"Just the normal instrument fluctuations now, Captain," Chekov provided. "Apparently, the blip was just an … unusual sensor malfunction. We're checking into the matter, but no miscalibration of sensors currently detected."

Spock nodded to himself. "Spatial scan?"

"Normal," Chekov replied; but an expression of confusion slowly grew on his features as he eyed the viewscreen. "Surely the Romulans would not violate the Neutral Zone with the ShiKahrin the vicinity; their instruments are undoubtedly capable of detecting us, sir."

Spock leaned forward, studying the familiar star pattern. "The Romulans have never been noted for their integrity nor their predictability, Mister Chekov," he pointed out. "And their cloaking device would aid greatly in getting a small vessel well inside Alliance territory before their presence could be detected." He glanced at Uhura. "We still have to wait until the blip is identified," he decided aloud. "Contact the T'Ruda, and have their commander hold his present location until further notice."

"Aye, Captain," Uhura responded.

With a dubious look, Spock rose from the chair, going to the science station. "As a precautionary measure, Mister Chekov, run a full security check on allship's sensor equipment. If that generates negative findings, begin an immediate sonar scan to detect anything large enough to be a vessel within five light-years."

The first officer stared mutely at the captain. "Sonar scan, sir?" he repeated incredulously. "That'll take days!"

"Not if you begin at once, Commander," the Vulcan countered. "And the time will be considerably shortened if you enlist the aid of off-duty personnel in Auxiliary Control. The complete scan should require no more than forty-eight hours." But internally, he grimaced. Two days …

The Vulcan turned from the bridge, heading toward the lift doors; but before he could reach them, the communication panel buzzed noisily.

"Uhura?" McCoy's voice said. "Is Spock up there?"

"This is Spock," the Vulcan replied, stepping over to the speaker.

"Spock, I need to see you down in Sickbay right away. Ensign Richardson and Yeoman S'Parva just handed me the results of a private research project, and I think you might be interested in them. Also," the doctor added, "this concerns Ensign Kirk. Unfortunately, the quartermaster hasn't been able to find him. He's not in his quarters, not listed on any duty shift, and the computer indicates that he hasn't used his identification chip for meals since the Canusian incident."

The Vulcan felt himself go cold inside, only then consciously realizing that he hadn't seen Kirk in over a day. Odd … he hadn't sensed anything wrong. But with that thought came another. He hadn't sensed anything. An eyebrow rose, and a cold phantom which he recognized as himself took a step closer.

"I shall attempt to locate Ensign Kirk myself, Doctor," he said at last. "If my search is successful, I will meet you in your office later this evening."

"Well … don't take too long, Spock," the doctor replied after a momentary hesitation. "If you can't find him within a couple of hours, get down here anyway."

Irritation crept closer, threatened to mutate into anger. "Of course, CaptainMcCoy," he replied, and headed for the lift once again, unaware of the astonished stares which followed him.

Chapter Fourteen

AS SHIP'S NIGHT fell, the Vulcan walked down the long corridor which would lead to the ship's botanical gardens; but as he reached the double doors, he stopped. A sudden wave of dizziness and disorientation swept over him, and blood sang in his ears. He took a deep breath. Something had drawn him here, he realized disjointedly. Something … human. After a momentary battle, the dizziness passed; and, forcing his hand to move, he depressed the button which would open the doors.

Ship's night was everywhere, and the pseudo-sunset colors on the garden's dome gave an ethereal glow to the odd variety of plants, trees and flowering vines which climbed the walls, completing the illusion of a small forest. He entered into silence, but a quick survey of his surroundings left him illogically disappointed. The room appeared empty.

He turned to leave, recalling McCoy's insistence, but stopped when his ears detected a faint sound of movement no more than a few yards away. His eyes traveled back to the doors, warring between Time and duty; but slowly his gaze returned to the central portion of the gardens. He'd heard of other starships becoming inhabited by certain animals which sentimental human crewmen smuggled aboard during planetfall, and he couldn't help wondering if some rodent or cat had taken up residence on board the ShiKahr.

Choosing a path which would lead to the source of the noise, he made his way past to dense foliage until he reached the garden's center. Six large trees grew in a circle, their branches cascading to the ground like dark veils of mourning. In contrast to the eerie sight, the scent of fresh earth and flowers came to the Vulcan's nostrils, and he inhaled deeply, wondering how long it had been since he'd experienced the inner peace which had once been a natural state of being.

Shoving the melancholy thought to the back of his mind, he simply stood there, pointedly ignoring Time and galaxies as the lighting grew progressively dimmer. At last, only a luminescent purple haze remained. For a moment, the colors took his mind back to Vulcan—to childhood days when the red sun had slid beneath a distant horizon, and golden sands had begun to cool beneath his bare feet.

Vulcan!He turned from the image. Starfleet had indeed been the only solution; and except for unbidden moments of retrospection, he had—he thought—succeeded in divorcing himself from the past altogether. But here, with only the plants to share private memories, perhaps it was safe to think of what he'd left behind. He realized that his nerves had been something less than perfect recently … and a few more minutes could not matter so very much.

In many ways, Spock accepted that he was no longer Vulcan at all; that culture and heritage had been stripped from him too many years before—when the marriage to T'Pring had terminated in disastrous mental disharmony.

He felt the sting of embarrassment return to darken his face, despite the fact that it was now years later. But his mother's human blood had been too strong, and the emotional traits which had been bequeathed to him in her genes had condemned him to spend the remainder of his life as a drifter … an outcast. Amanda could not be blamed for that, he realized logically … yet even Sarek had seemed pleased to see him go.

And, at the very least, he was free of T'Pring—an unfaithful creature who had held nothing but contempt for his mixed blood and distasteful human emotions.

T'kona … Go from this place alone. That's what T'Pau had ordered when T'Pring demanded formal severance of the bond. Leave Vulcan. Do not come back. T'kona, Spock…

Less than Vulcan … other than human. No choice but to obey T'Pau's command.

And Vulcan was gone.

He was drawn from his disturbing melancholy, however, as he heard the sound again—a distinct rustling of leaves less than twenty feet away. With an arched brow, he moved closer to the circle of trees, parted their branches quietly, and peered into cool lavender darkness. It took a moment for even his keen eyes to adjust, but he was soon able to discern the lone figure on the ground. At first, the logical portion of his mind asked if someone had been injured, or had fainted from the humid heat of the gardens. It was only when he looked closer that he remembered why he had come here to begin with: Kirk.