The Vulcan's head tilted in curiosity. The ship's patrol was so utterly routine that he wasn't particularly surprised to see Kirk's nature asserting itself. The captain was the type of man who was always on the move, always seeking new adventures—and usually involved in dangerous excitement. In a moment of admitted illogic, Spock questioned the mentality of Command for sending the Enterpriseto patrol the Neutral Zone in the first place. Surely, he thought, it would have been more reasonable to assign such a mission to a Scout class vessel. The Enterprisewas, after all, the most efficient ship in the Fleet; and the Vulcan couldn't help wondering if the reasoning behind their current patrol was more complicated than anyone had been led to believe. And there was the matter of the manually coded transmission. But he rose from the chair and followed his friend. Kirk would tell him— whenand ifthe time was right. But as he passed by the chessboard, he reached out and impulsively righted the white king.

"What's the matter, Spock?" Kirk asked, face suddenly alight with mischief as he stood waiting by the now open door. "Afraid I'll have you court-martialed for insubordination because you beat me in another game of chess?"

The Vulcan merely shook his head as he fell in step alongside his captain, and they ventured into the corridor. "Hardly," he replied. "I merely thought it inappropriate to abandon the match so early in the evening. Your unorthodox approach to chess will doubtlessly assert itself later and you will discover some method of defeating me with an illogical and unpredictable move." He squared broad shoulders, innocently looking straight ahead as they approached the lift. "I am merely offering you that opportunity, Captain."

Kirk grinned. "In other words, Spock," he surmised, "you're generously giving me one final chance to humiliate myself."

"Captain!" Spock replied indignantly.

Kirk suppressed a laugh as they reached the lift. He thumbed the button, waiting for the doors to open. "You know, Spock," he mused. "Sometimes I wonder about you. Sometimes I think you're the ship's resident guardian angel—and other times I'm convinced you're the devil in disguise."

The Vulcan stared straight ahead, face expressionless. "Folklore issometimes based in fact, Captain," he replied enigmatically.

For a long time, they simply walked, visiting areas of the ship which were normally removed from the world of command. Finally as if by intuition, Kirk stopped in front of a large door, looked at it as if deciding whether or not to enter, then finally depressed the lock mechanism and urged the Vulcan along with a quick nod of his head. Spock followed, somewhat reticently.

"C'mon," Kirk prompted with a grin. "Stop acting like a cat who's afraid of getting his feet wet."

Spock remained stubbornly standing outside the door. "Captain," he protested, "it is a biological fact that Vulcans are sensitive to high humidity. The gardens—"

But before he could complete the sentence, Kirk seized him by one arm and dragged him forward with a laugh. "Live a little, Spock," he suggested. "And that's an order."

The Vulcan sighed, and slowly followed Kirk into the room. For a reason he couldn't pinpoint, Spock felt uneasy—as if this area of the ship was suddenly alien, dangerous. He lifted both brows at the illogical consideration, and took a moment to look around. Nothing out of the ordinary, yet the feeling persisted—as if ghostly eyes followed them. He swept the thought away. Illogical. Unacceptable behavior—particularly for a Vulcan. Reality seemed unstable. The brows rose higher, and though Kirk seemed oblivious to the sudden ethereal change, Spock couldn't deny its existence. Somehow, he felt himself altered, alien even to his own mind. But he continued following, nonetheless. Kirk's instincts were always good, he told himself.

Once inside the lush green gardens, Kirk felt some of the uneasiness leave him. He thought for a brief instant that he detected a hesitation in Spock, but when he turned to glance over his shoulder, it was to see the Vulcan standing close at his side. He dismissed the sensation, passing it off to mundane distractions and tedium as his eyes settled on the "world" before him.

The maze paths which ran throughout this Earthlike area of the ship gave the illusion of five miles of hiking trails in a natural environment. Kirk attempted to divorce himself from the fact that it was merely an impression—carefully designed by the builders of the Enterpriseto promote a feeling of "home." The room itself was approximately a hundred yards deep and seventy-five yards wide, almost overgrown with thousands of plants—flowers and small trees from a thousand different worlds. It was always spring here, the air fresh and clean. Even the air-conditioning vents had been designed to provide the illusion of a gentle breeze; and the domed ceiling spoke of a clear blue Terran sky, complete with clouds and occasional rainbows. When ship's night began to fall, a pseudo-sunset adorned the high ceiling, its purples, pinks and oranges all but obliterating the reality that one was still aboard a starship at least five light-years from the nearest Class M planet.

Forcing himself to ignore his own tensions, Kirk slipped into the Earth fantasy as he began walking along the central maze path—which would, he recalled, eventually lead to the deepest portion of the garden. As he looked up to see the Vulcan at his side, he couldn't help noticing that the gardens were having their effect even on Spock. The first officer seemed so much more relaxed and at peace here—even if somewhat distracted, Kirk noticed. For a moment, the human could almost envision his second in command swinging from a tree limb as he'd done once before—but not without the influence of spores to erase the normal Vulcan restraints. It was a soothing image, despite the fact that it was impossible. For an instant, Kirk wondered what would eventually become of his friend—of the two of them, where they would be in another twenty years. For himself, he suspected he'd still find some way of manipulating the stars, chasing adventure through the dark regions of time and space. But for Spock … His mind traveled back in time—to Vulcan. To a day when Spock had been prepared to marry … and disaster had resulted. Unbonded now, the Vulcan was walking a tightrope between life and death; for without the deep mental rapport necessary to establish a bonding, Spock would die in the blood fever of pon farr.

Despite the heat of the gardens, Kirk shivered, walking a little faster toward the central portion of the room. Surely, he told himself, Spock wouldn't die. Surely, he told himself, there would be someone with whom the Vulcan could bond, someone who could walk the path with him, balance him, love him.

For a long time, Kirk considered that. He wondered if the Vulcan knew what he was thinking, decided that it didn't matter. He would have said it aloud— hadsaid it aloud countless times. He smiled to himself. No secrets, he'd once told Spock. And the Vulcan had agreed. He closed his eyes, and attempted to put the frightening thought of the future in the back of his mind. It would take care of itself—somehow.

At last reaching the central portion of the gardens, Kirk took a moment to study his surroundings. Six large trees which vaguely resembled weeping willows grew in a circle approximately thirty yards in diameter. Branches like arms hung to the ground, sweeping against the grassy floor of the gardens.

Entering the circle of trees, Kirk took a deep breath of fresh air, and moved to one of the old stone benches which had begun to sport a healthy growth of mildew. He sat down slowly, then leaned back until he felt the cold moisture of the stone seep through his shirt and onto his shoulder blades. It was good in a way he couldn't describe—good in the same way a memory of childhood was good. It brought back recollections of sneaking off to the park on a warm May afternoon when he shouldhave been in school. He closed his eyes, enjoying the fantasy, the memories … the illusions which existed only in the past. But when he opened his eyes again, it was to see Spock still standing, looking down at him questioningly. There was concern—and possibly Vulcan worry—written in the black eyes.