An eyebrow rose as the Vulcan checked the desk chronometer. "I am scheduled to make a routine inspection tour of this vessel in approximately one hour," he began. "Thea feels it would be wise to begin the masquerade while still aboard the Ravon, since Commander Tazol holds considerable prestige with the other Warriors. Undoubtedly," he continued, "Thea and Sarela will accompany me on the tour, and the two of you will remain here under guard." As an idea began to take shape, he turned to S'Parva. "The doorguards know who we are," he pointed out, "for they serve the Praetor personally. However," he added, "once the tour of the Ravonbegins, even Thea will be forced to acknowledge me in the role she has assigned to me. Since she will be posing as a mere adviser, she will not be able to question my requests without placing suspicion on herself. And since it is apparently common for the Praetor to be seen in the company of his personal slaves and guards, it should not appear unusual if I request the doctor's presence after the tour is in progress."

S'Parva smiled to reveal sharp white teeth as the plan became clearer. "When the guards open the doors to escort Leonard out," she said, easily picking up on the captain's plan, "it should be easy enough to escape." She scratched her whiskers thoughtfully. "If I can telepathically disrupt their thought patterns—make them believewe're actually going onthe tour, the illusion itself should be enough. They'll thinkwe're right there at their sides; and while they're reallyonly escorting Leonard to join you on the tour, I should be able to find an unoccupied computer access chamber and retrieve the necessary information. I'll get back here; and by the time you and Thea return, everything'll be normal again."

The Vulcan nodded quietly. "Since Thea has apparently taken over this entire deck for her personal use, it should not be difficult for you to move about freely. The majority of her advisers and slaves will be part of the tour party, and therefore occupied." He activated the small terminal once again, eyes intent on the screen. "According to these diagrams, there is an access chamber approximately a hundred yards down the corridor from our present location."

S'Parva took a deep breath. "Just keep them occupied for an hour and I'll have the schematics of the whole damned Romulan system!" she said confidently.

For a moment, Spock felt himself relaxing, and allowed his eyes to close. Yet he was still painfully aware of the time elements, the numerous deadlines, and the rapid progression of his own shameful condition. Already, he had felt the telltale signs of mental lethargy; and now, more than ever, he could ill afford imperfection. One mistake, he reminded himself, and it would be all over.

But his eyes sprang open suddenly as he felt the hiss of a hypo against his shoulder. He turned to see McCoy regarding him curiously, standing a safe distance away as he replaced the offending instrument into the medi-kit.

"Precisely what was that, Doctor?" he asked coldly.

McCoy's brows rose as the familiar nervousness and worry returned. "Just a little something to keep you on your feet during the tour, Spock," he replied, his voice unaccountably gentle. "Whether you believe me or not, you're on the verge of collapse!"

The Vulcan's eyes closed as he mentally returned to his own problems, pointedly ignoring the doctor's intrusion. "I assure you," he stated, "I am quite well at this point."

McCoy studied the hand-held scanner which he'd been running close to the Vulcan's body. "You'd better let mebe the judge of that," he replied, his chin setting firmly. He glanced out the corner of his eye, noting that S'Parva had curled up on the foot of the bed and appeared to be almost asleep. He leaned closer. "You're going to have to do somethingsoon, Spock," he warned. "And short of the obvious, I'm at a loss! These drugs aren't going to keep you going indefinitely; your biology's just too strong!"

The Vulcan's hands closed into fists underneath the table. "I am well aware of that, Doctor," he returned, voice deeper and more dangerous than usual. "I suggest you work on your own acting abilities and leave my personal affairs to me!"

Stepping back, the doctor shook his head in dismay and disbelief. "I've never seen any man as stubbornly set against something that's supposed to be enjoyable, Spock!" he said to himself. "And you can't convince methat there wasn't someoneon the ShiKahrwho could've … well …" He let the sentence trail off, face reddening. "Hell, half the crew's been trying to find the lock-code to your quarters for years!" The anger welled up again—anger at stubbornness, pride, Vulcan dignity. "Dammit, Spock!" he swore, grabbing the chair and swirling the captain around to face him. "What's so terribly wrongwith letting someone help you? Or do you just likebeing a martyr to Vulcan?"

Before he could move, Spock rose from the chair, powerful hands seizing him by the arms and roughly hurling him aside. Black eyes glistened like daggers.

"Your prying ceases to amuse me, Doctor!" the Vulcan hissed, taking a threatening step toward where McCoy had landed awkwardly against the wall. "And if you cannot confine your inquisitions to your laboratory, I may well find a reason to terminate your usefulness!"

McCoy blinked, staring into the haunted eyes of an animal. For an instant, the old stubbornness rose in the back of his throat, but he quickly clamped down on the angry response. He managed an unfelt smile, realizing that he'd finally found the Vulcan's limits.

"Sorry, Spock," he murmured, carefully edging away from the Vulcan's range. He took a deep breath. "I … guess I … pushed too far."

Without response, the Vulcan turned away, walked through the open archway into another part of the quarters, and would have doubtlessly slammed the door had it not slid shut behind him.

McCoy glanced nervously at S'Parva's stunned expression.

"He's no good to us dead, Leonard," the Katellan said gently. "Don't blame yourself for trying to talk some sense into him."

But McCoy slammed one fist into the other palm. "Sense, S'Parva?" he echoed. "You can't talk sense into a crazy man!" His own eyes darkened thoughtfully. "Maybe the only chance isto drive him over the edge. . . ."

The tour lasted precisely forever; and by the time the "Praetor" had completed the routine inspection of the bridge, engineering level and shuttle hangar deck, Spock found himself growing increasingly impatient. His eyes locked with Thea's for a moment, then quickly glanced away.

"I request the attendance of my personal slave, T'Lennard," he said in unbroken Romulan dialect, speaking to the Ravon's commander—a little spiked toad of a man who had been dutifully groveling and scraping for well over an hour.

"I shall bring him personally, my Lord," Tazol replied, bowing from the waist.

But the Vulcan shook his head, annoyed at the black hood which hampered peripheral vision and added to the intense heat in his neck. "Negative," he responded sternly. "Merely summon my quarters and have T'Lennard escorted here by my guards."

Tazol bowed again. "Yes, Lord," he said stiffly, eyes lowering in respect as he moved toward a communication outlet on the wall.

But Thea stepped forward, eyes narrowing suspiciously then lowering as she addressed the Vulcan. "If the Praetor grows fatigued, perhaps the tour should be postponed until a more suitable time."