No sooner had the door closed behind McCoy than the communication panel beeped insistently. The Vulcan moved toward it, tense for no discernible reason.

"Spock here," he said, activating the device.

"Captain," Uhura's voice responded, "we've just received a transmission from FleetCom." Her voice sounded tense, confused. "Admiral S't'kal has ordered the ShiKahrto divert immediately to the Canusian star system." There was a momentary pause, then: "According to the transmission, we're supposed to pick up the Canusian ambassador for on-board Alliance affiliation negotiations with Canus Four."

The Vulcan sat down, eyeing the panel cautiously. Routine treaty negotiations in the middle of an undeclared war which was scheduled to begin in less than a week. An eyebrow rose. "Precisely how far distant is the Canusian system, Lieutenant?" he asked at last.

"Mister Chekov informs that Canus Four is only twelve light-years distant from our present position, Captain," Uhura responded.

For what felt like hours but was no more than fifteen seconds, the Vulcan considered his position. Obviously, he thought, the Canusian Mission was nothing more than another symptom of S't'kal's madness. And yet … the Vulcan realized that it couldwell serve to purchase time—provided he used the new orders to his advantage. If the ShiKahrwere to be detained, perhaps S't'kal would at least postpone the trespass into Romulan territory. But … perhaps not.

"Very well, Lieutenant," the Vulcan replied at last. "Instruct the navigator to lay in a course for the Canusian system at maximum warp. Inform me once the ShiKahrhas achieved planetary orbit."

For a moment, there was strained silence. Finally, Uhura's voice came over the panel on a sealed privacy channel. "Sir?" she asked in a hushed tone. "What about … the otherorders?"

"Apparently, Uhura," the Vulcan replied, easily detecting the woman's concern, "Admiral S't'kal has decided that negotiating for peace with one world is of greater importance than beginning a war with an entire Empire. And … in this particular case, I believe he is correct."

Over the panel, Uhura laughed very gently. "Logical, Captain," she said quietly.

"Spock out." He turned off the communication device, leaned back in the chair, and took a deep breath. Hardly logical, he realized. But not unexpected. S't'kal was indeed quite mad … and soon, the Vulcan thought, he would not be alone in his madness.

It was late in the evening when the door buzzer sounded again, and though the Vulcan had long since abandoned the prospect of sleep, the grating tone was nonetheless annoying. He rose from the bed, only then realizing that he'd slipped into a state of light meditation while planning the details for the scheduled meeting with the Canusian ambassador. He glanced at the chronometer: two A.M. The buzzer sounded again, more insistent … and more annoying.

"Come!" he said sharply, surprised at the harsh tone of his voice.

The door opened to reveal Ensign Kirk standing in the hall, bright hazel eyes flitting nervously back and forth from the corridor to the interior of the dimly lit room. He did not speak as he stepped inside, doors closing with a whoosh behind him.

The Vulcan studied him for a moment, quickly detecting the embarrassment hiding behind an outward expression of defiance. For the briefest of moments, the Vulcan wondered what in all possible worlds had brought the human to his doorstep at this hour of the night; but slowly memory returned, and he remembered the pills McCoy had left with him a few hours earlier. Without preamble, he reached into the second drawer of the desk, retrieved the bottle of benzaprine, and dumped two capsules into the palm of his hand, feeling unaccountably nervous in the human's presence. He proffered the pills in Kirk's direction, but still the ensign did not look up.

"Guess McCoy told you about my little … problem," the human muttered as if to himself. "But since when are the captain's quarters considered a dispensary?" He was angry at having the knowledge discovered by anyone—and especially embarrassed that the Vulcan commander had obviously been informed. But he felt his hard resolve start to weaken. He glanced up, meeting the Vulcan's eyes.

"The doctor informed me of your addiction to lidacin," the Vulcan confirmed presently. Kirk was such an enigma. He could never predict when the human would react with anger, when he would be embarrassed, when he would board himself up inside that stubborn wall and be completely unreadable. And the fact that he'd only met the ensign recently didn't aid the uncanny sensation of helplessness. "And in response to your second question," he continued, "I thought it would be better for all concerned if you came here rather than Sickbay." He paused, then took another risk. "You … obviously do not wish it publicly known that you are … experiencing difficulties, and I do not believe you sincerely wish to be transferred off this vessel." So, he thought to himself, this was poker.

Kirk looked up, started to deny it, then abandoned the pose with a deep sigh as he flopped, uninvited, into a convenient chair. "Mind if I sit down?" he asked after the fact.

A Vulcan eyebrow climbed high as the captain sank into his own chair. Bluff called. He waited mutely.

"Why do you care?" Kirk asked at last.

Spock glanced away. But the stakes were too high to permit intimidation to interfere with logic. "I have … discussed your case with Doctor McCoy," he began, wondering where the statement would eventually lead, "and have come to the conclusion that you are somehow … a critical factor in the survival of this … universe."

But Kirk laughed, startling him back to reality. "Now that'sa heavy guilt trip, Captain," he said boldly. "I know the ShiKahr's received some strange orders, but telling me that I'ma critical factor is taking psychiatry a bit far, isn't it?"

The Vulcan shivered, glancing forlornly across the room. "I can offer no logical explanation," he replied truthfully. "I can only state what I … feel… to be true." He forced himself to look up once more, demanded his eyes to remain locked with the human's. Somehow, he hadn't expected this.If hehad been the intimidator before, it now seemed as if their positions were reversed; Kirk was questioning him.And yet … it felt right, normal, secure. He relented to intuition. "As I have informed you previously, there is a strong possibility that we shall not survive beyond this week. For the moment, it appears that we have, as you humans might call it, bought some time. Yet I shall not hesitate to point out to you—confidentially—that we are still not fully knowledgeable as to what we are facing nor how to … correct whatever damage has been done." He paused, wondering if he was making the correct decision. But holding back would accomplish nothing—and perhaps worse. He wondered what the human was thinking, what thoughts were traveling through the quick mind. "At any rate," he continued presently, "we have been diverted to the Canusian system." He held the intense eyes. "And I have tentatively scheduled you into the landing party."

Kirk's eyes widened. "Why?" he asked simply.

The Vulcan hesitated, steepling his fingers in front of him, wishing the action would accomplish the serenity for which it was designed. "Your early Academy records indicated that you were quite adept at diplomacy, Ensign," he replied, choosing a formal approach. "And since several members of the crew are temporarily … disabled … I find it necessary to utilize your services."