It was late afternoon. The sun slid below the mountain peaks that surrounded the mesas on all sides and the sky faded slowly to a dustier shade of blue. Kirk raised a hand to shield his eyes, not from the fiery glow of the setting sun, but from colors so vivid and intense that his optic nerves perceived them as almost painful, like dazzling light: the purple of the mountains, the brilliant blue of the sky, the incandescent golden-red of the vines, which crept up the sharp sides of the mountains and tumbled onto the plateaus below.

Kirk stood with his men on the tallest plateau in the valley, between the towering mountains and the terrain four hundred feet below, a tidy patchwork of fastidiously tilled fields and trellised vines stretching almost to the horizon.

Spock motioned silently with the tricorder, and the group crossed a thick blue-green carpet of vegetation, the humans with their heads tilted back to better drink in their surroundings, the Vulcan with his eyes on the tricorder. They had not gone far at all when Kirk stopped to fill his lungs with cool damp air. "Smell that, Doctor."

McCoy obeyed the order and turned to smile. "Well, I'll be...smells like the summer jasmine we had back home..."

"When's the last time you had the chance to smell wildflowers, Bones?"

McCoy rolled his eyes even further heavenward. "I'd rather not think about it, if it's all the same to you...."

"Too long," sighed Scott, his tone approaching reverence. He shook his head wistfully. "I can't believe that anybody would want to destroy this...ach, if this place inna a sight for sore eyes...."

Spock looked up at last from the tricorder; he had been studying the readout with such a detached air that it seemed doubtful he was aware of the breathtaking landscape surrounding him. "Atmosphere oxygen-rich, Captain, slightly more than Terran standard." He hesitated for an instant. "Are your eyes troubling you, Mr. Scott?" he asked blandly.

Kirk grimaced. It was impossible to tell if his first officer was taking Scott's remark with typical Vulcan literalness, or merely enjoying some odd private joke. McCoy responded with disgust before the groaning engineer could reply. "He's just trying to say that it's pretty here, Spock. Of course, I'm sure that's something you wouldn't understand. I'm sure you find that tricorder readout infinitely more exciting."

"I am not incapable of aesthetic appreciation, Doctor," Spock replied mildly, apparently not in the least bit insulted. "However, I must admit to finding certain data in the readout quite fascinating, particularly the concentration of mineral elements in the soil--"

"Later, Spock." Kirk silenced him with an absent-minded wave of his hand, afraid the spell cast by the planet's beauty might be broken. "How long has it been since I've been on solid land like this, near flower, animals..."

"Exactly four-point-seven months since our last shore leave," Spock volunteered.

"Too long," McCoy muttered to himself.

Scott's voice was plaintive. "We will be taking shore leave after we complete this mission, won't we, sir?"

"If Star Fleet can't come up with any more last minute distress calls." Kirk's weak smile was unconvincing. "Let's hope for the best, gentlemen."

As the light dimmed, the four came upon a small well-kept vineyard. Spock reactivated the tricorder. "Life form reading ahead, Captain. Humanoid."

Beyond the field of trellised golden vines stood a small hut, nothing more than a mound of dried gray twigs, homely and awkward compared to its glorious surroundings. But the lone being who stood in front of the hut was as striking and deeply colorful as her planet. Her skin was golden, her eyes as purple as the nearby mountains and her brows as sharply upswept. Silver hair spilled down her back onto a cloak the color of the sky. She was very, very old, and her demeanor was that of one whose age has brought her to expect a good deal of respect from her juniors.

As the aliens approached, she rose to her full height of four feet and studied them with hooded eyes. She spoke slowly, neither smiling nor making any form of obeisance. "I am Natahia, the representative of the growers of the Aritani."

Kirk inclined his head slightly in what he hoped suggested respect. "I am Captain Kirk, representative of the United Federation of Planets. First Officer, Commander Spock. Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Leonard McCoy. Chief Engineer, Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott."

She did not acknowledge the polite nods directed toward her. "What protection does the Federation offer us? We do not welcome the intervention of outsiders, but too many of our people have died."

Kirk matched her directness. "We can show you how to shield your planet using a protective device that the raiders' ships cannot penetrate. Mr. Spock and Mr. Scott will install it for you and instruct you in its operation, and Dr. McCoy is here to help your wounded."

Natahia considered this information silently for a moment; when she spoke again, her eyes were full of pride and sorrow. "We are a people who revere the simplicity of life, Captain. We despise technology and its resultant complications, for our ancestors once worshipped it, as you do, and so destroyed themselves. We have learned to let the land provide all we need. But now we are forced to make use of your technology to save our people and our land in order to provide. Please understand that we welcome you with reluctance." She looked sternly at Kirk. "What price does the Federation demand for this service?"

"The Federation asks for nothing. If you wish, Aritani may ally itself with us."

She lifted an arched brow suspiciously. "What benefit is it to us to join you?"

"The Federation represents many planets, with no favor shown to its stronger members. All planets are given a voice. We have banded together because together we are strong. If Aritani joins, it would have a say in Federation matters and would receive the protection of the Federation."

"The affairs of the Federation are of little concern to us," she said coldly. "What is the penalty if we accept your protection, but do not join the Federation?"

"There is no penalty. Our protection is freely offered, regardless of your decision."

"Aritani then accepts the protection of the Federation, Captain Kirk. Talk to us about the glories of your Federation when the attacks on my people have ceased."

Kirk privately congratulated himself for not matching her coldness. "Very well," he answered politely. "We'll beam down the necessary equipment for constructing the shields. Mr. Scott and Mr. Spock will stay here to assemble it for you and show you its operation."

"And if you can show me to your wounded, ma'am," McCoy suggested, stepping forward slightly.

"Only one still survives this morning's attack. The ships appear so quickly in the sky, as if from nowhere, that there is no time for those working in the fields to hide. Five died this morning, and their fields are scorched, useless." She lowered her eyes. "A terrible thing, to see land destroyed."

Kirk and McCoy exchanged dark glances. Spock, however, appeared not to notice her seemingly greater concern for her land than for her people.

"Cloaking devices, Captain," he said. "It would explain why we detected no vessels in the immediate area."

Kirk nodded. "Spock, can you compute the maximum amount of time that a small pirate vessel could operate a cloaking device without refueling?"

"Certainly, Captain. Of course, it requires an enormous amount of fuel to operate such a device. Depending on the type of ship, I would say no more than seven-point-four-two hours. That is, of course, a rough estimate, based on the types of vessels currently used for surface attacks and known to Star Fleet Intelligence--"

"Thank you," Kirk silenced him. "That is sufficient for our purposes."

"Sir...do you propose to trap some of the pirate vessels beneath the shield?"

Kirk smiled. "That is exactly what I propose to do, Mr. Spock."

"What exactly is this shield?" Natahia demanded.

Spock turned to her. "An electromagnetic force that repels any physical object coming in contact with it. The pirate ships will be unable to penetrate it and will therefore be unable to attack the populace on the planet surface. It will also prevent those remaining on the surface after the installation of the shield from escaping."

"And of course," Kirk added, "if we can succeed in capturing one of the pirates, we can locate their base. No doubt it's on a nearby planet or larger vessel."

"Natahia," asked Spock, "do you have any idea why the pirates have chosen to attack your people?"

She tilted her face up at him in a small gesture of uncertainty. "The land is full of many things which are not important to us. Perhaps the pirates value some of these things."

Spock's left eyebrow arched almost imperceptibly. "Perhaps."

Natahia looked with concern at the fading sun. "It will become dark quickly now. Soon it will be unsafe to be outside. Please come inside, gentlemen, while Dr. McCoy attends to the injured grower." She stretched a short arm toward the hut, the regal coldness in her voice melting slightly. "Accept my hospitality."

There was something about the woman Kirk liked in spite of himself. He smiled. "Thank you."

Spock turned to him before they crouched down to enter the low-ceilinged hut. "Captain, I wonder if I might examine the mountains for a moment before I join you. I have found some interesting indications that I would like to verify." His hand touched the tricorder.

Kirk turned to Natahia. "Is that permitted?"

"Provided he does not stay long. When the sun has set, the night animals come out--then it is extremely dangerous to be alone outside."

"My night vision and my hearing are well developed and will alert me to the presence of predators," Spock responded. "And I will not be long."

"Five minutes," Kirk said.

"That should be adequate, Captain." The Vulcan turned to leave.

"Don't stay out past your bedtime," McCoy remarked with exaggerated paternalism.

Kirk and Scott found themselves unable to repress grins. Spock frowned and began to reply, then stopped himself as though suddenly realizing that the doctor's statement fell under the context of what humans labeled humor and was therefore unworthy of recognition. "With your permission, Captain." He walked stiffly toward the now charcoal-colored mountains along the edge of the plateau.

The sky was indeed darkening rapidly and the brilliant colors had faded to shades of gray, but inside Natahia's hut a large fire fed off the abundant supply of oxygen and illuminated the interior with dancing orange-red light. Neat, orderly, primitive. The furnishings were handmade and crude. Natahia motioned Kirk and Scott to sit on the floor before the fire while she led McCoy behind a loosely woven tapestry to examine the wounded man.

Kirk relished the silence as one who never hears a noise he has lived with all his life until one day it finally stops. The internal hum of the Enterprise's engines, the whine of the turbolift, the flat mechanical voice of the computer...he'd never noticed how loud his technologically superior world was, until now, sitting in this very quiet place, listening to the crackle and hiss of Natahia's fire.

Perhaps her people had a point.

"A bloody shame," Scott said into the fire, his face glowing from the heat. He too seemed half hypnotized by the quiet inside the hut.

"What's that?"

"It's just a bloody shame for anyone to think of attackin' these people. They mean no one any harm, and it's such a lovely place."

"I can't remember when I was in a place that was more beautiful."

Scott sighed. "Bein' here almost makes up for shore leave."

"Almost," Kirk agreed. "Tell you what, Scotty. If you and Spock get those shields up and we can be sure we've cleaned up all the pirates caught under it, maybe I can convince Star Fleet to let us kill two birds with one stone and send our people down."

"I'd be all for that, Captain. I just hope that Natahia person wouldn't object. She doesn't seem to be too keen on outsiders--" He broke off as Natahia emerged from behind the curtain.

She gestured toward Kirk. "Your Doctor McCoy says that you may ask Grower Mahali some questions now if you like." She held the tapestry aside for Kirk and followed him into the room, where she watched silently from a corner.

Definitely not one to trust outsiders.

The only light in the room came from a torch that flickered on the wall. The small form that McCoy hovered over was nearly obscured by the shadows; Kirk could hardly see its wounds, but he realized with horror the overpowering smell which filled the room came from burned flesh, not the wood from the fire.

"Burning phasers," McCoy hissed furiously.

"I thought those had been outlawed by just about everybody."

"They have. Renegades must have done this. I don't even think the Klingons would stoop so low." McCoy's hypospray hissed, and he straightened over the small figure stretched out on a blanket on the floor. "He's coming to now, Jim. He's badly burned and in shock, but he can answer a few easy questions. Natahia says his name is Mahali."

The golden man stirred painfully. Kirk knelt on the floor next to him, swallowing his revulsion as the smell of charred flesh intensified. "Mahali...when you were attacked this morning, what did you see?"

Mahali's thin high-pitched voice was cracked and tearful. "In the sky, silver triangles...light poured from them, and heat. It burned our crops."

"How many ships?"

"Two. No time to run..." His voice became a sob. "My sons...my sons..."

"Surface fighters," Kirk murmured.

"What are they?" Natahia spoke suddenly from the dark corner.

"A type of vessel used by certain of the Federation's enemies, and also by some renegade pirate groups."

Natahia turned to McCoy. "Can you help him, Doctor?"

"He'll live, Natahia. But it will be some time before he's completely recovered."

She nodded almost gratefully and led Kirk outside to Scott and the fire. He was relieved to get away from the smell of the Aritanian's burns.

"Grower Mahali had five sons this morning," she said softly. "Now he has none."

Scott stood up in his place in front of the fire. "It's a terrible thing that these raiders have done to your people, ma'am. This is a lovely place and I kinna understand why they would want to harm ye or your land. But you can believe Captain Kirk when he says that we'll put an end to it."

"I hope that you are right. I cannot understand them myself. They take nothing from us that I can see. They kill the growers, then destroy the crops and the land. They do not even eat the food. It is a horrible waste."

"Have you done anything to try to protect yourselves, such as banding together?"

"Growers do not band together, Captain, for battle or any other purpose. Each family takes care of its own needs; we value our autonomy. We have no weapons, and so we are helpless against the pirates."

"There is something here, Natahia, which is very valuable to the pirates, or they would not be attacking your people. Even renegades must have a reason for staying and killing in one area for so long. When Mr. Spock returns, perhaps he can tell us what the pirates are looking for."

She moved toward the door of the hut and peered out into what was now inky darkness. "He should have returned by now. It's very dangerous for one alone in the darkness near the mountains. The animals prowl, and one can easily lose one's step along the edge of the plateau."

Kirk looked beyond her at the moonless night, but could see nothing. "It's been more than five minutes, hasn't it? Spock is very punctual...maybe we'd better go look for him."

"You must wait until morning. It isn't safe--"

"We have weapons and light. I'm sure that Spock can protect himself, but he's been gone longer than he said he would, and that isn't like him. Scotty--"

"Coming, sir."

"Natahia, if we're not back in fifteen minutes, have Dr. McCoy call the ship."

Her expression was anxious. "I hope that you find your friend, Captain."

"We will," Kirk said confidently.

They found him.

They had searched the area near the mountains where the plateau broke off abruptly, beginning again after a drop of some four hundred feet. Scott put off suggesting that they turn the handlight on the plateau below until they had searched everywhere else. Reluctantly, Scott peered down, careful of his own steps along the edge of the drop. Kirk searched a short distance away; the height was beginning to make him dizzy, and his eyes were refusing to focus on the slender beam of light so far below.

He was calling the Enterprise to tell Chekov to search with the scanners when he saw Scott stiffen and draw his head up quickly, and he knew with heart-sickening certainty what the engineer saw. He ran to Scott's side, and, clutching his arm, was compelled to look down at what he could not bear to see. "Dear God, Spock--"

Spock lay on his left side on a bed of the tangling red vines.

McCoy's face was gray as he leaned against the wall in sick bay. "He'll make it, Jim."

Kirk closed his eyes and let his body go limp with relief. They had not expected Spock to survive.

"I've reconstructed the damaged part of his skull, set the broken bones. One lung was punctured, but that'll mend." McCoy paused.

"But?" Kirk stiffened. He knew that tone; it meant that the doctor was saving the worst for last.

"There's been a significant amount of damage to the left hemisphere of the brain."

Kirk drew a weary hand across his forehead and stared dully at McCoy. "What are you trying to tell me? What will that do to Spock?"

"There are a lot of variables involved, Jim. We won't know exactly for a little while yet. I'll have to do some testing."

Kirk's tone became indignant. "You can do something for him, can't you?"

McCoy sighed deeply, and when he spoke again there was a slightly sharp edge to his words. "I've done what I can for him, Captain. We're treating him with alpha-dextran for ischemia--those brain cells that survived but were cut off from the blood flow--but I can't reconstruct brain tissue that was completely obliterated, and it's too specialized to clone. It's likely that at least a few functions have been impaired--which ones permanently, I don't know yet. What we have to hope for is that Spock will retrain the undamaged brain cells to take over the functions of those that were lost.

"And some functions have definitely been affected. He hasn't gone into the Vulcan healing mode and he isn't controlling the pain. I've got him on medication for that. From the location of the damage, he probably has some speech impairment...but then, I'm guessing. You see, Vulcans don't have lateralization of function as we humans do--that is, the left side of the brain controlling certain functions and the right others. The Vulcan brain has an area controlling speech on each side of the brain. If one hemisphere is damaged, the other can take over. It's sort of an auxiliary backup system. They're also ambidextrous. Since neither hemisphere is dominant, neither side of the body is either."

"But Spock's right-handed," Kirk-protested.

"That's right. Comes from his mother's side of the family. That indicates that certain functions are probably located on one side of his brain, just as they are in humans. And if he has experienced some damage to a function that is not lateralized in both hemispheres, he will need some type of therapy so that he can relearn the function. But he is a unique case. If he were all Vulcan or all human, I'd be able to use the standardized tests on him and I'd know a little bit more right now."

"Look, Bones...I didn't mean to sound hostile for a minute there..."

McCoy nodded, his lips curving slightly in something less than a tired smile. "It's all right, Jim. I'm just sorry I can't tell you more right now, but I'm going to have to watch and wait myself. I've already put in a request for a Vulcan neurologist."

"I wouldn't hold my breath," Kirk said. Star Fleet was notoriously slow about such matters.

"I won't. And Jim..." His face darkened again. "Don't hold yours, either. He'll pull through, but it'll be along time before he's the old Spock again." He did not say, if ever.

Kirk looked beyond McCoy into the dimness of the intensive care unit in sick bay. The light of the life-function monitor softly illuminated the figure on the bed below. Spock lay on his back now, his face as peaceful as it had been when Jim and Scott had first found him; but this time his damaged left side was visible. Kirk repressed a shudder. He and McCoy had waited by Spock's side in the darkness for the transporter to beam them aboard, McCoy insisting that Spock not be moved except by the medical team waiting in the transporter room. The real horror came in the brightness of the transporter room, where Kirk could see the extent of Spock's injuries clearly, when McCoy and a medic gently turned Spock over to place him on the stretcher, revealing for the first time his crushed left side.

Kirk could not remember ever having been so terrified by the sight of anything before.

McCoy had done an excellent job of reconstructing the Vulcan's damaged left temple, but in spite of the surgery, Spock's pale face was mottled with dark green bruises. His left eye was nearly swollen shut.

"Jim," McCoy said softly, reading the pain in his friend's face. "I think you're overdue for some rest. When's the last time you got some sleep?"

Kirk murmured something unintelligible.

"Look, let me give you something to help you sleep--"

"No thanks, Doctor. I'd just as soon keep busy for a little while longer..." He looked at McCoy sharply. "One might ask you the same question."

"I...uh, I'm going to keep an eye on Spock for just a little while longer...."

Kirk closed his eyes and pushed the image of Spock in the transporter room firmly from his mind. "Bones, call me when he comes to. I'll be on the bridge. I have some questions that need to be answered."