Kirk watched the ship’s doctor rise slowly from his knees. The crumpled form of the crewman remained prone on the transporter platform. The blood that seemed to be everywhere showed in dark contrast against the gray of the tattered tunic and the black of the body armor.

The other two crewmen who had beamed back from the landing party with the dead boy hovered nervously. Kirk dismissed them with a gesture. They look shaken enough, he thought. They couldn’t be blamed for the great beast that had lanced out from the cover of the rocks and mauled their comrade past saving in the brief seconds before they could turn their phasers on it.

The doctor shook his head as he descended from the platform. "If only I had been there..."

Spock interrupted, "Realistically, Doctor, could you have done any more for this crewman if you had reached him less than a minute sooner on the ground?"

"Well, no. I suppose not," McCoy answered grudgingly. "It’s just that...Why do you always have to be so damn logical, Spock?"

"It is who I am, Doctor," the Vulcan replied.

Despite his own grief and the sense of frustration he shared with the doctor, Kirk realized that Spock’s question was meant for both of them, and that it was more than simply cold-hearted rationalization.

"Come on, Spock, just because a minute’s difference wouldn’t have helped this boy, doesn’t mean there’s any reasonable basis for the new ruling. It’s absolutely ridiculous for captains to sit on the bridge waiting for reports, or worse yet, unforeseen tragedies." He pointed with his chin at the still corpse. He was lying in the position in which he had fallen, but now on the sterile, featureless transporter pad orbiting above the planet in the great white starship, rather than in the grubby dirt of the planet which still soaked in his blood.

Remembering his immediate duty to the crewman, Kirk signaled to the transporter officer. "Get him out of here, Chief."

"Aye, sir," Janice Rand replied.

Kirk led the others toward the exit so that the clean-up detail could do their work without the senior staff getting in the way.

As the doors swooshed shut behind them, Kirk started off in the direction of his quarters with Spock keeping pace effortlessly on his right, and McCoy trailing half a step behind on his left.

Kirk resumed the thread of his argument. "I still say it’s bad leadership for a captain to have to direct a landing party at arm’s length."

"The loss of a captain is more detrimental to the ship and the mission than the loss of a crewman," Spock reiterated the rationale behind the new Starfleet edict.

"You know, Jim, I can almost see my way clear to agreeing with Spock and headquarters on that one..."

Spock arched an eyebrow in exaggerated surprise. McCoy returned the implied commentary with a sour scowl. "Quit it, Spock. I didn’t say I agreed with the whole thing. It’s one thing to keep the captain out of danger in an unknown and dangerous situation. It’s another thing entirely to keep the ship’s doctor out of the action. The unknown or dangerous situation is when he’s most likely to be needed on the spot."

"If you had been there, could you have prevented the creature from attacking?" Spock asked.

"I don’t know. I suppose I..."

"And is it not true, Doctor, that the facilities available to you in Sickbay are far more complete than anything you would be able to carry with you into a field situation?" Spock asked.

"Well, of course. But..."

"And further—please do not take this any more personally than it is intended, Doctor—but is it not also true that the absence of a physician on board a ship would be at least as great a loss to the rest of the crew as the absence of the captain?"

"If not more so," Kirk chimed in. "I agree with the need to protect the doctor. The more you can do to safeguard him the better. But not the captain. It’s the captain’s role to lead, to give example, to be the first one in and the last one out." As a matter of fact, Kirk knew himself well enough to understand that those were precisely the elements he loved most about his position at the helm of a starship.

"I still don’t like it one bit," McCoy said.

"Doctor, our technology allows us to transport the injured back to the ship, within seconds upon their request, or upon command of the first crewman to see them fall. They are materialized in precisely the position they fell, without risking further injury, to a sterile, non-hostile environment where a physician can concentrate on tending to their needs without having to be concerned for his own safety. And the perscan units we now wear transmit all the vital medical information a physician needs to make an immediate diagnosis. Progress, Doctor."

McCoy had run out of arguments, but not out of steam. "Still not the same as being there," he muttered as they turned into the doorway of Kirk’s cabin.

They sat without the need for formal invitation. Kirk pulled out a bottle. Although he knew from long experience that the Vulcan would decline, he offered it to each of them in turn. As expected, Spock shook his head. McCoy, on the other hand, took longer to say "when" than usual. Kirk poured an equal measure in his own glass. He turned his desk chair and straddled it, facing the others and swirling the golden liquid in his glass.

"Bones, I know how you feel, even though Spock’s argument..."

"Starfleet’s argument," Spock reminded him.

"All right, Starfleet’s argument. I can see keeping the doctor out of harm’s way, but not the captain. A captain shouldn’t ask his men to do anything he wouldn’t first do himself," Kirk continued.

"But, Jim, where would a ship be without its captain?" McCoy asked.

"That’s what the chain of command is all about. No man is so unexpendable that he can’t be replaced. But it’s just wrong to say that some men are more expendable than others. That just because they haven’t attained command rank, or just because they chose to go into security or research or whatever, their lives are any less valuable than some captain who sits safe in his ivory tower while they take all the risks." Kirk knocked back the entire contents of his glass. "It’s like asking someone else to go out there and take your knocks for you. It’s morally wrong, and I don’t like it one bit."

"Had you been there, it could just as well have been you that was transported back dead, Jim. This was not an instance where leadership would have made a difference," Spock said.

"It was a pointless death, all right," McCoy agreed.

"And it would have been a terrible waste for a captain to be sacrificed in such a random and meaningless situation," Spock continued.

"That’s just the point, Spock: It was just as tragic for that boy to lose his life for no reason as it would have been if it was me. Worse, because he went down there following orders, not because he had a choice to go down there or sit safely in the captain’s chair watching the whole thing recreated on a viewscreen."

Spock’s reply was cut off by a chime, followed by the voice of the chief communications officer.

"Captain? Are you there?"

"Here, Commander. What is it?" Kirk answered in the general direction of the comm pick-up.

"Message transmission from Starfleet by way of Starbase Forty-Three. New orders, Captain. Shall I transmit?"

"Send it to my screen, Commander."

"Sending now, sir. Uhura out."

Kirk turned the chair to face the viewer on his desk. He nodded to Spock and McCoy to tell them that it was all right to look over his shoulder at the directives now scrolling beneath the fleet insignia. His official permission was the barest of formalities: both of his officers were already out of their seats and moving to positions behind him.

The new orders rolled up on the screen. Despite his prevailing mood, Kirk couldn’t help but respond to the adrenaline rising in his bloodstream.

A first contact mission. One of the most interesting and important tasks assigned to a starship on long range patrol. This was what it was all about.

A Class M planet. Promising. At least these would be some familiar frames of reference.

Fourth from the sun in a system in unexplored and undisputed space, about as far as one could simultaneously get from both the Romulans and the Klingons. That meant they would be able to concentrate on the mission without complications from competing interplanetary confederations.

Early investigations indicated humanoid life forms at a mid-level stage of industrialized development. Interesting.

"Wonder what’s going on here," McCoy mused aloud. "We don’t generally get to introduce ourselves unless a civilization has obtained some verifiable evidence that they aren’t alone in the universe on their own."

The background information continued to spool out onto the screen.

"Ah, there it is." Kirk underlined a section with a finger tip. "Looks like our advance boys got a little careless."

Sentinel satellites had been placed in wide orbit around many such planets during the last century or so. They were designed to passively record any transmissions escaping from the planet until both the mode and the implied technology of the broadcasts reached a certain predetermined level of sophistication. That would be the indicator that the civilization should be more closely evaluated for its readiness for a first contact.

The jargon Kirk was reading on the screen about "pre-anticipated evidentiary implications" boiled down to the fact that one of the observational satellite orbits had decayed, dropping it into the atmosphere. It had created an observable arc of fire across the horizon, leading planetary investigators right to the location where it had fallen. Normal shielding had kept it from total destruction upon reentry. So, whether they had found it by means of their own technology or not, the population of Doria now had pretty hard evidence that they were not alone.

The Federation Council had decided their best course of action was to go in directly, despite the unusually early phase of planetary development. As long as the damage had been done, they might as well try to make the best of it.

The Enterprise’s destination was only a day or so away, and Kirk was directed to make top speed in getting there. In the meantime, the remaining satellite would be broadcasting reassuring messages to announce their coming and to welcome the Dorians to citizenship in the greater universe.

After managing all possible damage control, and setting at ease the minds of the inhabitants about the friendliness of their nearest neighbors, Kirk was to make an assessment of whether this was a race that showed potential for Federation membership.

"Pretty tall order, Jim," McCoy observed.

"That’s what we’re here for, Bones," Kirk replied. "Looks like we have work to do, gentlemen."

"I’ll see to the course corrections, Captain." Spock moved toward the door.

McCoy took the hint and also offered his good nights.

When they were gone, Kirk restarted the message and read it over again slowly. A tall order, indeed. But no more daunting than the first obligation he must perform: notifying the dead crewman’s next of kin. He had to find some way to justify the boy’s loss to his family and—perhaps even more difficult—to himself. Even worse was the prospect of the funeral which would take place the next day on their way to the new assignment. He dearly hoped that the whoever or whatever to which he commended the care of the boy’s soul was really listening. Sometimes lately, it just felt like he was talking to empty air.

Dorian technology was sufficiently advanced to include the use of radio signals, but only at minimal levels. Radio was not yet being used for entertainment or advertising or even for general information as it would eventually be if the Dorians’ technology evolved parallel to that of Earth and several other Federation planets. That severely limited the information on culture and values readily available to the observer satellite, but at least it gave the translator programs a starting point.

Spock condensed and interpreted the reams of data for Kirk. "As expected in a pre-information age technology, Captain," the science officer explained, "there is not yet a planet-wide standardized language. There are fewer main language stems than might be expected, although each has an almost infinite variety of dialects and variations.

"Indications are that most verbalizations can be easily replicated by the Human vocal physiology," Spock continued.

"But we’ll still be using translators, won’t we, Spock? Starfleet’s not going to ask us to actually speak the language?" McCoy interjected.

"Of course we will be using translators, Doctor. The significance of the similarity to Human speech sounds is simply that it confirms additional shared physiological characteristics, hence a greater degree of common ground from which to begin our relationship with these people."

"Still no visual images of them?" Kirk asked.

"Not as yet. Our observers can see geographic features, architecture, even individuals moving about in the streets, but the resolution at orbital distance is insufficient to reveal facial features or other such details."

"Too bad they haven’t invented visual transmission technology," Kirk sighed.

"That does make assessment of new planets easier and more complete," Spock began.

McCoy interrupted, "Sometimes it can be pretty misleading, though. Funny how some people’s ideas of entertainment is so totally removed from reality."

"Indeed, Doctor," Spock nodded. "When Vulcan first evaluated Earth, we were particularly struck by just such a phenomenon. You cannot imagine the poor impression made by centuries of situation comedies and game shows."

McCoy started to object, but Kirk pulled the conversation back to the Dorians. "So what do we know about them, Spock, without the ability to monitor visuals?"

"We know," although Spock did not go through the motions of ticking off each item on his fingers, his tone implied the gesture, "that the Dorians are within Human norms of size and bodily configuration. We know that they build cities: small cities built according to plans, and using a fairly simple, low rise style of architecture, primarily of stone. There appear to be minimal to adequate road systems, which indicate the potential for a limited amount of trade. Technology concentrations seem to be highest in the area of agriculture."

"They can grow it, but how well do they distribute it?" McCoy asked, drawing on his knowledge of Earth history. "How are they doing on feeding the underdeveloped areas that seem to get worse instead of better in the early stages of industrialization?"

"Captain, the doctor brings up a very interesting point. This planet seems to have a uniquely equalized distribution of technological advancement. The satellites have picked up no evidence of either pockets of underdeveloped population, or deteriorated and overcrowded center cities. This appears to be a uniquely well organized society for this stage of technical development."

"If they’ve managed to avoid the world hunger phenomenon that affects most civilizations at some point or another and to have done it so early in their development, I’d say we’ve really got to hand it to them," McCoy allowed.

"Gentlemen, it looks like we may have found a new member for the Federation that can teach us something, rather than the other way around. We may be very glad that we decided to contact them earlier than the usual protocols would allow."

"Indeed, Captain. while it is very early to make such an assessment, all indications seem to support your hopes," Spock agreed.

*****

Within hours, the Enterprise reached the Dorian system and took up orbit around the planet. Satellite monitoring had identified a primary contact within the governmental structure. The society had not yet achieved planetary government. That was typically two or three centuries farther along the developmental scale. The current organization seemed to follow Earth’s ancient Greek model of city-states, loosely confederated around one preeminent metropolis. From their observations, all roads did indeed seem to lead to the city of Edliw. It was the hereditary leader of this city, Delessix, the Exceeding Urbanity of Edliw, whom Kirk would be contacting.

While the Enterprise was in transit, the satellite broadcasts had been modified to inform the Dorians of the time, date and intended recipient of Kirk’s first live transmission. The captain shifted anxiously in his chair on the bridge as the moment approached, hoping that this first contact would be well received.

Kirk checked the chronometer in the arm of his command chair and signaled to Uhura, bringing his hand down like a starter at a race to mark the moment. "Open a channel, Commander."

"Aye, sir. Open now."

Kirk did not turn from his position squarely facing the view screen. There would, of course, be no visual transmission to accompany this conversation. The Dorians could neither send nor receive images of the speaker’s faces. But still, it seemed the correct position from which to hold this dialogue.

Kirk took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "This is Captain James T. Kirk of the Federation starship Enterprise. Calling the..." he paused ever so slightly to consult the compuclipboard immediately at hand on the chair arm. He smiled consciously, knowing that even though they wouldn’t see him, the smile would show in his voice. "...The Exceeding Urbanity, Delessix of Edliw. Are you there, sir?"

There was a delay of several seconds while the primitive radio waves made their way to the planet by way of the satellite, where they were translated into Dorian for the Urbanity’s benefit, then back again to Kirk by the reverse route. Around him the rest of the bridge officers, along with McCoy who had taken up a position behind the command chair, held their collective breath in anticipation.

When the voice finally came through, it was crusty with static. The pitch and pace were very Human-sounding, even to the extent of being identifiable as a male voice. It was not punctuated with trills or screeches or clicks, and yet at the same time it was totally alien. There were no recognizable sound groups.

Even though Kirk himself was mono-lingual, speaking only English and relying on the translator for the rest, he could at least come close to recognizing and correctly identifying old Terran languages, or the relatively similar sounds of the Cassiopian or even the less Terran sounding Vulcan or Klingon tongues when he heard them. The sound of the Dorian speech was disconcerting—simultaneously familiar and not. Almost, Kirk thought, as if they’re speaking some form of English backwards—well not backwards, exactly—more like sideways.

In only a moment, the translator took over. Because of the delay in transmission, the translation was able to catch up with the speaker almost immediately. The sound of English covered the alien speech, fading it to a background echo.

"I am Delessix, the Exceeding Urbanity of the City of Edliw. I greet you, Kirk of the City of Enterprise." Kirk could hear the Urbanity’s voice struggle with the pronunciation of his name. The translator rendered it "Kirkix." Recognition that the suffix might be either an honorific or a rank designation, crossed Kirk’s mind in the pause that followed. Then his attention snapped back to the message itself.

"Word of your coming has preceded you. I am most anxious to greet you." Kirk knew that the satellite transmissions had been intended to prepare the Dorian people for these visitors who were completely outside their experience. Still, he couldn’t help admiring the composure with which their leader spoke to the first non-Dorian he had ever encountered; one whose very existence had not been suspected until only a few weeks ago. Then he heard the Urbanity’s tone slip from ponderous formality to allow for at least a little of the sense of wonder he must be feeling. "Is the day-star in the sky above the City truly a City that flies?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Kirk answered. Parked in a geosynchronous orbit around the planet directly above the City of Edliw, the Enterprise would appear as a point of light, bright enough to be seen by day. "We are a small city of only four hundred ninety-eight, but we do indeed travel among the stars," Kirk answered.

"You are truly a city of small size," Delessix preened. "The City of Edliw holds sixty thousand."

Kirk took no offense at the Urbanity’s pride in Edliw’s superior size. The events of the last few days would leave any man in his position feeling threatened. If the relative size of the Enterprise helped to allay his fears, so much the better for the future of the negotiations.

Spock looked up from his viewer, and spoke quietly to the captain. "Our information suggests a population of at least twice that."

Kirk shrugged. "Probably a mis-translation somewhere along the way."

Spock’s subtle expression said he wasn’t satisfied with that explanation, but that he could wait to discuss it at a later time.

"Your...er...Exceedingness," Kirk trusted the translator to get the mode of address corrected, "We would like very much to show ourselves and meet with you. Our‘city’ has small vehicles which can fly several of us back and forth between our city and yours. With your permission I would like to bring a few of my officers with me to meet you."

Starfleet protocols were clear on this issue. It was stretching the limits far enough to make first contact with a pre-space age race; showing off the higher levels of Federation technology, like transporters, was considered far too invasive to be prudent.

"You may come in your bird-wagon," the translator slipped and repeated the literal transliteration before recognizing that it should have substituted "shuttle." Behind Kirk, McCoy suppressed a snort.

"Thank you, er, your Urbanness." Kirk hoped he would figure out the correct form of address soon. "We will arrive..." he looked at Sulu for coordinates.

"There’s a field we can set down in just outside the city, sir. Given our directional mode, we’d call it to the west of the city, Captain."

Kirk turned slightly to his right, facing Spock’s station. "Time, Spock?"

"About two hours from now, Captain." Then, recognizing that they knew very little about how the Dorians marked time he made a swift approximation. "The sun should just be setting from their perspective when we land."

Kirk turned back to the still blank screen. "We will arrive outside the city in the direction of the setting sun at just about the time the sun meets the horizon, if that is acceptable to you, Urbanity."

"I shall greet you, then, at day-end, Kirkix." The Urbanity signed off.

"Well, then. To the bird-wagon, shall we?" Kirk grinned as he rose. He looked around the bridge. "McCoy, Uhura..." His eyes rested on Spock for a moment, then slid past. "Sulu. You’re with me." He turned to his yeoman, Carla Sommers. "Assemble the usual gear, lay out a dress uniform and so forth for a stay of several days and send it to the shuttle."

"Aye, sir."

Kirk headed for the turbolift, but before he could reach it, Spock’s low but insistent voice reached him. "Captain, a word?"

Kirk sighed. "All right, Spock." He gestured with his head to invite the Vulcan to join him in the lift. Spock was already on his feet, anticipating the invitation. "I’ll call you from the shuttle bay when it’s ready for take-off," he told Lieutenant, j.g., Chekov. "You’ll have the conn until I return."

"Yes, Captain," the security chief answered as he moved to the center seat.

Kirk spoke his destination, then waited until the turbolift doors closed, and the car started to move. "All right, Spock. What is it? If you’re going to give me some song and dance about the new ruling prohibiting captains from..."

Spock declined the opportunity to quibble about theatrics, and pleasantly surprised Kirk when he said, "Not at all, Jim. We have seen nothing on this planet that would indicate that there is hidden danger. This is not a wild environment. It is a formal first contact mission. As such, it is only appropriate that the captain be among the first landing party."

"What, then?"

Spock stiffened and paused in the Vulcan equivalent of shuffling his feet. "I wish to know why I was not included in your selection for the landing party."

It was Kirk’s turn to feel uneasy. "I, uh, don’t want to overwhelm them with the size of the party, Spock."

"Then it is only logical, in facing a new culture whose technology needs to be assessed, that your science officer would be a part of the landing party." Spock was obdurate, but Kirk knew that this was no mere childish jealousy about getting to be among the first to see the Dorians. Spock’s logic was not merely logical; it was also right.

It wasn’t that Kirk wasn’t confident in his decision, but he was uncomfortable explaining it, although he didn’t quite know why he should be. "All right, Spock," he began. "What I really don’t want to overwhelm them with is our, ah, diversity. They’ve never seen a being from outside their own world before. I thought it might be easier for them to assimilate if I start by just introducing them to Humans."

Spock’s face showed even less animation than usual. Kirk understood the inverse relationship between Spock’s emotional intensity and his expression. He really wished Spock hadn’t challenged him on this.

"Yet," Spock objected, "the Dorians already know that the Enterprise comes from a federation of planets, not only one. It should not be surprising to them that there would be diversity among peoples separated by interstellar distances."

"I know, Spock. I just didn’t want to spring that diversity on them all at once, that’s all." Kirk could feel the sands of certainty slipping beneath his feet.

"Then you have still made an illogical choice of landing party."

"Illogical? The doctor for biological/psychological observation. The communications officer is an obvious choice. Mister Sulu? No, I don’t need a helmsman down there, but he is being groomed for command track, and this would be an excellent opportunity for him to..." Kirk trailed off. He could see that he wasn’t making any headway with Spock. The lift doors opened, and Kirk turned toward the shuttle bay, with his first officer in lock-step right beside him.

"Although I still suggest the need for a science officer in a first contact situation, it is not the functions of your choices which make them illogical, Captain. It is their very diversity. To someone who has never seen a Human, I am no more different from you in appearance than Uhura or Sulu."

"Their..." Kirk began. Then the confusion cleared. Uhura was a female. And Sulu’s features were indeed different from his or McCoy’s. For that matter, Uhura’s beautiful dark skin set her off from the men in the party as much as did her gender. He wondered fleetingly in reviewing the remaining member of the party if "crotchety" was considered an element of diversity, too. At least on the surface of it, Spock’s argument had merit. The landing party he had named really was diverse. Except that he never thought of Humans in those terms.

If Kirk had any lingering phobias based upon race, they were about the really different races: the huge ones and the creepy crawly tiny ones; or the green ones or the blue ones; or the ones with antennae or wings; the water dwelling ones or the multi-legged spidery ones. At least that was where Kirk thought he drew the distinction between like-us and not-like-us. Now he realized that in choosing his landing party he had subconsciously placed the man he called his friend on the far side of the line. Now he knew why he had felt uncomfortable about justifying his decision to Spock.

The shuttle bay door opened. Kirk stepped inside and turned to the comm plate just to the right of the door. He hit the red button, then spoke into the grid, but his eyes never left Spock’s face. "Kirk to bridge. Landing party to Shuttle Bay. Lieutenant Commander Sulu, bring an extra tricorder. Mister Spock will be joining us."

"A logical decision, Captain," was all the response Kirk’s announcement got from his first officer. But the carved-in-stone mask that indicated an irritated Vulcan was gone.

Rather than belaboring the conversation, Kirk climbed inside the waiting shuttle and busied himself checking over the controls, even though he intended for Sulu to pilot the vehicle. Spock assisted with the pre-flight check with silent efficiency. He had made his point, there was no need to say more.

In a matter of minutes, the rest of the appointed landing party bustled into the shuttle bay, loaded down with gear.

Excitement about being part of what could be an historic first contact mission crackled in the air. It emanated particularly from his helmsman. Adventure was Sulu’s lifeblood. Kirk saw it and allowed himself a small smile. He recognized a kinship with the officer in that feeling of excitement. He’ll go far, as long as he keeps that sense of wonder.

The others entered the shuttle and stowed their gear. Uhura had demonstrated the forethought to have extra uniforms and so forth procured for Spock. "Hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty, sir," she apologized, "but you couldn’t very well spend the whole mission with nothing but the clothes on your back and a spare tricorder." Kirk found the image amusing, in addition to feeling a little chagrined that as a man he had thought first and only of the need for technical equipment.

Spock, however, gave no hint of how he might have felt about Uhura’s thoughtfulness with this solemn, "Thank you, Commander," delivered with barely a glance up from the check-in chart in his hands.

The crew distributed themselves around the seats, clicking their restraints in place. Kirk noticed that the doctor chose a seat at the back. He hated shuttles almost as much as transporters, and had the unfounded, but oft espoused theory, that if the shuttle went down, his fall would be cushioned by those in the forward seats.

As was typical when the doctor wanted to cover his own nervousness, he reached out to needle Spock. "So, Spock, you let your curiosity get the better of you, eh? Just couldn’t allow the captain to leave you behind?"

Spock didn’t deign to dignify the comment with a response. Kirk, however, after first raising a hand to signal Sulu to begin departure procedures, turned casually to look at the doctor over his shoulder. "It was the logical thing to do."

Through the forward port of the shuttle, Kirk could see the features of the green-blue-and-white swirled planet below them increase in size as they drew closer. He was always surprised at how much less distinct and yet somehow infinitely more beautiful and exciting the objects in space were when seen with the naked eye from the shuttle instead of on the huge, computer-assisted image on the bridge view screen.

Doria was a classic Class M planet. Less blue than Earth and more green, and decidedly smaller, yet similar enough to awake a wave of nostalgia like the one Kirk always felt upon sighting Earth from space. It was a sense of familiarity; a sense of being at home. Kirk could see from the quiet, relaxed smiles on the faces of his crewmates that they were sharing his experience of this well-known phenomenon. Only Spock’s expression was devoid of that look of recognition. But then, Spock’s expression was usually devoid—of much of anything.

There was the usual jostling as the inertial dampers adjusted when they entered the atmosphere. Other than McCoy, who simply grew more white-knuckled, and Spock who showed no change in demeanor, the transition into atmospheric flight heightened everyone else’s anticipation. They could see land features now, where breaks in the cloud cover permitted. There was no ocean to rival the broad Pacific of Earth, but there were many smaller seas the size of the Mediterranean or thereabouts, Kirk reckoned. The uniform lush green coloration proved that there was no shortage of water, even though it was distributed differently from Earth’s. Sulu remarked upon it, and Spock elaborated.

"Without great bodies of water or high mountains there is less opportunity for storms of significant magnitude to gather. The weather here..."

"No mountains, Mister Spock?" Uhura interrupted. "I see a beautiful range just over there to the right."

"Yes, Commander," Spock explained. "There are mountain ranges. However, they are very old ranges, not unlike your Appalachians. There are no high, raw ranges from more recent upheavals akin to your Himalayas, Alps or Rockies." He compared them to the North American ranges with which the rest would be familiar from the time all of them spent at the Academy. "That would indicate that while the civilization is several centuries behind either of our own, the planet itself is either much older or much less volatile than Earth or Vulcan."

"Less tectonic shifting because of small bodies of water, Mister Spock?" Sulu hazarded a guess.

"A good working hypothesis, Mister Sulu. Well drawn." Spock nodded approvingly, and Kirk noticed that Sulu sat just a little straighter in the pilot’s seat.

"But you were saying about the weather, Spock?" McCoy asked. Mention of any similarity to the south-eastern North American mountains of his youth made him a bit more animated and allowed him to loosen his grip on the seat arms just a bit.

"While there are the expected extremities of temperature associated with distance from the poles and seasonal changes, based upon a year about one point three seven nine the length of Earth’s, on the whole the climate is mild, with a long growing season and a lack of cataclysmic storms or pockets of severe drought."

"Sounds almost perfect, doesn’t it?" McCoy was actually smiling now. "That’s what I like to hear from you, Spock—good news for a change."

Before Spock could come back with a disparaging word, Kirk interrupted. "How much longer, Mister Sulu?"

"I see the city of Edliw now, sir," Sulu answered. "See, Captain?" he pointed, "that one right on the north bank of that big river over there."

They had passed over several recognizable metropolises by now. Most were located near water, which was almost unavoidable in this landscape checkerboarded by placid seas. Grid patterns clearly visible from the air showed them to be planned cities. Edliw was larger than most, and a more hodgepodge pattern of streets near the center suggested that it might be older than most. It had more likely grown organically rather than according to plan during its earliest days. Perhaps, Kirk thought, that had something to do with why it was considered the primary city of this loosely organized society.

Once Sulu had identified it, the shuttle closed in on the city rapidly. Just as the satellite surveys had shown, there was a field to the west of the city where they planned to set down. And, just as Spock had predicted, the sun was already low in the sky, casting almost horizontal light across the field and adding a warm glow to the richness of its green. A gathering crowd and a moving stream of odd, bulbous land vehicles converging on the field confirmed, if there was any doubt, that they had found the right place.

"Easy does it, Mister Sulu," Kirk cautioned. "We don’t want to land on anyone’s toes."

It was not that Kirk didn’t give his helmsman credit for either the importance of caution or having the skill to manage it. It just seemed the right thing to say at the time.

"No problem, sir," Sulu grinned, knowing that Kirk had meant no slight to his abilities.

A final loop, during which they were able to see the upturned faces and pointing fingers of the crowd, then Sulu used the hover gear and set straight down as gently as a falling leaf, right in the center of the field, and a good twenty meters from the nearest Dorian. He popped the hatch and the landing party stood, stretched, straightened their uniforms and filed out into the warm golden sunlight.

By the time the five of them were assembled in a loose wedge with the captain at the center, one of the Dorians had detached himself from the crowd and was moving toward them. A contingent of his fellow citizens backed him up in a mirror image of Kirk’s crew.

Kirk checked the translator, waited until the welcoming committee stopped a cautious two meters away, and spoke the traditional words that never failed to send a thrill up his spine, "We come in peace."

The Urbanity and his party acknowledged the greeting by crossing their arms over their chests and bowing from the hip, while keeping the head tipped up and maintaining eye contact. It was a gesture which nicely conveyed respect without subservience. Kirk nodded slightly, being sure to keep his eyes up as he had seen them do. A rustling of motion behind him told Kirk that the landing party was following his lead.

In that moment of mutual regard, Kirk took in the simple, yet elegant costumes worn by the Urbanity’s party. All were trousered, both the men and women. And yes, the gender differences were both obvious and very Earth-like. Short jackets, nipped at the waist, showed the males of the Dorian group to be trim and well built. Looser garments, cut low but within the standards of Earth-modesty displayed the women to full advantage.

The men wore their hair longer than Kirk’s, with bangs almost like Spock’s, but long enough on both the sides and back to cover the ears. The women’s was similarly styled, but longer. And it was a color Kirk had never seen before on such Human-looking faces. He guessed it would be called burgundy, or wine. Although, among the Urbanity’s party and the eagerly watching crowd he saw rich shades of purple and others tinting more toward red. Not the copper or even carroty color Humans called red, but a true, bright scarlet, occasionally tending toward the darker shades of ripe bing cherries.

There were five in the Urbanity’s party. Two women, two men, and a child, all beautiful specimens of glowing health. Kirk guessed the Urbanity to be about his own age. The others were younger. One of the women held the small child on her hip. Kirk’s limited experience of children led him to a more or less accurate guess that it was of an age comparable to three or four Earth years. The child’s hair was a mass of loose curls, shorter than either the men’s or women’s, making it impossible to use that feature as a clue to its gender.

All this Kirk noticed in the few seconds it took to return the Urbanity’s bow. He held it as long as he judged he graciously could, in order to give himself as much time as possible for observation. The Urbanity held the pose of crossed arms a second or two after he straightened from his bow, probably also postponing the need for verbal response while he assessed his visitors. With his hands thus displayed, Kirk was able to note a sixth finger on each hand just before the Urbanity returned them to his sides.

"In peace are you welcome," came the translation of the Urbanity’s reply to Kirk’s greeting.

"I am Captain James T. Kirk," the captain introduced himself.

"And I am Delessix. I need no titles when being addressed by an equal."

Kirk was pleased to be considered an equal, but wondered if he should read a subtle rebuke in the Urbanity’s statement, since he had used his own title in his introduction. He decided to let it pass. "Allow me to present members of my crew." He stepped back and indicated each of his officers in turn. Kirk omitted their ranks, however, in deference to the Dorian’s name-only protocol. "This is Spock. He is my first officer, my next in command. Spock is also a scientist."

The Urbanity looked at him curiously, but said nothing. Kirk went on. "Uhura manages our communications. She sends and receives messages and operates the technology that allows us to do so at great distances. She also studies languages and social customs."

Delessix regarded her with interest. It seemed to Kirk as though several thoughts crossed his face before he spoke. "We, too, have long distance communication."

"Er, yes. Yes, you do. That is how we learned about you before we came." Kirk decided to leave unremarked the vast differences between radio waves and subspace squirts.

"Allow me to go on. This is Sulu. He, uh, steers the ship—the city of Enterprise—through the, uh, sky." Kirk was finding it difficult to choose words which conveyed his officers’ functions without a mutual frame of reference.

"We are experimenting with flying machines, too," Delessix bragged. "Soon we will join you in your flights between stars."

At best, Kirk knew, the current state of their flying experiments could not be much beyond the Wright brothers’ stage. But again, he held his opinion to himself. It was important not to intimidate a newly contacted culture with superior technology.

So, instead of replying, Kirk merely continued with his introductions. The doctor had been holding his smile of greeting too long, and he was beginning to look impatient. Kirk took a step closer to him. "This is Doctor McCoy, the ship’s physician."

Delessix studied McCoy even longer than he had each of the others. "He is..." Delessix seemed to be looking for clarification.

"A healer. He helps the sick and injured. He fixes us when we are hurt." A corner of McCoy’s mouth twitched at Kirk’s simplistic explanation. The captain had to sympathize—he had effectively reduced McCoy’s profession to the level of ‘kiss it and make it better.’

Suddenly, however, a wide smile of understanding animated Delessix’s face. "Ah! He is your ‘Nafaris.’ You call them ‘ductur?" The Urbanity struggled to produce the sound he had heard in the translation. "Is he your own ‘Nafaris,’ Kirk?"

"My personal physician, er, doctor? Yes, he is."

The doctor in question was looking more and more uncomfortable as the subject of such prolonged discussion.

"And you brought him with you," Delessix said brightly. But one could hear a patronizing but unspoken "How quaint!" tacked on to the end of his statement as clearly as if he had said it aloud.

"You and your party are welcome, Kirkix. Allow me to present to you the House of Edliw." Delessix moved back toward the group standing behind him. He took the nearer woman, the one about his own age, by the elbow and escorted her a step or two forward. "This is my allied, Alinar."

The woman repeated the crossed hands bow in Kirk’s direction. She was a stunning woman. The rich garnet of her hair set off the brilliant emerald of her eyes. Her softly draped tunic had the shimmer of crystal. Her bearing was regal and her smile unafraid.

Kirk returned her bow with his echoing nod, reminding himself sharply, as he maintained unflinching eye contact, that Delessix had introduced her as his "allied," and ten to one that was the Dorian equivalent of ‘wife.’"

The Urbanity moved on to the next in line, the woman with the toddler in her arms. He led her a couple of steps toward Kirk. "This is our daughter, Amalia, and her daughter, Analiss."

The woman’s bow was impeded by the child in her arms. She made a compromise between the crossed-arms gesture and a makeshift grip on the little girl, then executed the heads-up bow, her chin above the child’s curly, pink-lemonade locks.

Kirk was almost too stunned to return the gesture. This was Delessix’s daughter? And his daughter’s daughter? The Urbanity could have passed for no older than Kirk himself. And his wife was certainly not a day over thirty. Nowhere near old enough to have a grown child. Much less a—Oh my God, Kirk thought, still mentally comparing the ruling couple to himself—much less a grandchild! Perhaps their apparent ages had something to do with the difference in planetary rotation? But no, that wasn’t enough to explain it. Maybe these people married very early. He did some quick mental calculations, but was perplexed to discover that the subtraction led to a physically impossible conclusion, at least as far as Humans were concerned.

Then he remembered his manners and returned the young mother’s greeting. She had held her bow until he bent his torso in return, and the weight of the child in her arms was threatening to topple her. He could see the relief in her eyes as she straightened.

At a cue from Delessix, the last member of his party stepped forward unescorted. He was a handsome young man. The short, wine colored page boy framed a face with fine, strong boned features. He was slighter than the Urbanity, but straight and square shouldered. He bowed with assurance, yet without arrogance.

The pride was all in Delessix’s eyes. Despite the seeming impossibility of their relative ages, Kirk knew paternal affection when he saw it. So it came as little surprise when the Urbanity introduced him as "My son, Doranix." Kirk recognized the use of the suffix again. The Urbanity confirmed his deduction as he continued, "The hereditary heir of Edliw."

With the introductions complete, the Urbanity invited the Federation landing party to return with him to the city, to be his guests for the evening meal and to accept the hospitality of his home while they stayed in Edliw. Kirk accepted, of course. That was what they were here for; to learn all they could about the planet and its culture in order to make a recommendation regarding Federation membership.

The Enterprise party adjourned briefly to the shuttle to collect their gear. In the meantime, two of the lumpy, self-propelled vehicles were pulled up into the now-vacant space where the two groups had stood making their introductions. The Dorian drivers indicated that the visitors were to get inside for the ride back to the city.

Kirk was not anxious to split up the party quite so early in their experience with this planet, but investigation into the vehicles interior space showed that they were designed to hold only two in addition to the driver--maybe three at a pinch. On the one hand, it made good common sense to put Spock with one part of the party and himself with the other half. On the other, Kirk was anxious to talk with his science officer about what they had seen so far. The patterns of command caution took precedence. Besides, Kirk consoled himself, there wouldn’t be much opportunity for private conversation with the Dorian driver present. To switch the translators off would be rude.

So he sorted Spock, Uhura and Sulu into one car, and urged McCoy ahead of himself into the other. By the time Kirk and his officers were loaded, the Royal House of Edliw and many of the others who had come to witness the event were already speeding away toward the skyline of the city.

Once their vehicle was in motion, McCoy turned to Kirk. "I didn’t like the way he looked at me, Jim," the doctor complained.

Kirk didn’t answer. He just cocked his head in the direction of the driver and scowled a cautionary expression at McCoy.

The doctor grumbled something inarticulate, but held his peace.

Ahead of them, Kirk could occasionally see Spock turn awkwardly, wedged as he was between the helmsman and Lieutenant Commander Uhura, to look back and be sure that the vehicle carrying the doctor and the captain did not lag far behind.

The city proved to be very pleasant, with long blocks divided by broad, boulevarded streets. The houses were large and low, squarish and plain, but graceful in their simplicity. The unadorned facades came right up to the edges of the streets, with elaborate landscaping on the low, flat roofs rather than Terran style lawns. Along the route Kirk could see families gathered on the roofs amid the gardens, watching the procession pass by.

As they approached the center city, only ten or fifteen minutes ride from the outskirts, the buildings began to show more exterior decoration and to be set back farther from the streets which took sharper angles.

Soon, a low stone wall appeared outside the left-hand window. They traveled along side it for about a kilometer, then turned into a gated entryway. The vehicle slowed to a stop in the circular drive, where about half a dozen others were already parked. The Urbanity had already gone inside. His wife, the dazzling Alinar, stood waiting for them on the wide ramp that sloped up from the parking area to the tall doors.

"Delessix hopes you will be able to stay with us while you learn about our world and tell us about yours," Alinar offered.

"Yes, thank you," Kirk answered. "We would like that very much. As a matter of fact," he gestured at the stack of luggage and equipment the drivers were piling up inside the massive doors, "we had rather hoped that you’d ask."

"I hope we aren’t imposing ourselves, ma’am," McCoy spoke up. The presence of the luggage in the first place did make their intentions rather obvious.

Alinar looked at him curiously for a split second before she answered. "No, not at all. You are...Makkoi, is that right?"

"Close enough, ma’am, close enough."

"Allow me to show you to the guest wing. Delessix often has visitors from the other Cities. We have quite a bit of room."

Shouldering their bags and parcels, the landing party followed the Urbanity’s wife through a maze of corridors. The halls were broad, the floors done in mosaics not unlike the styles of ancient Rome on Earth. Many walls had hand-painted murals, mostly of trailing vegetation, but occasionally there were tableaus with people in them. Being unfamiliar with the history of costume on Doria, Kirk had no way of telling whether these were scenes from mythology, antiquity or recent history. The style of painting, however, was naturalistic and representational rather than stylized as the Earth art from, say, Egypt or the orient might have been. All the Dorians in the pictures, Kirk noticed, wore their hair in the same Dutch-boy style he had seen on the people he had already met.

Some walls were covered in unfamiliar characters arranged in regular lines. They had the look of writing, although the script was unfamiliar. The impression that they were words to be read was reinforced by the presence of benches on the opposite walls facing these non-pictorial walls. Kirk guessed that these were sentiments intended for contemplation.

They passed arching doorways into various chambers along the way. Most were closed to sight. Some of the interior doorways were fitted with tall, narrow, double doors echoing the massive entryway into the palace. Most, however, were hung with huge, heavy tapestry-like draperies which continued the patterns painted on the adjacent walls.

Those rooms that were open tended to be sparsely furnished, but with massive, imposing pieces. Tables looked to be higher than normal, and if the individual pieces assembled around them were chairs, Kirk thought that they looked positively torturous, as if not designed for the Humanoid form at all. Before he could remark upon it, Alinar led them around a final corner and brought the party to a halt.

"This is the guest wing. There are adequate accommodations for all of you. But, you," she turned to the communications officer. "I am sorry. Your name again, my dear?"

"Uhura."

"Yes. Oohara. Please forgive me. Your names are so unfamiliar and so unlike one from the others. It is difficult to remember," Alinar explained, then continued. "Which of these is your allied?"

"My...allied?" Uhura repeated.

"Your...mate? So that I can put the two of you in a larger room. I assume, of course, that you are allied to Kirkix, although, knowing that your customs are different from ours, I thought it best to ask."

Already Alinar was suiting action to words and leading Uhura to a doorway on the left, while beckoning to Kirk with an upraised palm.

McCoy grinned and bounced a bit on the balls of his feet, looking around with exaggerated interest in the wall murals. He was enjoying Kirk’s embarrassment to the hilt. Sulu simply looked embarrassed himself, while Spock, as usual, showed no expression at all.

Uhura diplomatically disengaged Alinar’s hand from around her forearm. "I’m sorry, Alinar. Wrong assumption. I’m..."

"The Urbanity of the City of Enterprise does not travel with his allied? Your customs are indeed different," Alinar said with some surprise. But, to her credit, Kirk thought, no hint of disapproval.

"Then which is your... Not Makkoi, of course," she dismissed the doctor out of hand, and McCoy looked completely crestfallen. Kirk spared a momentary glance at the doctor to acknowledge that he was appreciating the fact that it was now McCoy’s turn to be zinged by Alinar’s casual assumptions. Then his attention returned to their hostess who was appraising the remaining members of her visitors’ party. Sulu managed to look even more embarrassed when her glance fell on him, and even Spock seemed to brace with unease when Delessix’s wife look at him and cocked her head slightly in consideration.

Uhura touched Alinar gently on the arm, distracting her from her speculations about the male members of the group. "Sorry, still wrong. I am not...allied...to any of these men, not to any at all, for that matter. I hope it will not inconvenience you further, but each of us will require separate rooms. Or, if you don’t have enough, perhaps the men could double up."

"What a strange thought!" Alinar marveled. "No, I have ample space. Are you sure, though, that you will be all right in a room by yourself, Oohara?"

"I am sure that there is nothing in your home for me to be afraid of ," Uhura answered diplomatically. "I’ll be just fine by myself."

"But then," Alinar turned to Kirk, "who will act as your hostess?"

"My...hostess?" Kirk asked.

"One who acts in the social roles, as I do for Delessix," Alinar attempted to explain.

"As long as that’s all that’s required," Uhura asked warily. "With your permission, Captain, I guess I could volunteer to take that job."

"Excellent!" Alinar seemed satisfied that all was in order now. "I shall see you to your rooms, then. You will want to rest after your journey. I will return to announce dinner and lead you to the hall in a short while. You are, of course, welcome to explore and make use of all of Delessix’s home. However, you may wish to wait until after dinner. I can explain the floor plan to you in greater detail at that time. If there is anything you require in the meantime, there is a bell system in each of your rooms."

Alinar ushered each of them into individual rooms along each side of the corridor. All of the rooms were hung with draperies over the entries instead of doors, and Kirk was concerned about security. However, he reasoned, if they had anything to fear while they were inside the security of the palace, it would pretty well have to be the inhabitants themselves. The ruling family had given him no reason to distrust them. Still, it made him uneasy when Alinar simply lifted aside one of the heavy drapes and showed him into his room.

"This is the largest room, Kirkix. Even though you do not have your allied with you, it is still befitting of your station."

Kirk thanked her and stepped inside. It was, indeed, a large chamber, brightly decorated with floral motifs. It would be lighted by day from a large bank of glass-like windows along one wall which was covered with some slatted device for diffusing light. Now, however, the windows were dark. Night had fallen since the shuttle first touched down. An overhead light fixture lit the room. It was probably the equivalent of an electric bulb, but Kirk could not see the actual source because of the elaborate shade that covered it.

The furnishings were few, but tended toward opulence. There were two beds, more like overstuffed divans, to be exact. A couple of matched, free standing closets flanked the doorway. A low, round table sat in the center of a deep plush rug, between the divans. A long, cushioned bench stood beneath the windows.

An interior curtained alcove led to private sanitary facilities. The shapes of the fixtures were not exactly what he was used to, but the functions were fairly unmistakable. It took a minute of jiggling levers and pushing, pulling and finally twisting at knobs to see how everything worked, since such things were not on automatic sensors here. He was rewarded eventually by hot and cold running water in the sink and tub, although there was no shower, and a startling whoosh of water in the third amenity.

Turning to go back into the main room, Kirk was taken aback to see Spock standing between the armoires inside the door. The Vulcan always seemed to come and go on cat feet, and the absence of a mechanical door had allowed him to enter completely unheard.

Kirk recovered quickly, "Yes, Spock?"

"I merely wanted to assure myself that everything was as normal as it appeared to be. A reasonable concern when a landing party is split up as we have been, no matter how cordially."

Kirk couldn’t help but bristling inwardly with the feeling that Spock was acting like an over-protective mother hen. This Starfleet nonsense about keeping captains out of danger seemed to be affecting everyone around him —or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe he was just becoming hyper-sensitive to simple security precautions that he would have considered basic before. Controlling a tendency to overreact, he sat down casually on one of the plumped-up divans and motioned for Spock to do the same.

"Set your mind at rest on that one. I haven’t seen anything for us to be concerned about so far, except maybe our own inability to live up to their social customs. What do you make of it so far?"

"Technologically speaking, the Dorians seem to be at a stage equivalent to early twentieth century on Earth: Radio but none of the more advanced communication of the information age. Evidence of some basic industry, but also quite a lot of hand craftsmanship and reliance on natural rather than synthetic materials."

"Electricity," Kirk said, gesturing toward the lighted ceiling.

"Yes, but so far not much evidence that it is used for much besides lighting."

"They said they had flying machines, and there were those vehicles we rode in," Kirk added.

"Some sort of mechanical engine. From the odor, I surmise the possible use of fossil fuels. But again, you noticed that there were very few of those vehicles on the roadways, nor were the roadways adequate to handle heavy traffic."

"So they’re right on the cusp of the information and space eras, then, with their technology about to explode," Kirk surmised. "They would have been ready for first contact within the century anyway."

"Perhaps," Spock said, "but I believe I see subtle signs that their technological development may have been stagnated at this stage for some time."

"How do you figure that, Spock?"

"For instance, the vehicles were quite old, although well maintained. If there were continuing advances in transport technology, surely the Urbanity would have the most up to date version for his private use." Spock shook his head dismissively. "There is still relatively little evidence from which to draw that conclusion. Consider it no more than what you might call a hunch at this point."

"So either way, we’re dealing with a society not unlike the...what?... 1920’s or ‘30’s, then?" Kirk concluded. Spock had said early twentieth century, but that was so long ago Kirk wasn’t sure he could correctly discriminate between the characteristics of the first and latter half of that century, or even, for that matter, from either of the ones immediately preceding and following. He’d learned dates in school, of course, but the levels of technology and, even more so, social customs and issues of the period tended to lump together in one antiquated blur. He forgave himself with the rationalization that as long as Spock’s encyclopedic memory could handle it, he didn’t really have to. He was a commander, he reminded himself—mentally doing an impersonation of the doctor—not a calendar.

Spock’s next comment unwittingly spoke to Kirk’s fuzziness about historical detail. "I would caution you, Captain, that while there may be technological parallels, there may be social differences which are not so readily apparent. For instance, we know that there seems to be some extreme differentiation of gender roles. Although the Urbanity’s wife seems to enjoy high social standing, there is still this ‘hostess’ business."

"Is this a private party, or can anybody join?" McCoy stuck his head around the side of the doorway drapery. Kirk had halfway heard him coming even before he spoke. Only Spock moved so noiselessly that he was able to startle Kirk on occasion.

"Come on in, Bones," he answered, almost quickly enough to make it sound like an invitation rather than a statement of accomplished fact.

McCoy chose to perch at the opposite end of the divan where Spock sat facing their captain.

"So, Doctor, what do you think of them so far?" Kirk asked.

"Remarkably robust, healthy, pleasant people, from what I’ve seen. Once you get past the wine cellar assortment of hair color, that is. Oh, and the extra digit. Looks to be universal from what I’ve seen so far. And fully manipulative, which I’ve never seen on people who look so Human otherwise."

"Aren’t Humans sometimes born with extra fingers, though?" Kirk asked, remembering that he had found a reference to it somewhere.

"Yes, but extra fingers in Humans are usually just fleshy appendages. That’s one reason why they’re so easily removed. No bones, no connection to the basic structure of the hand. On these people, it seems to be an integrated, functioning part of the hand. Wonder if they have extra toes, too," he mused, getting absorbed in his own speculation.

"I don’t think that’s necessarily germane to our evaluation of these people, Bones," Kirk interrupted McCoy’s train of thought, which was getting tedious as far as the captain was concerned. Once he was off into his own realms of expertise, McCoy could get just as mired in irrelevant detail as Spock could.

Fortunately, the need to curb McCoy’s enthusiastic pursuit of speculation was abetted by Uhura’s appearance at he doorway.

"May I come in, Captain?" she asked, glancing around and registering that everyone except Sulu was already there.

Unlike the first two visitors, the lieutenant commander hesitated until Kirk’s nod gave her permission to enter.

"You, too, Commander?" Kirk smiled.

"Well, sir, this er..." Uhura hesitated, still standing in the doorway. "This ‘hostess’ thing. I just didn’t quite know what was expected..."

"Your guess is as good as mine, Penda," Kirk shrugged. "Come in, come in," he motioned to the divan, where McCoy took the hint and made room for her to sit. "We’re just debriefing and speculating a bit on what we’ve seen so far. Anything to add from your perspective?"

Uhura seated herself between the doctor and the Vulcan. "I’m intrigued by the writing on the walls. I’ve been looking at the ones in the corridor between my room and here. As soon as we have some beginning points of reference for translation I’ll be able to start..."

She was interrupted when a deep but tentative voice outside the room called out, "Uhura?...Doctor?..."

"In here, Sulu," McCoy answered.

Following the voice, Sulu pulled aside the drapery and started into the room, then stopped when he realized that it was the captain’s room and not the doctor’s.

"Might as well make it a party, Mister Sulu. Come on in," Kirk set him at ease.

"I was just going to compare notes with Lieutenant Commander Uhura, but she wasn’t in the room I saw her assigned to, then neither was the doctor..."

"I think we all had the same idea, son," McCoy piped up. "Been interesting so far. I guess we all kind of wanted to get each other’s take on the Dorians."

"So far they appear to be very gracious hosts, I guess," Sulu said. "Technology’s pretty backward, of course. Doesn’t seem to be moving very fast, either."

"That’s what Mister Spock said earlier," Kirk agreed.

"Very rich culturally, though, it seems to me," Uhura chimed in. "But very... how should I say it...tradition bound."

"Like this ‘hostess’ thing, you mean?" Sulu agreed.

"Well, yes, that and the wall paintings and mottoes or stories or whatever they are on the walls. That indicates a certain reverence for the past, whether the scenes represent historical or mythological events."

Kirk leaned back, taking in his officers’ speculations. It was always instructive to see how each of them picked up on different elements of a situation depending upon their specialties and interests.

"Judging from the types of weaponry depicted in the paintings..." Sulu began, then jumped and let out an uncharacteristically high pitched squeak when the curtain in front of which he was still standing bumped him from behind. He stepped out of the way just as the drapery was pulled aside to reveal Alinar framed in the archway. She had changed to a lovely midnight-blue garment. Kirk blinked in the realization that Spock was no longer the only person he knew who could approach silently enough to surprise him.

"Ah, so I have found you all together," Alinar smiled, then frowned. "I hope you found nothing to displease you in your accommodations?"

"Not at all, not at all, "Kirk assured her. "My officers and I were just..." he hesitated, feeling a bit awkward about Alinar finding them all together in one room. It could look like they were huddling together like a bunch of frightened puppies. Or it could look like the truth—that the first thing they had done upon being left along was to compare notes about their hosts. Neither was an image he was anxious to present.

"Of course, of course. Unfamiliar surroundings..." Alinar glossed over whatever her interpretation might have been, continuing, "I was coming to invite you to dinner. You have saved me having to collect you individually."

Uhura rose, "Excuse me, Mrs., er, Alinar. I’m...I’m a little unclear about my responsibilities as...hostess."

Alinar smiled sweetly, taking Uhura’s hand and wrapping it into the crook of her own arm. "Come, my dear." Alinar led Uhura toward the doorway, motioning the men to follow. "Just look to me. It will all come naturally to you, I’m sure."

Alinar led the Enterprise party back through corridors they had traversed before, finally pausing at the entry to the room where Kirk had noticed the long table surrounded by oddly shaped and cushioned wooden constructions. Upon entering the room he saw that additional long, narrow tables were placed around the perimeter of the room in front of a collection of traditional chairs and divans backed up against the wall.

Seated or reclining behind the narrow tables were a group of sumptuously dressed Dorians. Most were dripping with jewels, unlike the more simply adorned members of the Urbanity’s family they had met thus far. All wore turban-like headdresses which hid their hair, making it more difficult to judge their ages, although they all looked older than Delessix and Alinar. Perhaps these were the senior members of the Urbanity’s household. Kirk filed away a mental note that although the Urbanity’s title was hereditary, maybe it was not for life. Maybe one only held the responsibilities of office while in the prime of life, being promoted to some more honorary level with age.

Whoever they were, these elder Dorians looked up with interest, but did not speak as Kirk’s party was ushered into the room and assigned to places at the central table.

Kirk was just making a quick count of the places set at the table and trying to decide if it was short one setting, when Alinar approached him. She gently took his arm and drew him toward her so that she could speak discretely. Kirk noted through the scent of her heady perfume, that these people certainly did not demonstrate many taboos about personal space. They approached and touched the strangers like intimate friends.

Alinar’s question brought him back from his mental note taking. "It is our custom to honor the traditions of our guest. Does your...does Makkoi sit beside you or in the place of honor?"

Kirk was taken aback by the question. The Dorians certainly had latched on to the doctor as someone of special standing. Kirk glanced out of the corner of one eye to recognize that the doctor had overheard the Urbanity’s wife, despite her effort at confidentiality. McCoy was waiting with a sardonic twist of his mouth to see how the captain answered.

"I...er...our custom is to sit as equals when we take meals together. No particular honors are necessary." He sensed an unvoiced "harumph!" from the doctor’s direction, but chose not to acknowledge it. Besides, he was too busy wondering at Alinar’s effort to control her surprise, or was it disapproval?

"Amalia," Delessix’s wife summoned her daughter. "Fetch another setting at the center table. Doranix, a chair, please."

The two royal offspring hastened to fulfill their mother’s requests, taking the plates and setting from one of the perimeter tables where a place was vacant. At the same time, Alinar shepherded Kirk’s crew members to their places. Once assigned, they stood, as their hosts did behind the oddly shaped pieces of furniture.

Delessix stood at the head of the table, with his wife on his right. His son, daughter, granddaughter and a young man he introduced as Amalia’s husband, Darien, were ranged down the side of the table to his left. Kirk was placed at the foot of the table, with Uhura on his right, corresponding to Alinar’s place at her husband’s elbow. McCoy’s place setting was squeezed in on Uhura’s right, next to Darien. Spock and Sulu were seated at Kirk’s left, along the same side as Alinar, leaving the arrangement much more crowded on one side of the table than the other, in compliance, no doubt, with some social protocols Kirk still didn’t understand.

In the rearrangement caused by adding McCoy to the table, Darien had to move his place closer to the baby to make room for the doctor. Watching him, Kirk couldn’t decide whether the extra space he left between himself and the doctor was a result of deference or his wish to maintain distance. Kirk hoped that he hadn’t already made some egregious social error in asking to seat all of his crew members at the same table, but neither Delessix nor his wife gave any indication of being inconvenienced.

"Please be seated," Alinar announced the beginning of the meal. The Dorians slid into the curves of the strange seat, arranging themselves more in it than on it. Kirk and his officers did their best to follow suit. Once he had fitted himself around the curves and cushions, with his weight somehow distributed among thighs, shins and elbows, the captain found that it was not nearly so uncomfortable or off balance as he had expected it to feel.

As soon as they were they all seated, the two Dorian women and the crown prince, Doranix, were on their feet again. At an encouraging gesture from Alinar, Uhura did the same. Silently, mother, son and daughter addressed themselves to the task of serving the three men seated along the walls.

The man Doranix served was laid out on a divan. A twisted foot protruded from beneath the hem of his beautifully embroidered robes. Even the misshapen ankle was adorned with jewels. He took the plate from Doranix and began immediately to feed himself, while Doranix stood by, ready to hand him a drink or refill the plate.

Of the two men served by Alinar and her daughter, one appeared to be blind, and the other had a withered arm. Consequently, two women spoon-fed them.

The youngest of the women at the perimeter tables was seated next to the lame man Doranix served. Kirk’s attention was drawn to her when she dropped a utensil which clattered to the floor

Amalia said, "I’ll get it," and started to turn from the man she was assisting. But Doranix had already bent to retrieve it. It seemed to Kirk that the young man lingered over replacing it carefully beside her still-empty plate. The captain thought he understood the younger man’s apparent show of interest. Despite the turbaned headdress, she seemed pretty, if a little pale for his taste.

"Oohara," Alinar said, with a tinge of reproof in her voice, "your Makkoi is waiting for his meal."

Slowly and uncertainly, the lieutenant commander filled a plate from the servers on the main table and set it down in front of the doctor. She filled a spoon from the plate, lifted it, then hesitated. Kirk saw the look McCoy shot her that said, even in the silence of the room, "Don’t even think about it!"

The doctor snatched the spoon out of Uhura’s hand, but paused before lifting it to his mouth. Kirk realized his awkwardness at being the only one at the central table with food in front of him.

Apparently Delessix also noticed the doctor’s unease. "Please, go ahead. Those who we honor are always served first."

"Those you honor?" Kirk repeated.

"Those who enable us. Those..." Kirk thought he’d have to ask Spock or Uhura to check the translator. It had said, "those who age," rather than "those who are aged." There must be some peculiar syntax to the Dorian language that was causing it to glitch now and then.

"Surely you do not find it unusual to honor those to whom you are indebted among your people? We consider this respect the highest mark of our civility."

"No, no, of course there are those to whom we show, er, special deference," Kirk agreed. "You seem to take it to greater lengths than we are accustomed to, and you are to be commended for that. Perhaps we ought to show greater courtesies to our elderly and infirm."

McCoy was eating now, albeit still a little self consciously. Doranix returned to the table, and Alinar and Amalia went on to prepare plates for two of the older women, now. One was a really venerable old crone. It was Amalia that tended to her with solicitous care. Alinar’s charge was a woman who looked to be about a generation older than herself. She was being remarkably patient and encouraging as the older woman seemed to lack interest in her food. She sat with her arms wrapped across her lower abdomen, rocking back and forth, a pained look on her face. Alinar was barely able to get her to accept a few bites of the meal set before her.

Uhura stood uncertainly, not sure of who else her hostess duties required her to serve.

Noticing her, Amalia looked up from her charge. "Please, Oohara, be seated. Mother and I shall only be a little while more."

Uhura returned to her chair. The child stirred restlessly, but otherwise no one else at the table had made a move yet toward the covered servers from which Doranix and the women had stocked the plates of the honored ones. Conversation had stalled again, so when the elderly woman burped loudly, it resounded in the silence. A sharp look from Kirk quelled any expression of amusement Sulu might find necessary to control. Otherwise, no one seemed to take notice.

"I am interested," Delessix addressed Kirk with the air that he was inaugurating the formal dinner conversation, "your flying city, your ship as you call it, what population number do you carry?"

"Four hundred ninety-eight." Kirk rattled off the usual response.

"Nearly five hundred people," Delessix marveled. "Plus your honored ones, those must be very close quarters indeed—and still be a very large ship."

"Er, no, sir," Sulu answered. "It’s only just the four-hundred-and-some of us."

"We do not carry the aged and infirm with us," Spock added. "Crewmen who are not able-bodied are dropped off at medical installations, or returned to their home planets."

"But you carry Makkoi with you." Alinar had finished serving the woman Kirk judged to be only a little older than himself, and had returned to the table, rejoining the conversation.

"There are, of course, exceptions," Spock agreed, poker faced.

Kirk shot a quick look at McCoy, trying not to smile as he watched the doctor puzzle over whether he had just been insulted or not.

"But there are those whom each of you holds in honor?" Darien persisted.

"Of course," Kirk answered. "We all have older relatives, teachers, mentors, personal heroes and so forth. But we can’t impose on them by bringing them all along on a star ship. They have lives of their own to lead."

"But who cares for them? Who brings them the honors which they merit?" Alinar asked, concerned.

"Mostly, where we come from, everybody is able to take care of themselves. But if they cannot, they or their relatives hire someone to do that for them."

"They hire people?" Amalia had finally returned to the table, having prepared a plate for the last of the remaining honored ones, a woman Kirk judged to be about his own age, although he was beginning to doubt his ability to make such judgments about these people.

"How odd," Amalia continue, "that those who benefit do not likewise serve."

"Your own duties will be lighter after the ceremony, dear," her mother commiserated.

Amalia made a little face, "Not until Analiss is properly trained. Until then..."

As if to illustrate her mother’s concern about her lack of maturity, the little strawberry-haired girl chose that moment to push off from the table edge with the toes of her tiny white sandals, tipping her chair enough for her to lose her balance and fall backwards onto the floor.

Every one of the Humans reflexively made a start toward getting our of their chairs to go to her, but the child’s family showed less concern. Amalia sighed a deep sigh of barely contained patience, slid sideways out of her chair and bent to pick up her daughter. The little one appeared startled by the fall, and by the time her mother reached her, chagrined by her naughty behavior, but otherwise unhurt. She never let out so much as a whimper, which surprised Kirk, since it had sounded like she cracked her head pretty hard on the mosaic floor.

The royal family went on with their meal while their youngest member was restored to her chair and pushed firmly up to the table. When Amalia resumed her place, her father picked up the thread of conversation where it had been originally interrupted.

"Think about what Kirkix has said for a moment, Amalia. The odd practice of using surrogate servers pales beside the greater issue of being able to travel so far away from those they leave behind. How far away from your home planet are you, Kirkix?"

"A distance which it would be difficult for you to grasp, Delessix, unless you are familiar with the concept of light-years."

"Light. Years?" the Urbanity repeated. He exchanged gestures with Alinar indicating that he was ready for her to begin the family meal, but kept his attention on Kirk while his wife and daughter rose from the table again to fill plates for their husbands. Uhura attempted to follow their lead, and with an exchange of nods and glances was given to know that it was now time for her to wait upon Kirk.

Darien spoke up, "I believe it is a term which has something to do with how far light travels while the planet makes one whole rotation around our sun."

"Actually, that is a fairly accurate description of the concept," Spock complimented the younger man. "However, Captain," Spock reminded Kirk, "the explanation of the actual distance would be complicated by Doria’s longer rotation, while the expression of the resulting numbers would also be affected if the Dorians calculate in base twelve which can be inferred from the presence of six digits on their hands, making the equivalent in Dorian terms on the order of..."

Seeing the Urbanity’s eyes begin to glaze over, Kirk interrupted just as Uhura slid a plate in front of him. "Spock, perhaps we can just approximate by telling Delessix how many days away from Earth we are." This would also help skip over a discussion so early in their acquaintance with the Dorians of the actual distances Federation technology allowed them to travel.

"Thirty-four point one nine days, Captain," Spock responded almost immediately. "Dorian days, that is, of course."

"Of course," Kirk repeated, realizing that Spock had made the transposing calculation in his head without missing so much as a beat in the conversation.

"Thirty-four days!" Darien marveled. "And that’s at flying speed. Our air ships..." Kirk noticed that the translator was working well enough now to have made the sensible rather than literal translation, and was no longer referring to ‘bird-wagons.’ "...Our air ships must attain a speed of over two thousand tarks per dessiod just to get off the ground. Can you imagine how far one would go in thirty-four days?"

Kirk had no idea what either a tark or a dessiod was, and he was sure that whatever the calculation indicated, it was a minuscule distance compared to warp speed. However, this was no time to overwhelm their new acquaintances with more than they were ready to understand. Let them think in terms of tarks and whatever for the time being.

"And at this great distance from home," Delessix marveled, "not only you, but your whole crew are able to maintain your vitality and health. You certainly appear to be hale and well."

"He has me to thank for that," McCoy interjected, finally finding his way into the conversation.

The table fell silent for a moment, all eyes riveted on McCoy, then almost instantly averted.

"Er, yes, of course he does," Delessix broke the awkward quiet.

"But I’d venture to say," Doranix added, "that Kirkix must lead a protected life. Makkoi seems very little...used...by his position as Kirkix’s healer."

"Don’t you believe it for a minute, son. Putting him back together again after some of the scrapes he’s gotten into has taken years off my..." McCoy wound down rapidly when he realized that everyone was suddenly studiously intent upon their plates.

There was another awkward pause, then Kirk was relieved when Alinar turned the conversation toward the meal in front of him. He hadn’t liked the reference to his newly protected status, even though it must have been made in complete ignorance of the current nuances of Starfleet policy. Nor was he quite comfortable with the odd way in which McCoy seemed to be repeatedly singled out.

"Those of you without hostesses to attend upon you may now begin." The royal mother and daughter finally began filling plates for themselves, with Doranix doing the same. Apparently, although he was heir to the throne, and had done his share in caring for the old ones, without a wife to serve him, he was expected to shift for himself.

Sulu reached for the nearest serving dish, but Spock hesitated. Kirk noticed Uhura watching their science officer and then, in the most graceful and spontaneous fulfillment of her role as hostess for the men of the crew she asked, "Alinar, perhaps you could tell us what some of these dishes consist of. Some of us," she politely neglected to indicate which one, "are bound by our respective traditions not to eat meat."

"Meat?" Alinar repeated blankly.

"The flesh of animals," Spock clarified.

Amalia’s hand sprung to her mouth. The others’ expressions carried various looks of shock and revulsion.

Delessix fixed Kirk with a disapproving stare. "In your culture you feed upon your fellow creatures? Perhaps we do not have so much to learn from you after all."

"Uh, actually..." Kirk fished for an answer that would not escalate the Dorians’ reaction into a failed first contact mission.

Surprisingly, it was Spock who came to his rescue. "In our travels, we have encountered many different races with different ethical considerations in regards to the consumption of animal flesh. Uhura was simply attempting to clarify whether or not—"

"I should say not! Image even having to ask such a thing!" Delessix was mollified somewhat, although still mildly insulted that the Dorians, after their great show of civility, should even be suspected of such barbarity.

Kirk breathed an unobtrusive sigh of relief and glanced over speculatively at his first officer. Ever since the mind meld with V’ger, Spock had really gotten the hang of Human communication. He would probably never really manage an all-out lie, but he had mastered omission, and now it seemed he was becoming adept at misdirection. He would have to congratulate his first officer when he got the chance. And thank him.

The remainder of the meal was occupied by a simplified discussion on the subject of Dorian technology, artfully led by Darien, the Urbanity’s son-in-law.

When the servers and plates alike were empty, and the clatter of utensils had ceased, the two Dorian women rose and began to gather up the remains. Uhura started to unwind herself from her chair to follow them, but was motioned back by Alinar. "Stay and enjoy the conversation, dear. A visiting hostess is not asked to participate in the work of the household here."

However, when both the central and perimeter tables had been cleared, Doranix, the Urbanity’s son also rose and Alinar gave Uhura a pointed look. The lieutenant commander returned it blankly, not sure what was expected of her.

"You wish to conduct Makkoi back to his room, do you not?"

"But I’m not..." the doctor in question protested, but he was shushed by a shake of the head from Kirk.

"Local customs, Bones," he muttered under his breath, imploring the doctor to go along with this most recent aberration in the name of harmony.

"You do know how to find your way back?" Alinar asked solicitously.

Uhura nodded. "Yes, I’m sorry I just..." She took McCoy by the arm as she had seen Amalia escorting the blind man.

"It’s all right." Kirk overheard Alinar reassuring the lieutenant commander. "I know you’re not accustomed to acting the hostess role for Kirkix. The occasional reminder is not meant to be taken as criticism." The Urbanity’s wife took the remaining man among the "honored ones" by his good arm and led him toward the door. "We’ll see you back here in a few minutes then, Oohara," she said over her shoulder.

McCoy shot one last dark glance at Kirk as the communications officer led him out of the room.

Kirk watched as Doranix bent over the lame man’s divan and adjusted something that lowered small casters underneath so that he could push the whole divan out the door. Then Darien, Amalia’s husband, resumed the discussion of current Dorian advances in long range communication which had been interrupted by the women’s departure.

The captain found it difficult to keep his mind on the conversation, as the Dorian women returned to wheel or assist each of the rest of the "honored ones" out of the dining hall in turn, while the heir apparent resumed his own seat and joined back into the conversation.

The oldest woman must have nodded off. Amalia tried unsuccessfully to rouse her, and ended by pushing the slumbering old woman, chair and all, out of the room. Kirk thought it was no wonder that she had fallen asleep. For all the solicitous care lavished on them by the woman and the Urbanity’s son, no one had actually spoken to one of the "honored ones" throughout the meal, nor had any of them been included in the conversation. Some additional odd quirk of tradition, no doubt, but he couldn’t blame the old woman for losing interest in the proceedings.

McCoy must have detained Uhura with his complaining. That or she had purposely lingered until the Dorian women returned in order to follow their lead. In any event, the three of them came back into the room together and resumed their places at the table.

As soon as Doranix allowed himself a moment’s pause in their current discourse, his father broke in to change the subject. "Enough of mechanics for tonight. I for one, would like to hear a song before retiring. We would not wish our guests to think that we are remiss in our pursuit of the finer arts."

Both young men arose without further coaxing. Amalia checked the little one, who like the old woman had allowed her head to fall forward over her arms and was soundly asleep. Then she, too, rose to join her brother and husband. The three young people assumed a formal stance several steps behind their vacated seats and began without preamble to strike an a capella chord, which modulated into an ever more complex entwining of voices, then soared into song.

The lyrics were in a Dorian dialect still unfamiliar to the translator which was able to pick up only a few scattered words. Kirk mentally tuned it out in order to concentrate on the purity of the sound, devoid of any meaning but its own beauty. He was no expert in musical theory, but he sensed that there were different basic assumptions to the musical scale around which this melody was composed. Meter, likewise, was not entirely foreign to his ear, yet it was fraught with the occasional unexpected emphasis or syncopation which gave it an exotic and ethereal feeling.

A second song followed, more staccato and intricate than the first. When the voices fell silent, Uhura began spontaneously to applaud. Sulu joined her, with Kirk also clapping enthusiastically. Even Spock followed suit, albeit in a more restrained fashion. His appreciation, however, was visible in his eyes.

At the sound of the clapping, all five of the Dorians turned, startled, to look at their guests. Kirk raised his voice over the applause, "Allow us to indulge in a custom of our own, Delessix. Applause. It means we were very moved by the singing."

"It was very beautiful," Uhura added.

"Approval, you say?" Delessix repeated, a smile replacing his look of alarm.

Kirk nodded.

The Urbanity cupped his two hands, bringing them together with a resounding, hollow sound. Then repeated he action several times in quick succession. "I, too, approve, my children. Your achievement always brings pleasure to my ears," he beamed.

The clapping finally subsided, having been prolonged by the Urbanity’s enthusiasm to the point where arms were becoming tired and Kirk’s crew were beginning to exchange surreptitious glances.

"I am sure our guests are tired, Delessix," Alinar said. "They have traveled many days to meet us, and travel is always so exhausting. Shall we allow them to take their rest?"

"Of course, of course," their host agreed. "Enough for tonight. We shall have many days to demonstrate the arts and sciences of our people. Perhaps tomorrow you would like to inspect our flying machines, Kirkix?"

"And I shall show Oohara our art galleries," Amalia offered.

"But now to bed," Alinar rose and began shepherding her family and guests toward the corridor.

Kirk was certainly tired. Although travel aboard the Enterprise was nowhere near as tiring as the Urbanity’s wife assumed it to be, it had been a long day. However, he hung back to speak quietly to his officers. "My quarters. Ten minutes. Spock, see if you can find Bones and bring him along."

In less than the time allotted, Kirk heart the quiet shuffle of four pairs of feet approaching his doorway. "Come," he said softly.

Then, when they had all found seats on one of the twin divans or the deep plush rug between them, he asked, "Impressions?"

Kirk was not surprised when McCoy was the first to speak. "How’m I supposed to have any impressions when I was ushered out of the proceedings before they were even over. Like I was some little kid who couldn’t stay up late with the grown ups."

"May I point out, Doctor, that the child remained with the company. It was the elderly and infirm who were removed early. I believe you have some Human colloquialism about shoes fitting..."

Before McCoy could get to his feet and launch himself at the impassive Vulcan, Kirk cut in. "Just one of the curiosities of the evening, Bones. You were there for most of it, and I expect you to have made some useful observations. We’ve got some customs here we don’t fully understand yet. And besides, even though you did miss the musical entertainment, you did get to eat first."

"If anyone ought to take exception to being included in their customs, it’s me," Uhura interjected. "I was the one who had to fetch and carry like a serving wench."

"That’s just what I mean," Kirk said. "If we can get past the personal affronts and take a look at the culture itself and what some of these traditions mean, we can start the analysis we’re here to make. I repeat, impressions?"

Repentantly, Uhura began, now effectively translating the personal to the objective observation. "Okay. We saw further demonstration of the gender role differentiation we had noted earlier. The women serve the men and the old people."

"Further than that, Commander," Spock prompted. "Which people did each woman serve and in what order?"

"Well, let me see," Uhura reflected. "Alinar took care of the two men and a woman. Amalia served first one of the men, then the old woman, and then one other woman. I was expected to wait on both Doctor McCoy and you, Captain."

"So what do you perceive to be the order of precedence?" Spock asked.

"The older men first, then the older women, and then their husbands. I guess." She frowned. "But that doesn’t make sense. Why, when he was seated at the main table, would I serve the doctor before his superior officer?"

"You forget," McCoy suggested, "that I was supposed to be seated at the other tables with the..."

"With the old and sick," Sulu said helpfully.

"With the ‘honored ones,’" McCoy corrected archly. "It was those special people that were served before the royal family themselves. And besides, they weren’t all old and sick. One of the younger women at the side tables looked perfectly fine to me."

"Don’t forget, Uhura," Sulu added, "It wasn’t just the women doing all the work. Doranix, the heir apparent, fed one of the old folks, too."

"However," Uhura mused, "Darien, Amalia’s husband, isn’t blood-related to the royal family, and yet he wasn’t expected to serve anybody else, even though his wife served him."

"Maybe that’s the operative word; wife," Sulu suggested. "Nobody served me or Mister Spock because, like Doranix, we were the single men at the table."

"Well, so were Jim and I," McCoy contested Sulu’s theory.

"But you were placed in the role of ‘honored one,’" Spock said. "While the captain, although unallied, was assigned to receive Uhura’s ministrations as if she were his spouse."

"I’m sure it’s nothing more than some complicated social hierarchy which we’ll get the hang of eventually. And they probably wanted to put McCoy with the older people as some subtle way of getting him to offer to take a closer look at them and maybe use some of our more advanced medical techniques to help them out," Kirk said.

"I hadn’t thought of it that way," McCoy said. "Maybe I should have checked them over more closely. For all the care they lavish on those folks, their medical skills seem to be sorely lacking. Even in a fairly primitive society, there was no excuse, for instance, for the crooked way that one man’s foot had been allowed to heal. I’ll have to ask tomorrow if they’d let me try to help them out."

"The Prime Directive, Doctor..." Spock began.

"Oh, to hell with the Prime Directive; it doesn’t apply to what I’m talking about," McCoy said impatiently. "I’m not talking about enrolling them in Starfleet medical school—just helping out a few people with some relatively simple problems."

"Gentlemen," Kirk held up a hand. "It’s late and I, for one, have had a very long day. Could we try to stay on track and stick to relevant observations? Commander," he looked to Uhura, "anything else?"

"Well," she said tentatively, "the young people in the royal family have beautiful voices."

Kirk sighed, "Is that relevant, Uhura?"

"Perhaps so, Captain," Spock came unexpectedly to her defense. "Relevant in that the entertaining was done, as well as the serving we discussed before, directly by members of the royal family itself. We saw no servants or entertainers this evening."

Kirk nodded, "Perhaps a uniquely classless society, then. Good observation." He made a point of including Uhura in his nod of approval, hoping to make up for his previous impatience.

"Educated, too," Sulu added. "Darien and Doranix both seemed very interested and well-versed in the technologies and sciences of their world; even though it’s pretty early-stage stuff. Darien especially. Doranix was a little less talkative, but apparently just as bright."

"So, we have a classless society where even the royal family seems to take care of itself, where young people are well educated in both science and the arts, where the old and feeble are venerated, the cities planned..." Kirk began to list their findings.

"Where contemplation of history or mythology is encouraged by including it in their wall decorations," Uhura added.

"And privacy, or maybe secrecy is not an issue." Sulu gestured toward the draped doorway.

Spock added a comment of his own, "And animals are not raised for food."

"And animals are not raised for food," Kirk repeated, ticking off one more finger. "On the whole, high marks for the Dorians as potential Federation candidates. They seem to be uniquely civilized people for this early stage of their development."

He arched his back, stretching against the tiredness of a log, intense day. The delicacy involved in a first contact; the sense of walking on eggs all night to avoid an inadvertent breach of local customs, while keeping one’s eyes open to observe every relevant detail could be more exhausting than a day outsmarting the Klingons, which was more likely to leave him energized than exhausted. "A good night’s work, everyone. I won’t keep you any longer. Back to your rooms and get some sleep. Tomorrow we get to see the flying machines."

"Some of you do," the chief communications officer pulled a mock pout. "I get to see the art galleries."

"All of it is important, Uhura," Kirk said, knowing that the lieutenant commander would probably be more interested in the cultural and communications implications of a gallery tour than in antique flying machines, anyway. She was just making the point to reinforce her observations about gender roles among the Dorians. "The more different aspects of the culture we can explore at the same time, the more quickly we can complete the mission. Now, the lot of you, get out of here, and let’s get some rest."

"Perhaps you can read some of the mottoes off the wall for me," Uhura asked Amalia as they wound their way through the corridors of the palace. "As you know, we have a translating device which allows us to understand your spoken language, but it doesn’t help with the written word."

The communications officer didn’t add that there were indeed visual devices, special programs available for the tricorder, which could have decoded the calligraphy. But they had intentionally brought no more examples of Starfleet technology than they absolutely needed. The fewer opportunities for cultural contamination the better.

Uhura had fought to bring along those devices which would have aided her communications analysis, arguing that between the crashed satellite, the translators, the shuttle and the unusual features of their esteemed science officer, there were already sufficient sources of cultural contamination. One more could have little impact. But she was overruled, and took it gracefully since even the doctor and Mister Spock had some of their requests refused as well.

Of course, as negotiations progressed toward the signing of treaties, translators for the written word would have to be brought into play, but that was a while down the road yet. For now, she would have to make do with what Amalia could tell her.

The Urbanity’s daughter was most willing. "Certainly, Oohara. As you may have guessed, the writings on the walls are sayings of great truths about our Way of life. We are meant to take leisure and to contemplate them so as to remember our good fortune and those to whom we owe it."

Suiting action to words, she led Uhura to a sleigh-shaped divan and sat them both down, facing the decorative script on the opposite wall. "This one says, ‘Honor those who carry the burden of age.’ And the one below it says, ‘Remember that youth carries with it responsibility.’"

Amalia didn’t rise immediately, but sat focused on the homilies, apparently engaged in the requisite contemplation. Uhura kept the same silence for a moment. They were noble sentiments, she was sure, and it was good to be reminded of them, but she wasn’t getting the same emotional intensity from the words as Amalia seemed to be experiencing. Uhura could see wetness rise in her guide’s eyes as she gazed intently at the writing on the opposite wall.

Finally, when Amalia’s concentration seemed to be breaking, Uhura took the opportunity for more personal conversation. "Your own personal burden is absent today," she observed.

"My...?" Amalia looked at her blankly.

"The little one. Your daughter, Analiss?"

"Oh! The burden of my daughter is not mine to bear."

"Baby-sitter? Nanny?"

Amalia tasted the unfamiliar words. "You have some interesting words, Oohara. Baby-sitter I think I understand. Nanny?"

"Much the same thing. Someone who assumes responsibility for a child."

"Yes, I do understand you correctly. You saw Analiss’...how did you call her...nanny?...last night at dinner, among the honored ones."

"Oh? Which one was she?"

"The oldest and most venerable. She also served me when I was an infant," Amalia answered.

Uhura thought back to the row of older people. The "nanny" wasn’t hard to pick out. She was ancient, and gave the appearance of having been somewhat childlike herself in the unselfconscious way she allowed her digestive eruptions to be heard by the room at large without so much as an "excuse me."

In Uhura’s opinion, despite her long history with the family, the old woman was neither the model for alertness or table manners which should have qualified her to be given responsibility for the youngest member of the royal family. She’d fallen asleep at the table—apparently undisturbed when the child supposedly in her charge fell out of her chair and gave herself a good whack on the head. Even though the little girl seemed not to be hurt, it wasn’t the way Uhura would have expected a nanny to react.

As she thought back about the old woman, who had even needed help with her food, the crone’s features came more clearly to memory. There