A month had passed, and Paladas 3 was drifting far behind them in space, moving serenely in orbit of its white-yellow star. Reports suggested that the situation was improving, that Federation diplomats had made some progress in their work with native leaders on both sides of the conflict. It was unlikely that the majority of those radicalised fighters would listen to alien voices, but it was entirely possible that their more intelligent leaders might be swayed by the words of diplomats trained in conflict resolution, and that the leaders' changed attitudes could be passed on to the populace. The key, it seemed, was reducing prejudice and fear on both sides. The problem was beyond Spock – he could not understand why these irrational beings could not simply sit back and listen to reason – but, he supposed, that was why he was not a diplomat, and these people were. At times he felt in awe of his father, as one of this race of diplomats.

Spock signed a padd handed to him by a nervous looking ensign, then signed off on his own duties, and vacated the chair.

'Lieutenant Sulu, the conn is yours,' he said smoothly.

Without waiting for a reply, he left the bridge.

The captain was in the chair behind his desk when he opened the door to his first officer. A sheaf of discs were on the surface and there was tightly-packed text on his computer screen. He had been back on light duties for only a few days, and Spock frowned slightly at what looked like a vast amount of work spread over his desk.

'Jim, I thought the good doctor had instructed you – ' he began.

The captain turned the screen with one hand and increased the size of the font with the other, and Spock's eyes widened momentarily as he caught sight of the text there. It looked like part of a cheap romance novel.

'Christine Chapel sent it over,' Jim said with a smile, and at Spock's look of confusion added, 'It's kind of an in joke, Spock. Don't worry about it. To be honest it's not too bad. Makes a difference from Conrad and Melville. Good old pulp trash in pixels on a screen. It's light relief after staring at figures for the last hour.'

'I am almost certain the doctor instructed you not to look at screens for more than an hour,' Spock said sternly.

Jim flicked the monitor off carelessly. 'You're right, Spock. I was pushing myself. Wanted to see if I could manage it. I promise, I'll lay off the – what is it – Mills and Boon, I think the nurse said – and pick up Moby Dick again.'

Spock felt a ribbon of humour flick upward and then settle down again deep inside at the thought of Jim casting aside pulp romance for less arduous option of Hermann Melville. He sat down in the chair opposite Jim's and levelled his gaze at him.

'You are finding it difficult still?' he asked seriously.

Jim smiled. Spock could still see a very slight unevenness in that smile, something that would probably pass most people by completely. It relied on an intimate knowledge of the human's face, and a Vulcan level of scrutiny.

'Ah, it's not too bad,' Jim said, rubbing his hand briefly over his eyes as if they were tired. 'I just can't stare at the screen as long as I used to be able to. I can't do anything for as long as I used to be able to right now. No stamina.'

'It is improving,' Spock said, uncertain as to whether he was making a statement or asking a question.

'It is improving,' Jim nodded, 'and improving hand over fist compared to how it would have been without your help, Spock. It's just – I feel like a toddler, like I'm learning to live all over again,' he said, a slightly plaintive note edging his voice. 'I feel like I'm having to learn so many things anew.'

Spock nodded. It was hard for him to empathise, having never suffered a brain injury as Jim had, but he could certainly sympathise, and draw on what he had learned from the many melds they had shared in the last month in their joint quest to help Jim's brain heal.

'Are you ready for our chess game, Jim?' he asked, looking past his captain to the 3D board on the shelf behind him.

Jim gave a half-exasperated sigh. 'There you go, Spock. I'd completely forgotten. Did we arrange to play?'

Spock nodded solemnly. 'We agreed to a rematch last night. You said, and I quote, Tomorrow I'm going to – ahem,' Spock cleared his throat, momentarily uncomfortable, before completing, 'whoop your ass.'

'I'll take your word for it, Spock,' Jim said. He twisted round for the board, and lifted it onto the table. 'So, I guess you beat me last night, then.'

'I did,' Spock nodded, saying nothing about Jim's lack of recall. The doctor had assured him that it was normal, and would improve. It was one of the reasons, along with his lack of stamina and a certain mood instability, why the captain was still not able to be on active duty. Thankfully in this day and age Jim's recovery was more likely to take a few months than the years that would have been more likely a few centuries ago.

He let the captain set up the pieces and move the first white pawn. Spock did not alter his strategy in deference to the captain's injury, and Jim had not won a match since he had been recovered enough to play. Spock felt that rather than being annoyed by being beaten, the captain appreciated that Spock was not humouring him by deliberately playing badly.

Tonight, however, he saw a marked improvement in the captain's strategies the further into the game they progressed. Spock said nothing and continued playing at his usual level, but inwardly he was pleased at this demonstration of the captain's recovery. Chess was a challenging game on many levels, and as a diagnostic tool for Jim's level of capability it was perfect. Tonight Jim's hands were steady, his mood was relatively stable, and his strategies were flawless.

'I still feel bad about them, though, Spock,' Jim said musingly as he moved his bishop down a level.

Spock quirked an eyebrow upward. 'About – them – Jim?'

Kirk shook his head. 'Sorry, Spock. I mean Ndiaye and Gietz. They were good men.'

'And continue to be so,' Spock reminded him. 'They are considerably better men for their experience, and are putting that experience to good use.'

'I suppose it's the feeling I've abandoned them,' Jim mused. 'That we've abandoned them all.'

Spock shook his head. 'Illogical. We have left the situation in the hands of professionals trained specifically in the area of conflict resolution on the one hand and medical treatment on the other. The Enterprise's presence was only ever an intermediary solution. We were able to put a bandage on the problem, Jim, but not to heal it.'

'I guess so,' Jim murmured, his eyes on the board as Spock made his move. 'None of us were trained for what we saw down there. We had our eyes opened to a kind of warfare that we thought was unimaginable in this day and age.'

'Unimaginable to many member planets of the Federation,' Spock nodded. 'Not all.'

'No,' Jim said. 'No, I wish we could make it so that kind of experience was only ever found in fiction, in the pages of books. No living person should go through that.'

'The peoples of Earth had their own savage age, as did the peoples of Vulcan,' Spock pointed out. 'Perhaps the people of Paladas will find their own horrific experiences will spur them on to a future of peace and tolerance.'

'We can only hope,' Jim said wistfully.

Spock moved his rook and took one of Jim's pawns, slipping it quietly onto the desk. 'Check,' he said smoothly.

A week ago Jim would have been baffled by the problem that Spock presented, but tonight the captain deftly moved a bishop up a level to take Spock's pawn, and smiled.

'I have been following Commander Ndiaye and Lieutenant Gietz's progress,' Spock said.

'I thought he was an ensign?' Jim asked, looking confused. 'I guess my brain's playing up again...'

'No, I put in a recommendation for promotion, and it was accepted by Command,' Spock told him. 'Ndiaye is now a full commander, and Gietz a lieutenant. They both showed their aptitude in the field, and their removal from the Enterprise makes the increase in rank rather easier since they don't need to fit into the closed rank structure of the ship.'

'Well, I approve,' Jim nodded. 'So, what about their progress?'

'The pair have been instrumental in helping the diplomatic teams liaise with leaders on both sides of the conflict, due to their prior experience on the planet. They've also put a number of – rather more unconventional strategies into place...'

'Unconventional strategies?' Jim echoed. 'You know, Spock, I haven't looked into it – I didn't dare – but I get the feeling that pair had something to do with the mysterious disappearance of armaments from the area of conflict...'

Spock's eyebrow rose. 'I wouldn't advise you to look into it,' he said smoothly. 'But it is a fact that both sides have had continued difficulty in sourcing weaponry and explosives, and because of that casualties have been reduced by seventy-five percent.'

'Is it that simple, Spock?' Jim asked wistfully. 'Take away their bombs, and they stop killing one another?'

Spock shook his head. 'If one takes away bombs and guns it may be that they will attempt to kill one another with their bare hands – but one cannot kill dozens at a time with one's bare hands. It may slow the killing long enough to help diffuse the hatred.'

Jim moved his queen up to the top level, and abruptly said, 'Check – and mate, I think, Spock.'

Spock sat back in his chair and considered the board before him, scanning his eyes over the pieces and judging each available move. There was nothing that would save his king from danger. Jim did, indeed, have him mated. He reached out his hand and toppled over the black king.

'You didn't let me win that, did you, Spock?' Jim asked doubtfully, eyeing the board.

Spock met his eyes with complete honesty. 'I did not let you win. I played at my usual level, and you beat me.'

Jim carried on gazing at the pieces for a few more moments, then swept them all off the board neatly into their box, and closed the lid. His look of satisfaction seemed to warm the air in the room.

'If only all conflicts were as orderly as chess,' Jim commented wistfully.

Spock thought back to the situation on Paladas, to the dust and the mud, the screaming projectiles filling the sky, the torn lives and shattered buildings on the planet surface below. Then he remembered the war they had encountered on Eminiar 7, where that horror and violence had been removed entirely, and men and women had walked willingly into disintegration chambers to continue their bizarre charade of warfare. That very clean war had been prolonged by five centuries almost entirely because horror and destruction were kept to a minimum. Lives were lost cleanly and clinically, grief was processed as a way of life. All planets needed their savage eras, it seemed, and Paladas was working through its own. Much like individuals, cultures grew up, cast aside savagery and prejudice, and learnt to live with one another. Paladas would do the same, in time. With the help of men like Ndiaye and Gietz, perhaps they would learn to do it more quickly than otherwise. And meanwhile, insignificant to the populace of Paladas but very significant to four hundred and thirty crew members here in space, Jim Kirk would grow better and return to his own very adult role as the captain of the Enterprise, Spock would return to his comfortable position as second in command, and perhaps, for a while, all would be well.