60

Afterwards, Kirk often teased that it had been the leather (or more accurately the synthaleather) that had finally done the trick. Spock had apparently been quite unaffected by seeing his captain in tights, a toga, a pinstriped suit and even, once or twice, nothing at all, but the leather had definitely struck a chord, which, Kirk never failed to point out, was rather surprising for a vegetarian. Although Spock never deigned to comment on this particular flight of fancy, he secretly agreed with his mate. It had been the leather, although not quite for the reasons Kirk imagined.

"....still no signs of the Galileo, sir. Sensor scans fluctuating, instruments ineffective....ionic interference." Uhura quickly returned to her console. Having nothing to report was better than relaying definite bad news, wasn't it? Somewhere in that swirling, ominous mass of Murasaki 312, a small shuttlecraft had disappeared as though swallowed up by a ravening monster.

"Seven days, Spock," the captain of the Enterprise said to his newly appointed first officer as they stood at the viewing window, watching the workers float around the ship's hull. The lights in the maintenance bay on Starbase 211 shone brightly through the pitch black of space and glistened on the floating starship. "Seven days to get away, relax and regenerate. I need this and so do you. What do you say?" The human captain tilted his head and looked up at the stoic Vulcan first officer.

Kirk handed back the fuel consumption report and idly watched his latest yeoman walk away. Somehow the view of the woman's nicely rounded hips slightly swaying just wasn't the pleasure it had once been. He frowned at the thought and returned to surveying the field of stars that slid slowly past. The Enterprise was doing a leisurely warp two. Their next stop was Starbase six for some major servicing of the ship and shore leave for the crew; they'd be there a week. But Starfleet didn't approve of pushing one of their vessels just because the crew was impatient. At this speed they wouldn't reach the base until morning, around eight hundred hours ship's time.

It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. The words kept repeating over and over in his mind until they blurred a reality too painful to face. Nothing made any sense: not the sympathetic faces of crewmembers passing in the hall, not the quiet, mournful atmosphere on the bridge, not McCoy's almost constant presence at his shoulder, a place that belonged to another. No, it wasn't true. Couldn't be true. They were wrong, every one of them. He'd prove to them it was just a terrible mistake and wouldn't they feel foolish when they found out he'd been right all along.

"Captain's log. We have just completed our survey of Sector twenty and are preparing to leave." As his captain recorded his log Spock began his final sensor-sweep of the system, a habit he had acquired when he was first assigned as science officer on the Enterprise and a sudden ion storm had nearly torn the ship apart.