the small panel on the wall, McCoy keyed in the proper coded sequence which would open the door. He grinned broadly as the Vulcan entered. Despite the fact that he'd been on board nearly as long as the captain himself, he wondered if he would ever get used to the psyche games they always seemed to play. He looked at the Vulcan for a long moment, studying the familiar maroon command silks, the gold tie belt, and pants which fell to the top of knee-length black boots. Somehow, suddenly … it looked out of place—and he thought of Spock as a misplaced sheep in pirate's clothing. The only thing missing was a big gold earring in one pointed ear. Now thatwould be just about right! But he shook the image away, motioning toward a chair as the doors closed and sealed automatically behind the Vulcan.

"Before we begin, Doctor," Spock said, sitting gracefully on the edge of the chair, "I find it necessary to review a transmission from FleetCom."

McCoy nodded, easily detecting the tone of irritation in the deep voice. He also wondered why Spock was bothering to tell him. But he motioned generously toward the communication panel. "Help yourself, Spock," he said with a grin. "Care for a brandy?" he asked, proceeding to unlock the "medicine cabinet" and withdraw a dusty bottle.

The Vulcan's brow climbed as he thumbed the correct button on the communication panel. McCoy's nonchalant approach to any given situation never ceased to amaze him. Such complete adaptability. Within twenty-four hours, the doctor had treated at least fifteen patients—the majority for minor bruises and abrasions following the competition tae kwan dotournament in the gym; the ship was operating on minimal power due to the engineering incident; and an ensign—who now lay less than twenty feet away in a security-restricted area—had attempted to obliterate the entire vessel.

The Vulcan pondered that information, then slowly allowed the brow to resume its normal position. "Yes, thank you, Doctor," he conceded at last. "That would be appreciated."

McCoy stared at the Vulcan, then looked at the bottle in his hand. Very slowly, a wide grin manifested in the blue eyes. He hurried back to the cabinet and withdrew two fat-bellied snifters. Then, as an afterthought, he replaced the first bottle back on the shelf and grabbed another—slightly more dusty than its companion.

"When youcondescend to take a drink, Spock," he explained filling the two glasses, "it's time to break out the good stuff. Vintage Antarean brandy," he boasted. "Guaranteed to put hair on your chest and raise welts on women and children!"

The Vulcan studied the doctor curiously. "Precisely why would one wish to imbibe a substance which would essentially alter the individual's entire metabolism, Doctor?" he asked, but nonetheless accepted the glass which McCoy shoved in his direction.

McCoy shrugged. "Consider it a human weakness, Mister Spock," he replied, not noticing that he'd addressed his commanding officer by a less-than-fitting title for his rank. "Now what's this transmission all about? I thought we got FleetCom transmissions on morning shift."

The Vulcan nodded agreement. "Apparently," he replied, waiting for the computer to load and replay the message, "this is of some importance." But before he could further explain, the green light on the panel signaled readiness with two flashes and a gentle beep-tone. The screen, however, remained blank as the message began.

"Admiral S't'kal to Alliance Starship ShiKahr," a very Vulcan voice intoned with almost mechanical precision. "As of this stardate, all Alliance vessels are hereby ordered to prepare for full operational battle readiness.

"After lengthy debate by Vulcan High Council and Human League of Planets, it is our joint decision to subdue any potentially dangerous invaders before hostilities arise. ShiKahrtherefore ordered to continue mission at Neutral Zone, and await arrival of two sisterships. ShiKahrfurther instructed to stand ready as flagship for initial trespass into Romulan territory. Captain Spock, you are authorized to organize initial assault. Other Alliance captains ordered to obey your commands completely in this matter. Details of strategy and attack vessels to follow."