"That was a long time ago," she explained presently. "When I first came on board the ShiKahr, I thought … well … I thought I sensed a loneliness in Spock." She laughed wistfully. "And maybe I was naïve enough to believe I was the cure." She shrugged, not looking at the other woman. "But when I finally understood what it means to bea Vulcan … that's when I understood that Spock can't allow himself to become too close to anyone."

But she wondered if that was really the answer. There had been moments when the Vulcan had been tender, even warm with her. But she consigned those times back into the past as the barely readable smile returned. At one time, she recalled, she'd finally opened up to McCoy about it—had told the doctor of her feelings, had even suggested that perhaps transferring to another ship in another galaxy would be the best thing for everyone involved. Fortunately, McCoy had talked her out of it, had even helped her lay her desperate feelings for the Vulcan to a more comfortable rest.

"I don't know what—or who—he's looking for out here, S'Parva," she continued after a long silence which reflected only the gentle and faraway hum of the engines. "But I hope he'll find it one day." She smiled, and finally allowed herself to meet S'Parva's eyes once again. In them, she read tenderness … and a definite sense of understanding. But as she continued gazing into the intense black eyes, she felt herself start to slip. She gasped, unconsciously grasping onto the sides of the plastiform rest bench.

For a moment, S'Parva merely looked at the other woman, then pulled her hands away, deep eyes going wide as an echoing gasp escaped her own throat.

"What's wrong, Chris?" she asked. But then the images came. "Don't tell me you've got it, too!" Telepathic overload.

Chapel shook her head, instinctively denying something which had plagued her twice earlier in the day. She managed a smile, took a deep breath, and forced the dizziness away. "It's … it's nothing, S'Parva." Yet she knew the Katellan could read her all too easily.

S'Parva shook her head violently, long ears trembling furiously. "Don't you see, Chris? When I was massaging your back. I've—we've bothfelt the same thing. And I think I know what it is!" But she bit her lower lip in frustration. "Well, maybe not whatit is, but …"

"It's nothing!" Chris repeated, surprised at the anger reflected in her tone. She felt red heat climb her neck, into her face, and chastised herself for not remembering sooner that S'Parva was a touch telepath as well as a directional sensitive.

"But it is, Christine," S'Parva corrected. "I've felt exactlythe same thing—three times. Like I was … I dunno …" She shivered despite the heat of the room. "Like I was … slipping away from myself." Her voice lowered. "Like I was … losing any thread of sanity I ever had!" Impulsively, she rose from the bench, grabbing the other woman's arm and attempting to drag her toward the door. "Come with me down to the psyche lab," she pleaded. "I knowthere are imagesin there—but they pass by too quickly for the mind to record. If we can get some of them recorded on the vid-screen, maybe we can find an answer!"

Christine seemed dubious, then finally turned away. The vid-screen, for all its practical and medical uses, was still a humiliating experience. And despite the fact that S'Parva was right, the thought of four medical department heads— and the captain—psychoanalyzing her subconscious images caused her skin to crawl. Nothing incriminating, she thought. Just damned embarrassing!Images, yes. But … of what? First Officer Spock?She shivered. Easily enough explained—at least in her own case. Straight out of the textbooks. Knock him down in rank a few points. Make him easier to attain.The red heat crawled higher into her cheeks. No point dredging up restless—and unreachable—spirits. And the dizziness came again, refusing to leave her alone. She smiled to herself. It would be her secret … no matter what.

"Don't you see, Chris?" S'Parva interrupted. "It couldbe something important."

Christine smiled very gently, shook her head, and grasped the Katellan's warm hand. "And it couldbe nothing," she countered. But she hesitated—wavering between S'Parva's obvious concern and her own need to protect herself emotionally. Something warned that she shouldagree to the tests … but another part of herself rebelled. "Just … give me a couple days to think it over," she said at last. "And if it's still happening then …"

Very slowly, S'Parva nodded, somehow understanding the nurse's unique situation without questioning it. She reached out, tentatively placing one supportive hand on the other woman's shoulder. "Yeah, sure, Chris," she agreed with a tender smile. "But … can we agree to … well … compare notes over those days? I'll tell you any images I get and you do the same for me?"

Christine nodded, knowing it was a promise she wouldn't keep. Working in the psyche lab as she did, S'Parva was dangerous. And if the Katellan wanted the Vulcan for herself … Anger flared, but she concealed it well as she rose to her feet. "Same time tomorrow?" she asked.

"Same time," S'Parva agreed—and suddenly found herself sprawling through the air to land on the practice mat in a disorderly heap of disheveled fur. Her eyes widened in surprise and disbelief.

Laughing, Christine lunged, legs wrapped tightly around the Katellan's thick torso. "In case you'd forgotten," she reminded her opponent, "we've still got another fifteen minutes to go in order to fill this prescription." She pushed her shoulder into the heavy chest, struggling to hold the Katellan down. Vertigo came, spiraled, then retreated. She tasted the anger again, felt the encroachment of a rival. For a single brief instant, she chastised herself for the unbidden emotions. Surely, she thought, she'd dealt with her feelings for Spock years ago. Yet now they returned with a vengeance … and a whispered promise inside her own mind. Someone who did not exist told her in a voice only she could hear that she would have the Vulcan … if only she did not tell.

" Well, Spock?" McCoy demanded, open palm slapping the top of the desk as he stared at the Vulcan. The captain had not moved from the chair all night, running computer program after program. Even Reichert had finally drifted into a fitful sleep.

At last, Spock looked up. "The transmission is indeed genuine, Doctor," he replied with what might have been a sigh. "The voice pattern is a precise match to samples of Admiral S't'kal's voice which are already on file in the central computer." He leaned back, meeting McCoy's angry, questioning eyes.

For a long time, McCoy just stood there, expression hard and cold. An eerie feeling had taken up residence in the pit of his stomach—a feeling which he recognized as fear. "What about confirmation?" he ventured hopelessly. "Nobody in their right mind would issue an order like that!"

He stomped restlessly over to the other side of the small room, trying to imagine how Spock could remain so utterly calm. "It's gotto be a hoax, dammit, Spock! There's no other explanation."

Presently, the Vulcan rose, straightening the uniform tunic once again. But the gold sash remained in the chair from where he'd removed it the night before. Absently, he picked it up, tying it around his waist as he thought. But suddenly, an eyebrow climbed and he walked over to stand at McCoy's shoulder.