THE WORDING of both dispatch and log entry seemed fine, but James T. Kirk looked carefully at both for one final time before committing one to a transmission chip and the other to secure storage. This mission had initially been a simple one involving astrography charting and stellar analysis. However, proximity to the Neutral Zone had given the mission a flavor of espionage, which made Kirk distinctly uncomfortable. He had felt the same way and for the same reason on several occasions in the past; the long-ago mission into Romulan space to "acquire" a cloaking device was one instance that kept coming back to mind. It had been necessary and even vital to restore the balance of power, but espionage and intelligence missions invariably left a bad taste in his mouth afterward, and that one's flavor had been particularly nasty. A bit like the past three months along the patrol corridor of debated space that separated the Federation from the Klingon Empire. Astrography, maybe; but the Klingons never took kindly to exploration in what they regarded as their own backyard. They called it spying and reacted accordingly. And since there were no recorded instances of Organian enforcement of their treaty restrictions in this sector, there was always that niggling suspicion that maybe they didn't enforce, at least not here, and when the Klingons found out about it...

Well, apparently the Organians did enforce the treaty. Or the Klingons hadn't found out that they didn't, which wasn't quite the same thing. At least nobody had tried to blow anyone else to plasma. One more mission successfully concluded. Home, James, and don't spare the horses. Kirk smiled thinly at the notion. Home, in this instance, would be Star Base 12, and the horses were crystalline dilithium. At least James remained more or less the same. He stood up, pulled on his tunic, and then, as the desk-mount communicator chirped, made a sound that might have been a little grunt and sat down again. "Screen on," he said.

"All finished, Jim?" Dr. McCoy grinned at him and Jim repeated the little grunt, knowing what was coming next. "One grunt for yes and two grunts for no." The chief medical officer was evidently in a fine mood, no different from any other member of the crew, now that the Klingons and the boredom and the possibility of unpleasantness were being left farther behind with every second that passed. One bit of unpleasantness, however, remained to be dealt with.

"Yes, Bones, I'm all through. Just the rest of the paperwork to deal with, and then--"

"Then, Captain, I'll expect you in sickbay in ten minutes for that full checkup you've been avoiding. You're already two weeks overdue, and you're holding up our schedule down here."

James T. Kirk rolled his eyes, but with McCoy watching from the screen with that knowing little smile on his face, it was beneath Kirk's dignity to rummage for any more excuses. "Make it fifteen minutes?"

"Fifteen. McCoy out."

The screen went blank, and Kirk let out the groan he had been repressing. Flag rank, years in the center seat, multiple decorations, commendations, and mentions in dispatches and he still hated medical examinations with the passion that others reserved for toothaches and taxes. Jim grinned a tight little grin that any dentist would have recognized, never mind Fleet medics with specializations in psychiatry, and looked at the desktop with its controlled clutter of pad screens and report-data chips. Just this once he wished there was some real paperwork -- on actual paper that could be scrunched up and flung vigorously into a real metal wastebasket with a real and very satisfying thunk. He hadn't been able to spare the time to do anything but captain the ship and oversee the crew members who were collating the mass of data that always accumulated when a Federation vessel ventured anywhere near hostile space, and his inactivity showed. Especially around his waist. McCoy would have words with him about that.

Kirk moved a few things, straightened edges, shifted items from one place to another -- but he didn't clear the desk. He had come to regard that as unlucky. An omen, perhaps, of an extended shore leave -- like the last one, two and a half years behind a desk console as chief of Starfleet Operations -- or a reminder of Fleet Admiral Nogura's ruthlessly clear desktop. His last serious visit to Nogura's office had lasted no longer than the three minutes he had anticipated. That had been long enough for him get his ship back. Keeping it, and staying fit enough to keep it, was his business now.

"Since an hour ago. I'm working on my own time."

"Me, too. Bringing my schedule up to date." Bones grinned and opened the drinks cabinet that -- with his own brand of sympathy or sarcasm, as required -- was as much a tool of his profession as any number of anabolic protoplasers. " 'Take a little wine, for your stomach's sake and your other infirmities.' Not so often, in your case, but when they arrive they're beauties and you hate them."

"I don't like to be sick."

"Quite so. Romulan ale?"

"Kill or cure, eh? I thought you mentioned wine, not illegal substances."

"I merely quoted an authority for my prescription. And this is purely medicinal. Here you are."

Jim sat down at McCoy's desk and eyed the glass warily as he took it. Its contents were the same rich, clear blue as a gem-quality sapphire and looked beguilingly innocent. He knew about Romulan ale and how deceptive that innocent look could be. There were any number of drinks that seemed as harmless as distilled water... though none of them, he reflected wryly as the blue ruin scorched its way down his throat, were quite as murderous.

"Feeling better?"

" 'Better' is not how I'd put it, but yes. I think." Jim got to his feet, put the glass down very gently, as if it might explode, and picked up his uniform tunic. "I'll be in Rec One. I want to see how the crew's doing, now that we don't have Klingons breathing down our necks."

"Sensible idea. I could make a good diagnostic psychiatrist out of you, Jim."

"I've already got a job, Bones. Don't bother." He pulled on his tunic and glanced back at McCoy as he walked out the door. "I'm a starship captain, remember?"