"It's gray, Jim," said Dr. Leonard McCoy. The ship's surgeon stood before the mirror on his office wall, scratching through his thatch of hair as if searching for the cause of some mysterious medical condition.

It was Captain James Kirk's first inkling that the birthday party might be a major mistake.

At times, Kirk had the feeling the whole universe was aligned against him. There were the big things, like wars or supernovas, events so obviously out of his control he couldn't take them personally. But when the little plans, best-laid as they might be, also went astray, he had to wonder what he'd done to deserve his fate.

In the grand order of history, his medical officer's birthday might not mean much, but Kirk wanted it to be special. After all, McCoy had no better friend in the galaxy, so the captain was determined not to let the event pass unhonored.

Until he discovered that McCoy himself wanted it to pass not only unhonored, but totally unnoticed.

"Completely gray," McCoy repeated, glowering.

"Oh, come on, Bones. A little silver around the temples is hardly completely gray," Kirk said, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he stood behind McCoy.

McCoy glared at the captain's reflection over his shoulder. "It's not funny, Jim. I'm turning ancient and you're in hysterics."

"You're exaggerating just a bit."

"That," said McCoy tartly, "is also a sign of old age."

His mood failed to improve as he and Kirk stepped out of the turbolift near one of the ship's messes.

"Do you realize how long it's been since anyone's called me 'Lenny' ... or 'son'?"

"Bones, do you really miss being called 'son'?"

"No. I hated it when I was a kid," McCoy said, pausing as a pretty yeoman came out of the messroom. She smiled at them and disappeared around the curving coridor. "But it was a whole lot nicer when two-thirds of the ladies on board weren't young enough to be my daughters. There's only one solution-swear off birthdays altogether. Just ignore them."

Oops, Kirk thought as they entered to eat. Should he scrap the birthday plans? The invitations he'd had posted with the duty notices, appearing on everyone's cabin computer screen but McCoy's ... the food he'd ordered specially programmed, with threats against anyone who might let the secret slip.... Cancel a potentially great surprise party just because the man whose birthday it was wanted no part of it?

Certainly not. If McCoy wanted to be a wet blanket, so be it. Most birthday parties on board the USS Enterprise were small affairs, with only the closest friends of the guest of honor. But this was to be a rare, shipwide gathering; after all, even the youngest crew members had come to regard the doctor as a crotchety, eccentric uncle, the kind who scolded you as a kid and then passed you a piece of candy when your mother wasn't looking. Everyone knew McCoy's caring went far deeper than mere professional responsibility.

And Kirk knew that mutiny was a distinct possibility if he canceled the whole idea after all the plans had been made and anticipation built. If he needed a last word to allay his fears, Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott was there to offer it, with that touch of common-sense insight he often displayed-whenever he could be coaxed to look away from his engines.

"Put McCoy in a room with the ladies, plenty o' good drink, some fine food, and a bit o' the singin' " said Scott, "and he'll snap right out o' whatever's ailin' him."

Later, Kirk gave the signal on schedule. In twos and threes, off-duty crewmen headed for the large rec room on deck seven. The tough part remained for Kirk himself to master-getting McCoy to stop counting gray hairs long enough to attend the celebration.

"Let's go, Bones," Kirk said to the inert body curled on McCoys bunk.

"Let me lie in the dark. Maybe I'll stop getting older, McCoy sighed "If I had leaves at least I'd stop photosynthesizing."

"You're a doctor, not a plant," Kirk said, grunting as he grabbed McCoy's arm and pulled him to a sitting position. He felt slightly foolish. "Come on. I have no intention of carrying you."

"Where aren't you carrying me?"

"To the rec room."

McCoy tried to slump back into his fetal position, but Kirk held his arm. "Aww, leave me alone, Jim. What am I going to do in the rec room in this state of mind?"

"You're going to snap out of it, that's what. I've planned a chance for you to engage in one of your favorite pastimes-baiting Spock while I play chess with him."

McCoy let out a long slow sigh, like a deflating tire. "Well, when you put it that way." He got to his feet and followed Kirk out. McCoy's glumness made the excursion to deck seven somewhat less cheery than a stroll to the gallows, and Kirk suppressed the urge to go back.

They turned into the rec room and the doors slid open to reveal a completely dark cavern. Kirk pushed his friend forward and the lights suddenly flashed on, strobing in red, blue, yellow and white. Without uttering a sound, McCoy jumped back at least three feet, landing squarely on Kirk's toe. The hidden crowd of crewmen popped up from behind tables and planters, shouting, "Happy birthday, McCoy!"

Braced for a look that might kill, Captain Kirk turned to the doctor. McCoy's eyes were glazed with shock. The shout gave way to applause and laughter, and a lovely lieutenant from the medical staff placed a drink-and herself-in McCoy's hand. Finally, he allowed himself to be drawn into the festivities-but not before he shot a grinning glance back at Kirk. "Jim, I'll get you for this!"

Kirk chuckled and found himself next to his engineer. "I guess you were right, Scotty."

"Well, it's not just engine I know, sir," Scott said, his brow furrowed in false modesty. "The only problem I can see is, he'll want one o' these every time he feels old. Come t' think of it, sir ... I'm feelin' a wee bit old m'self."

Crew members swarmed around the long tables of cake, hors d'oeuvres, and drinks, and the first trays were picked clean in no time at all. Chekov poked mournfully at a nearly microscopic piece of cake with his fork while Dr. Christine Chapel and Lieutenant Commanders Uhura and Sulu dug into wedges almost too large for their plates.

"Mmmm," Uhura purred. "I didn't think the food synthesizer could make cake like this."

"It couldn't," said Christine. "Not till I changed the programming a bit."

Everyone laughed-except Chekov. Sulu nudged him. "What's with you?"

"Where's your party face?" said Uhura.

"I have a feeling this is his party face," Sulu said wryly. "You know these gloomy Russians." He slid his fork under a huge hunk of cake and dumped it on the saturnine security chief's dish.

Chekov promptly dropped it back onto the serving tray with a strangled cry of frustration. "It's fattening."

"You're still a growing boy," said Uhura. "Since when are you worried about fattening foods?"

"Since I seem to have put on an extra ten pounds."

"Where? On your toes?"

Chekov shrugged in genuine dismay. "I don't have the slightest idea. I don't feel fat."

"Christine," said Sulu, "is he really ten pounds overweight?"

Christine nibbled her cake with a distinctly guilty countenance. "That's what the scale said. When we get older, our metabolism changes. You put on weight more easily and it goes to different places. Let's face it, Chekov, you're not twenty-two anymore."

"Don't remind me."

The cheery din and clatter of the party promised to last a whole diurnal cycle. After all, McCoy had insisted that all duty shifts get a chance to observe a living relic in the flesh, even if it was a thoroughly soused relic. Kirk was on his way out to return to the bridge when the ship suddenly shuddered. It was a barely perceptible tremor that would go unnoticed by almost anyone on board-except Kirk or Scott. Both felt the surge of rapid acceleration, and they moved together to the intercom as First Officer Spock's voice smoothly said, "Captain Kirk, to the bridge, please."

Kirk touched the wall switch. "Kirk here. Did somebody spirit a case of Scotch up there?"

"Negative, sir. All duty personnel must remain sober."

"Then why are you shaking the ship, Spock?"

"Aye, y'must've gone to warp six."

"Warp eight, Mr. Scott."

"Scotty, I'm surprised at you," Kirk said in mock amazement.

"I guess I've had too much t' drink, sir."

"What's going on. Spock?"

There was an instant of hesitation before the Vulcan replied, and Kirk sensed this was no time for joking "Perhaps you had best report to the bridge, Captain."

"On my way. Kirk out."

The turbolift doors hissed open. Kirk stepped out onto the bridge deck. Spock swiveled in the center seat and stood.

"We have received a Priority One signal from Star Fleet Command, Security Condition Red, ordering us to Star Base Twenty-two by seventeen hundred hours tomorrow. Warp eight is sufficient to ensure arrival by fifteen-forty-five hours. No further information on why our presence is requested so urgently, sir."

"Not even in code, Spock?"

"Negative. The message simply said that you, Dr. McCoy, and I are to report to Fleet Admiral Harrington immediately upon our arrival."