The room had no walls, no floor, and no ceiling. It was a place between moments — a gap in the ticking of the universe's great clock.

Spock stood perfectly upright, his hands behind his back, one eyebrow slightly raised.

Moments ago, he had been conducting a sensor sweep aboard the Enterprise, when an improbable energy surge had enveloped him. Now, he was here — wherever *here* was.

A figure approached.

A tall, skeletal being in a black robe, with two pinpoints of blue light in empty eye sockets, and a scythe that shimmered without reflection.

I BELIEVE WE HAVE NOT MET.

I AM DEATH.

Spock’s eyebrow rose further. “Fascinating.”

**YOU ARE UNUSUALLY CALM FOR ONE WHO HAS ENTERED MY DOMAIN.

“I am not certain I have entered your domain. I detect no physiological signs of death.” Spock tilted his head. “Nor is there evidence of dream state or hallucination. Therefore, this encounter is… anomalous.”

Death inclined his skull, almost as if nodding.

ANOMALIES ARE RATHER COMMON IN MY LINE OF WORK.

Spock considered. “You are a personification of death?”

YES. I AM THE END POINT OF ALL MORTAL EXISTENCE.

THE FINALITY. THE FULL STOP AT THE END OF LIFE'S SENTENCE.

Spock clasped his hands behind his back, eyes thoughtful. “An anthropomorphic representation of an abstract concept. Intriguing. On Vulcan, death is regarded as a natural progression, not to be feared. Yet your presence implies agency. Do you choose when lives end?”

NO. I DO NOT CHOOSE. I MERELY PERFORM THE DUTY. I AM THE GUIDE, NOT THE AUTHOR.

“A most logical distinction,” Spock replied.

There was a moment of silence — or perhaps timelessness. Spock regarded the figure with clinical curiosity.

Death spoke again.

AND YOU, COMMANDER SPOCK. YOU DEFY ODDS AND SURVIVE WHERE LOGIC SUGGESTS YOU SHOULD NOT. YOU HAVE DIED… AND RETURNED.

Spock inclined his head. “An unfortunate but accurate observation.”

IT IS A PECULIAR EXPERIENCE, TO BE EXPECTED… AND THEN NOT NEEDED.

Spock’s gaze softened by a margin almost imperceptible. “I have come to appreciate that logic cannot always account for the unpredictable nature of life. Nor of death, it would seem.”

Death’s tone, though unchanging, seemed to carry the faintest echo of amusement.

LIFE IS MOST… ILLOGICAL.

Spock allowed a rare half-smile. “On that, we are in agreement.”

YOU HAVE QUESTIONS.

Spock hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Indeed. Is there consciousness beyond corporeal existence? Empirical data is, understandably, lacking.”

Death regarded him for a moment.

THERE ARE MANY PATHS. SOME CONTINUE. SOME CEASE. SOME BEGIN AGAIN. NO TWO JOURNEYS ARE IDENTICAL.

Spock nodded solemnly. “A complex answer. Satisfactory.”

AS SATISFACTORY AS ETERNITY CAN ALLOW.

Another pause stretched — or didn’t, as time was fluid here.

Finally, Death spoke.

IT IS NOT YET YOUR TIME, COMMANDER. THIS MEETING IS… A COURTESY. A MINOR TEAR IN THE VEIL.

Spock performed the Vulcan salute. “Live long and prosper.”

Death’s blue gaze shimmered.

ALL THINGS CONSIDERED… I SHALL SIMPLY SAY: FARE WELL.

And in the next blink, Spock was back aboard the *Enterprise*, standing by his sensor console as if no time had passed.

He touched the edge of the console thoughtfully. “Most… illogical,” he murmured — with the faintest glimmer of curiosity in his eyes.