Chapter Text
Spock stood behind and to the right of the captain’s command chair, a slight frown drawing his eyebrows together as he scrolled his padd with one thumb. Kirk glanced in his direction when his first officer failed to say anything after several minutes.
“Mister Spock. Status report.”
Spock looked up, appearing dazed for just a moment.
“Alpha shift commencing, all decks reporting. One sick call for illness, Science Division; two sick calls for injury, Engineering Division. Substitute duty personnel assigned and at their stations.”
Kirk nodded. Routine stuff.
“Very good. Any other problems we should be aware of?”
“Replicator malfunction in the ship’s galley, aft section. It has been added to the duty assignments for Engineering. There also appears to be a problem with the environmental controls of the ship.”
Kirk pursed his lips as he thought. “How so? I haven’t noticed anything.”
“Computer,” Spock called. “current ambient temperature on bridge.”
The reply was prompt. “The ambient temperature is 22 degrees Celsius.”
“Sounds about right,” Kirk said. “Feels about right, too.”
“Under normal circumstances, in an environment of 22 degrees Celsius, I feel quite cold; however, I am experiencing the opposite. I feel uncomfortably warm. It is logical to assume there is a fault in the controls, or more precisely, in the readout of the controls.”
Kirk turned to give Spock his full attention. He did look uncomfortable now that he thought about it, with a slight flush of color on his cheeks and the tips of his ears.
“And where did you say this is fault occurring, Mister Spock?”
“Multiple areas, captain. Officer’s quarters, the officer’s mess this morning and now on the bridge. I’ve asked Mister Scott to perform a ship-wide diagnostic.”
“I see.” Kirk raised his voice to carry to the communications console. “Lieutenant Uhura.”
Uhura removed her earpiece and glanced over her shoulder, eyebrows raised in a questioning manner.
“Does it feel warm in here to you?”
“No, sir.”
“Mr. Sulu?”
Sulu did not wait for the question to be asked and never looked away from the forward view screen as he answered. “Feels comfortable to me, sir.”
“There we have it,” Kirk said. He raised his hands and let them drop against his knees. “You’re the only one experiencing this supposed fault.”
“That is impossible, Captain,” Spock said. “If I am experiencing subjective warmth at an ambient temperature that is normally too cold for my comfort, there must be a problem with the environmental controls. There is no other explanation. I trust Mister Scott will find and correct the fault shortly.”
“Or maybe the problem is with you personally, Mister Spock,” Kirk suggested, his tone gently teasing. ‘Maybe you have a temperature.”
“I do not understand,” he said, shaking his head. “Of course I have a temperature. All living beings have a temperature.”
“No, Spock. What I mean is, maybe you’re running a fever.”
“A fever.” The words came out flat, incredulous. “Impossible. I have no other symptoms of illness.”
“You sure about that?”
“Quite sure.” Spock turned to mount the steps to his station but paused when Kirk spoke again, softly.
“I seem to remember you complaining about a headache at breakfast.”
Spock turned, straightened his shoulders, clasped his hands behind his back and stared somewhere over the top of the captain’s head. Kirk knew this posture. It was the posture of a Vulcan whose last nerve was being trod upon by an annoying, illogical human.
“I do not complain,” he said. “You asked if I was experiencing any discomfort and I replied in the affirmative.”
“I only asked because you were rubbing your forehead and you weren’t interested in eating breakfast.”
A small sigh, audible only to Kirk, escaped him.
“If you have a point, captain, I would appreciate you making it so I can begin my duties.”
“You ever heard of Occam’s Razor, Spock?”
“The law of parsimony,” Spock replied. “Attributed to several ancient Terran philosophers. Loosely translated it is as follows, ‘Among competing hypotheses, the one with the fewest assumptions should be selected.’”
“Yes,” Kirk agreed. “In other words, the correct answer is usually the simplest one. So I would say--” An alert from the chairside comm interrupted him.
“Scott to Captain Kirk.”
“Go ahead, Scotty. What did you find out?”
“Level 2 ship-wide diagnostic of the environmental controls on all decks is complete, sir. We found no problems. Everything is operating within normal parameters. But I can assign a crew to investigate further, if you’d like.”
“That won’t be necessary, thank you, Mister Scott. Kirk out.” He ended the communication with a flourish and turned back to Spock, who was still standing at attention, although his shoulders had sagged a bit.
You see?” Kirk said, unable to keep a note of smugness from his voice. “Occam’s Razor. Or Occam’s fever, I suppose.” He rose from his chair and walked toward Spock. “Lieutenant Baker,” he called, “assume Commander Spock’s station, please. And Mister Spock, you are relieved. Report to Sickbay and let Dr. McCoy have a look at you.”
Spock sighed and with a terse nod in Kirk’s direction, made his way toward the turbolift.
“Smart man, that Occam, wouldn’t you say, Spock?”
Spock opened his mouth to argue the point, and then decided against it. He entered the turbolift and Kirk lifted a hand in a cheerful wave as the lift door closed.