Welcome to My Fantasy


DATING GAME
Mary S. Van Deusen
Consort 2        J. Daiginault [Ed]        1986         pp98-112


There were only ten minutes left of first shift, and Trish was getting desperate. For the last three hours she'd been busily engaged in Vulcan First Officer Ploy Number 17, "Display an interest in his work." The problem was that since she also worked in the Science Department, she really was interested in the application of multiple annealing to four-space. By the time they'd finished the last set of measurements, she'd forgotten she was supposed to be trying to seduce him and, by the time she'd remembered, Spock was already summarizing the shift results for the benefit of the people coming on shift next.

It was all beginning to seem too much like an old-time musical comedy. All that was needed was the music. Which reminded her, that was the only thing she could find fault with in her otherwise perfect fantasy lover. He played the Vulcan harp beautifully, but she really wished he could restrian himself from the vocal accompaniment. Well, you couldn't have everything and, except for that, he was undeniably perfect. Admittedly a number of her friends did try to deny it, but they were probably just jealous that she got to spend so much time with him in the Astrophysical Lab.

Spock glanced up at Trish, and she hurriedly began her own summarization. Since she hadn't done anywhere near the amount of analysis that the Science Officer had, it didn't take her anywhere near as long. That meant she still had a few minutes to daydream and sneak a few lovesick looks before they had to leave.

This was it -- she'd promised herself! No more tricks, no more strategy sessions with her friends, and no more making a fool of herself. Ploy Number 1, before she realized she'd have to number them to keep track, was Be friendly but a little distant. Men like to take the initiative. After four months she'd decided that by the time he got around to taking the initiative, she'd be too old to care. That had led to Ploy Number 2, and Ploy Number 3, and ...

Ploy Number 7 had been Be sparkling. Let him know you're a lot of fun to be around. She'd sparkled until she got a headache and that was about all she'd gotten -- if you didn't count the offers for dates from 12 of the 17 men she worked with. As for Spock, she would have sworn he never noticed. That is, until he suggested she might want to check with Doctor McCoy about the possibility of an overactive thyroid condition. Far from sparkling for the next few days, she'd been lucky he hadn't suggested she go to the ship shrink as a manic depressive.

Trish wasn't sure she had yet lived down Ploy Number 10. That one was Surprise him. Chance your dress and the way you do your hair. Well, there wasn't much she could do about Science Department Blue, so that left her hair. There had been some awful gosip from the bridge crew about Spock and a wife. From all she'd heard, the wife was gorgeous and Trish didn't have a chance. Luckily, the rumors out of sickbay suggested that the marriage hadn't lasted long. But the relevant piece of information was that he was probably partial to dark hair. So, overnight her blond hair had changed to raven black. Her informant hadn't been too clear on the style, other than that it was very sophisticated. So down she'd trekked to a yeoman friend who used to room with Rand and, on occasion, fixed her hair. Lane had given her this hairstyle -- structure was the only descriptive word to come to mind -- that had taken six hours to weave and a day and a half to unweave. No one asked why she was wearing a scarf the second day, but she certainly got a lot of funny looks in the corridors. Even Chekov had come over during lunch and asked her out. He kept saying something about a picture of his old Russian great, great grandmother.

Ploy Number 12 wasn't quite as embarrassing, Share his hobbies. Luckily she was quite a good chess player. At least she had thought she was until she had talked into two games in the rec room. After the second, he had suggested she play with someone closer to her skill level.

Which took her to Ploy Number 15, The way to a man's heart is through his stomch. Actually, from all the Vulcan anatomy books she had crammed under her bed, it looked more likely that the way to a Vulcan's stomach was through his heart. Be that as it may, she'd written home to mom and mom, as usual, had come through with the old family recipe for banana bread. It had taken three days of research to come up with the right processor description for bananas and another two days to reserve the cooking facilities. How was she to know that the high level of potassium in bananas interacted extremely badly with a copper-based hemoglobin biology? Within five minutes, Spock's throat was swollen so badly that they had had to rush him to sickbay for an emergency tracheotomy. Trish had been frightened, guilt-ridden, and extremely frustrated by the way the captain kept hanging around the sickbay area so that she couldn't go in and apologize. No way was she going in and facing Kirk after she'd almost killed off his best friend! When Spock had finally been released, she'd apologized over and over again. He'd been so kind about it that she'd sworn off ploys then and there.

It was another two months before she'd given in to Ploy Number 16, and three months after that to today. Well, at least she could point to the increasing time between as some kind of progress. In fact, this was it -- no more.

"Is there anything I can do for you before I leave, Lieutenant Monnier?"

Trish looked up, startled. Spock was standing by the door about to leave. Somehow her mouth opened and the words came out, though she never knew later from where.

"Yes, sir. Would you be my guest for dinner and a movie tonight, sir?"

While Spock stood there in silence, the words kept repeating in Trish's head, "I can't believe I said that." Apparently, he couldn't either.

"For what purpose, Lieutenant?"

"A date, sir."

Spock had a blank look on his face as if he didn't understand what she was saying. Well, actually, his face was usually blank, but somehow now it looked just a little blanker.

"I am honored, Lieutenant, but you are aware of the Starfleet regulation on non-fraternization between officers and subordinants."

"Regulation 537, paragraph 5, sir." A bookmark marked the paragraph she had read and reread. The book, itself, was with the Vulcan anatomy books under her bed. "But the precise wording of the regulation is 'There will be no fraternization between a supervisor and a direct report without permission of the commanding officer', sir. Since I report to Lieutenant Commander Tsora, I am not your direct report, sir, and we are allowed to..." she paused but there seemed to be no better word. "fraternize, sir."

"Indeed, Lieutenant."

It was hard to see his expression out of the corner of her eye, but the instinct to stay at rigid attention was too difficult to suppress. It probably didn't matter anyway since his face rarely gave anything away.

"Yes, sir. The regulation's purpose is to avoid a superior being able to put sexual pressure on a subordinate whose review is dependent on that superior. By having an intermediate superior in the review process, there's always a second person in a supervisory position available to guarantee that you won't sexually harrass me."

A choking sound made Trish turn quickly to Spock. "Not that you ever would." She snapped back to attention again. "Sir."

"Thank you for your confidence, Lieutenant. Please sit down."

Well, she wasn't dead yet. That was something to be grateful for, at least. She moved to the lab table and sat down in front of the scope, letting it provide a natural screen between them. Spock took a seat on the other side, carefully steepling his fingers before continuing.

"Although I am honored by your request, I feel I must decline. The response which I believe you want from me is beyond my ability to give. I am a Vulcan and our ways are not the same."

Now she was on ground she knew.

"No, sir, they are not. Normally two adults of our age would already be bonded and so there is little use for the custom of dating on Vulcan. However, when an adult male or female isn't bonded and wants to arrange a bonding, they use the services of an older member of their own family, or a shivtar if there is no appropriate member of the family. The two prospective bondmates meet, meld and, if the meld is satisfactory, agree to the bonding. Since these options aren't available to you on the Enterprise, it's logical for you to turn to Earth customs instead.

"The way two people get acquainted in our culture is to go out on a date and see if they can find common interests."

Spock looked up from his examination of his fingernails. "Are you asking me to bond with you, Lieutenant Monnier?"

"No, sir." There was an element of frustration in her voice. "I'm just asking you for a date -- a chance for us to get to know each other better. After that, well, we see what develops."

"I don't believe we would be compatible, Lieutenant."

"But you don't know that, sir. It's not local to prejudge a situation."

She was counting her heartbeats in the silence.

"That's quite true. I thank you for correcting me. We will meet in the dining room at 20:00, if that's agreeable."

Agreeable? Trish hoped she didn't die of excitement first. That would be just her sort of luck.

"Affirmative, sir, 20:00."

There was something about his expression as he got up and walked to the door that made her feel very good, but she wasn't quite sure what it was. Gathering a few papers, she got up to follow, almost bumping into him as he stopped.

"I believe it would be appropriate, Patricia, if you called me Spock."

"Yes sir, Mister Spock!"

Looking into his eyes, she suddenly wondered how she had ever considered his expression blank. The trick was to watch the eyes, not the lips. Nodding gravely, he turned and left. Trish looked around the room to make sure that all the equipment was off, took several deep breaths, made sure he was out of sight around the corner, and tried an approximation of the Highland Fling Scotty had been teaching in the rec room lately. The whisper wouldn't have reached the other side of the corridor.

"He loves me!"

**************************************

Nineteen fifty-eight and forty-nine, pace, nineteen fifty-eight and fifty, pace, nineteen fifty-eight and fifty-one, pace. If Vulcans liked accuracy, then this Vulcan was going to get it, 20:00 it would be. The problem with her uniform was that there was nothing to fiddle with. She would have given anything for buttons to play with or, at least, a good set of Verzalton worry your enemy beads. Then she was at the dining room door, and so was he. Subduing a smile of triumph at her timing, she nodded and waited for him to precede her through. After all, rank hath its privileges, even on dates. He did and waited for her to join him in the walk to the processors.

If she'd had an imagination, she would have said it felt like the walk to the guillotine in Tale of Two Cities. She hadn't told more than two of her closest friends, but there was no doubt that the noise level in the dining room dropped perceptibly. There was just the smallest temptation to make a bow, but once glance at her companion and she resisted nobly. From the corner of her eye she could make out the captain's table. The chance in decible level must have just penetrated because he turned in his seat and stared. McCoy pulled on his sleeve and whispered something, but she'd passed out of line of sight before she could see what Kirk did next.

Whatever it was, the conversational buzz in the room suddenly jumped back to normal, or maybe a little bit higher. Spock seemed totally oblivious to the whole interchange, though his posture was slightly straighter than it had been.

"Your order, Patricia?"

A nearby ensign cocked his head and made a beeline for a crowded table. It seemed the gossip circuit was going to be hot tonight.

"Wasturv rice with mushrooms and a glass of Denebian lime juice, please."

There was a momentary pause before he inserted the order for her, then repeated the order for himself.

"Most humans find this dish an acquired taste."

A question was in his statement.

"Mom was an exceptional cook." And every night Trish had spent perfecting the intercept circuit in the processor order channel had just become worth while. The mention of mom, however, started an unfortunate train of thought for Trish that had a lot to do with bananas. "Look, there's a table free over there!" With a suitably stately rush they occupied the free spot and settled the dishes and the trays.

Eating provided enough activity to cover the first awkwardness. Trish thanked Whatever that mom had been an experimental cook. It had only taken two months of eating this every third night to finally acquire a taste for it. Now she could truthfully say that she almost enjoyed the dish. It was fascinating watching Spock eat. Food never fell off his fork and he never missed inserting the fork into his mouth at exactly the same angle in three-space. A raise of an eyebrow brought a blush to her face and she hurriedly returned to eating rather than staring. They were probably the only ones in the room doing that. Lane was at one of the nearby tables, blatantly resting her chin on her palm while she took in their every gesture. Luckily Trish had acted in some local summer stock andknew how to blithely ignore an audience. Spock was born for the stage.

The only one she had trouble ignoring was Kirk. Now that they were seated, she found herself looking directly over Spock's shoulder at the captain. In a community of over four hundred souls, she'd somehow managed to keep out of his way. But the look on his face reminded her of some of the stories she'd heard from less fortunate friends. She looked back down at her food.

"You didn't come into Starfleet through the normal Academy route, Patricia."

As the senior officer of her department, she knew he had seen her personnel records, but such records give only the sketchiest understanding of what brings a human being to a particular place at a particular time of their life.

"No, I was working in Federation Communications for five years and Vehicle Inspection for ten years before that."

"Indeed. What made you decide to join Starfleet?"

Her answer to this was usually some flippant reply about searching for a Tellarite husband who'd deserted her. Before those dark and serious eyes, she found herself remembering things she had thought she'd put behind her.

"I guess I never really decided. I just always knew. When I was a kid I used to watch science fiction movies a lot. You know, the ones where the Romulans would turn everyone on Earth into apiders and the Klingons would step on them?"

Spock didn't look like he knew.

"Well, anyway, I always dreamed I would be out there someday saving the universe for the good guys. Then I grew up and things didn't work out quite the way I'd hoped." She paused, remembering. "And it didn't seem as clear anymore who the good guys were. I got married, but luckily we didn't have any kids. Eleven years of taking care of a home and a husband, and working sixty hours a week so we could get by pretty comfortably." She shook her head. "Then one morning I looked at him and I realized that we were living in different worlds. His was comfortably safe inside our four walls and mine was out there, through the windows." She smiled as she let the past go. "So I just left."

"Did you ever regret it?"

Her fist clenched against the table top. "Never! Not once! Not for a single minute!" She leaned forward, trying to see through those dark eyes again. "Just because someone seems right when you're very young, doesn't mean that over time you're both going to change in compatible ways. Even if you're living in the same house, you can become very different people. And you can't live on someone else's dreams. Do you understand?"

Spock nodded, seemingly caught in memories of his own. "Even if you're not living in the same house, two people can grow so far apart that you would never know the child in the adult. Yes, I understand." If he hadn't been Vulcan, she would have sworn that he shook the thoughts away like summer rain. "May I get a dessert for you?"

"Chocolate cake."

"A good choice. My mother has an excellent recipe I should ask her for.

Trish's laughter followed him to the processor, and the interested stares of the lunchtime crowd followed him back. Spock seemed to now really be ignoring the bystanders. They settled down to their plates with enthusiasm.

"I still fail to understand how you came to join Starfleet."

"You mean you can't understand how someone with my background could get a berth on the best ship in the fleet."

Spock looked uncomfortable but nodded.

"Well, I went to the computer banks and looked up all the available positions in a starship. Most of them were things I hadn't a chance of qualifying for. I had figured that a starship had to be like a small city, and that there had to be some position I could fill, even if it meant washing dishes."

As Spock started to explain that dishes on starships were recycled, Trish interrupted. "I know that now, but I didn't know that when I started investigating. It makes sense, of course, to automate as much of the drudgery as possible. Even a yeoman position requires extensive training. On a lot of ships, they function as an administrative assistant." He nodded again and she continued. "So next I looked at the length of time crew stayed in particular jobs and, bing, I found it."

"Bingo?"

"I mean I discovered a position which required some training, but not so much that I couldn't eventually qualify, and which had such a high turnover that it made a perfect entry level position."

A light dawned in Spock's eyes. "Laboratory assistant."

Trish smiled. "Laboratory assistant." She settled back in her chair, replete with sugar satisfaction. "I was still working sixty hours a week, but I found a training program aimed at Earth-based and research station laboratories. I made sure the training was the same type that I would need for working on a starship and I signed up. It took me one year of three nights a week and one day per weekend, but I finished. My recommendations were excellent and one of my instructors knew one of the instructors at the Academy, who knew the personnel people in Starfleet who were just staffing up the Enterprise for the five year mission." She rarely allowed so much pride to show. "And here I am."

"Admirable. Persistance and being goal-directed are two essential traits for a scientist. However, I fail to see where you picked up your science background."

"Reading. The computer data banks have excellent referral facilities. All I have to do is ask it some simple-minded question about something we're working on, or about to start on, and it gives me a whole set of references listed in order of increasing complexity."

"And you read them all?"

Trish laughed at the tone of incredulity. "Well, maybe not all, but enough so that I'm definitely getting better." Unconsciously, she stroked her new lieutenant's braid, then glanced around in sudden confusion. "The movie, it's supposed to start at 21:00. Do you see a chronometer?"

It is currently 20:49:12. I was planning for us to leave at 20:56."

Yes, but you forgot I needed time to order the popcorn."

"I could not forget something of which I was never aware."

"Don't be so logical!"

**************************************

The crowd leaving the rec room was much larger than would have been expected from the title of the movie, The Monster that Ate Gamma Triangulum Five. Most of the attendees held the rank of lieutenant or below, and all of them, it seemed, knew Trish and felt an urgent need to say hello. As Spock had expected, they had arrived adequately early for a sea5t or, rather, for a seat on any other night. This time it looked like there were people sitting in the ailes. Trish had been just about to give up and suggest they leave when some nearby friends began whispering and pointing her to some empty chairs -- in the middle of the first row. There didn't seem to be much they could do at that stage, so down center they'd gone. Walking down and later walking out had seemed a lot like walking a gauntlet of curious well-wishers. From the number of hands exchanging sums of money, it appeared that there had been some wagers put down on this evening as well.

Spock directed through through the crowd and to an emptier spot near the turbolift. "This has indeed been an interesting evening. I must thank you for the invitation and for the opportunity to become better acquainted with you. It is surprising how different one's impressions of people become on closer association."

"Meaning, I suppose, that I'm not as much of a flake as you'd imagined. I have been acting pretty wierd, and I will try to do better."

That statement, to any other person, would have elicited some complement or reassurance. Spock just nodded, his attention wandering to something behind Trish. A quick glance showed her what it was -- Kirk! Now what was he doing here? The captain never attended movies and especially not science fiction movies. He had been heard to say that what they came across out here was stranger than the movie producers could ever put into a hologram.

Spock seemed to have finally remembered who his date was. With the politeness that had originally captivated her, he wished her goodnight and waited for her to leave. That was going just a bit too far!

"Aren't you going to walk me to my quarters, Spock?"

Spock looked completely perplexed. "I am not aware of any problem you might have in finding your quarters."

"I can perfectly well find my own way home. That's not the point." She tried to keep the frustration out of her voice and the logic in her arguments. "We're still on a date. That means a certain set of activities are performed. We've gone to dinner and we've gone to a movie. Now you're supposed to walk me home."

"Why?"

There was a terrible urge to reply "Because!", but that wouldn't accomplish anything. "It shows that you're sufficiently concerned about me to make sure that I arrive home safely."

"Do you expect something to happen to you between here and your quarters?"

"A lot of the customs of dating have their roots in antiquity. For example, the man always walks on the outside edge of a sidewalk."

Spock was looking even more confused so she took advantage of this to move them gradually toward the turbolift. "This was so that when people threw slop ots out the window, the liquid would arc away from the building and not get on the woman."

"Why would anyone throw a slop pot out a window?"

"Sanitation. It kept their own homes cleaner."

"But..."

"The important thing is that the customs of dating come out of thousands of years of Earth tradition, and even if they're no longer functionally useful, we feel that traditions are important to the mainenance of civilization. Don't you agree?"

By this time they were in the turbolift and on their way to Trish's level. Spock didn't even appear to have noticed that he had been kidnapped, and only Trish had seen the look on Kirk's face as teh lift doors were closing.

"Traditions are the foundations on which civilizations are built. It's just that I wasn't aware humans were so concerned with custom.

The crowd in the elevator was unusually silent as they considered with Spock the functions of tradition. He seemed to become aware of their interest, and all conversation ceased until the doors reopened. That didn't help very much since it seemed everyone either lived on this level or was visiting someone here. Trish tried glaring at her friends as they wandered with them down the corridor. All that accomplished was to give somebody behind her a fit of the giggles.

The procession reached her door and paused with them until Spock added a particularly Vulcan look to Trish's. With a murmur of disappointment, the crew continued on to a doorway farther on where they stopped to talk.

"I'm terribly sorry about the boors around here." Trish's voice rose on the word boors. It softened to a whisper. "I really am sorry."

"There is no logic in apologizing for behavior over which you have no control. I found the evening quite entertaining, and I hope you did also."

"I had a wonderful time. Will you come in for a few minutes?"

Spock glanced involuntarily down the corridor. "I don't believe that would be wise. Any such activity on our part is very likely to be misconstrued.

"That is the traditional last part of the date." Trish's tone clearly stated how disappointed she was going to be if the date were improperly terminated.

Looking trapped, Spock hesitated then agreed. There was a hush in the corridor as Trish opened her door and Spock followed her in. The door closed behind them.

"And now?" Spock stood stiffly in the doorway, plainly fearing waht was next. He was right.

"You kiss me goodnight and then you leave."

Blank silence followed this statement. For a minute Trish thought he might just take her up on the second part of her directions and skip the first, but with a squaring of his shoulders and his arms held tightly against his sides, Spock leaned down to kiss her. Trish jumped back. This was either the first of many or the only one. Either way, she intended to remember this kiss.

"Wait there." The order rooted Spock in place while Trish rummaged quickly under her bed. In less than a minute she was back, dragged a small black trunk which she put on the floor in front of Spock. Stepping up on the trunk, she leaned forward so taht they now stood almost noese to nose. Six foot one had met its match in five foot one.

"Now." She closed her eyes. Nothing. She opened them again. Spock just looked stunned. "It's okay. You can kiss me now." Still nothing. Very slowly she reached out and drew an unresisting Spock into a close embrace and, very gently, kissed him. His lips were thin and dry, his cheeks sort of scratchy as though he should shave more often. With a little prodding, she was able to work her tongue into his mouth. His taste was different than she had expected, and she'd certainly fantasized a great many expectations. It was a subtle blend of popcorn and lime-flavored rice, with just a touch of something exotic she couldn't identify. His arms had come around ehr, but he held her more like a support to keep her from falling than like a lover to keep her close. he didn't pull back at all, letting her kiss him as long as she wanted. Finally Trish gave up and pulled back. She looked into eyes that had apparently never closed.

"The Earth didn't move?"

"The Earth is always moving, but I fail to see the relevance of that information for us."

Trish raised an eyebrow in a motion she had been practicing for six months. Another raised back in appreciation. She laughed and he offered her a gentle smile. She held out her hand.

"Friends, at least?"

A warm, olive hand took a small, white one. "Friends." He helped her off the trunk. "Now I really have to go. The captain is expecting me for a late game of chess."

"Thank you, Mister Spock, for everything."

"You're quite welcome, Lieutenant."

She saw him out the door. And into a crowd that had gotten larger in the time they'd been inside. Spock ignored them all as he turned back to the door. "You're certain you have all the information you need for the stellar atmosphere class tomorrow, Lieutenant?"

Trish was just as fast on the uptake. "All but the time, Mister Spock."

"17:00 to 18:00. I'll send you a course synopsis before then."

"Thank you for your help, sir."

As he turned from the door and started toward the turbolift, Spock heard the sound of disappointed sighs and the rustling of paper as credits again changed hands. But by then he was already so deep into the problem of starting up a non-existent physics course that he didn't even care.

**************************************

"Hard to port, Mister Flynn."

"Aye, aye, sir."

The ship lurched with a stomach-dropped dive. Sulu grabbed back the controls and readjusted their heading, leaving a very pale looking Flynn.

"Look, Mister, three things: first, when I give you a command, you repeat it so that we both know you got it right; second, when I give you a command, you don't answer with 'aye, aye, sir'; and third, do you have any idea which direction is port?"

"Port is to the right, sir."

"Excellent, Mister Flynn. Then why did you take us down?"

Even at attention, Flynn managed to squirm. "I didn't mean to, sir. I must have pushed the wrong button."

"Well, Mister, the bridge is no place to be making mistakes. I want you back at the simulation console for the next week, and I want you there from start of shift to end of shift. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Now get going. And I want to see a finate state diagram from you before the end of shift which describes the function of every combination of button pushes possible on this panel -- by 17:00!"

Flynn's relief at getting out of the hot seat seemed to have faded at the prospect of how fast he was going to have to work to get the diagram for Sulu and still have time to eat lunch, a high priority for an energetic young man.

As the doors closed behind Flynn, Kirk got up out of the command chair and wandered over to the navigation board. He leaned against the console, watching Sulu perform the check of all indicators which the navigator always did each time he took back the board.

"Think he's got any possibilities, Mister Sulu?"

Sulu looked up from his lights. "Flynn, sir?" Kirk nodded. "He's one of the best I've trained. He knows every function and every maneuver, but he hasn't practiced enough yet to have the information go from his brain to his fingers on automatic. By the end of this week we'll be able to put him on third shift."

"Good. I would hate to wake up some morning and find we've ended up in Admiral Gathan's backyard instead of where we were supposed to be."

The thought of the admiral who had been in charge of the last space station they had hit for shore leave brought a shadow to even Sulu's normally happy countenance.

"No sir! I'll put him through the simulation test again tomorrow morning."

"Fine idea. Carry on, Mister Sulu." Kirk touched the navigator's shoulder for a moment, and then started back to his chair. He hesitated, then wandered instead over to Spock's station. Spock turned immediately as he became aware of the presence at his shoulder.

"Get enough rest, Mister Spock?"

"Quite enough. And you?"

Kirk stretched, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Next time I ask you for a rematch, remind me that I have to get up early."

Spock's slight smile told Kirk clearly how much influence the Vulcan thought any such suggestion of his was going to have on his captain. Kirk looked over Spock's shoulder to the computer screen.

"What are you doing?"

"Preparing for a class in the physics of stellar atmospheres that I'm teaching later today."

One of the windows on the display listed prospective students, some with marks to indicate that he had yet to speak with them. Lieutenant Monnier's name headed the list. Spock could see Kirk's eyes on the name.

"Oh, I hadn't heard about that."

"I've been intending to start such a class for the last few months and, since the next three weeks are scheduled to be quiet, I thought this would be a reasonable time to start."

Kirk just nodded, but the warmth and light seemed to have diminished in his face. He turned away and wandered over to another station. Spock watched for a moment then turned back to his task. A few intercom messages and his class was almost full. He doubted this had as much to do with the fascination of his department members for additional training classes as it did with the fear of turning down a request from the department head. Well, some othe time he'd try to make it up to them. Right now, he wanted that class to happen. The last name on his list was Kyle. Although Kyle was in engineering, the man had mentioned before that he'd like to qualify for another area as well. Spock started to send a message, then paused and looked around the bridge. Kirk was back in his command chair, looking at the forward screen. Spock turned to Uhura.

"Could you find Mister Kyle and ask him to come to the bridge?"

"Certainly, sir."

It was less than five minutes before Kyle arrived, enough time for Spock to make some arrangements of his own. Kyle must have been in the rec room because he had a cup of coffee with him. Knowing Kirk, he had brought another for the captain. Kirk was looking a bit more cheerful.

"I have been speaking with Mister Scott about you, Mister Kyle. If you would still like to qualify in Sciences, we can arrange a change of assignment for one month. It will mean a very intensive schedule."

"I would like that very much, sir." Kyle was beaming.

"Very good. You'll start today by taking voer my shift in the Atmospheric Physics Lab. You'll be working with Lieutenant Monnier. I would also like you to join a class I'm teaching for the next three weeks on stellar atmospheres. Lieutenant Monnier can tell you about that as well."

"Thank you very much, Mister Spock. Give me an hour to clear away some modifications I was trying out to the transporter circuit, and I'll go right down."

"Take as much time as you need, Mister Kyle."

Spock turned back to his computer screen, fully aware of the fascinated interest Kirk had been taking in the conversation. It was a few minutes before he heard a soft voice at his shoulder.

"That was a very smart move, Mister Spock. She was too young for you anway."

The presence moved away. Spock smiled to himself. The lieutenant was only two years younger than Kirk, himself.

For the next hour, the Vulcan busied himself with the course preparation. In teaching, as in all other aspects of his life, Spock set himself high standards. he expected the students to learn most of the subject material from the available references. What he provided in an hour a day was a general view of the subject, a pointer to the references, and an understanding of how it all fit into the larger picture. Though none of his students would ever have told him, it was probably more his excellence as a teacher than his position as a department chair that had always guaranteed a waiting list for the few classes he found time to teach.

The bridge was quiet and Kirk was occupied skimming reports. The captain had taken to using routine shift time for cranking out the paper work that used to consume his evenings. Now they rarely had to put off a chess game so that Kirk could finish his more mundane tasks. For a few minutes, Spock sat at his station and watched the head bent to its work. Finally he got up and walked behind Kirk's chair. His voice was pitched low enough to reach the captain's ear and no further.

"Would you join me tonight for dinner and a movie?"

Spock could see Kirk's neck muscles tighten as the words penetrated. Kirk turned slowly to face the Vulcan, his voice just a breath above the background noises.

"Are you asking me for a date, Mister?"

Spock's lips curved ever so slightly up. "Affirmative."

There was a beat of several seconds while Kirk's face took on a speculative quality, and Spock began to fervently hope that he hadn't just made the biggest mistake of his career. Then Kirk smiled.

"I'll expect you to pick me up in my quarters at 19:00."

"That will be quite satisfactory."

Spock turned away before he was tempted to ruin his image with some very unVulcan behavior. But then, he thought, he'd be doing that anyway this evening. Temptation overwhelming logic, he stopped off at Sulu's station on his way back to his own. His voice was still pitched low.

"If you lost much money last night, Mister Sulu, I would suggest you attempt to recoup this evening."








maida@iment.com

Copyright © 1996, Mary S. Van Deusen