"This is very strange," Ensign Pavel Chekov said wonderingly as he moved through the midday crowd in the marketplace he now knew was called a kideok. "Yesterday this was all babble."
His companion, Lieutenant Sulu laughed. He had persuaded the ensign to join him in experimenting with an intensive language learning program involving drugs that were reputed to increase retention and high-speed computer tutorials. Chekov had been sceptical at first, but their assignment on Kibria was going to last another five days at least and the prospect of not having to keep up with a universal translator for that length of time was just too tempting. "How much are you catching?"
"Infinitely more than yesterday." Chekov shielded his eyes from the bright rays of Kideo, the Kibrian sun and watched a low caste jibravt (seller of meats) argue prices with a mid-caste loravt (cook) who from the design on his livery was obviously attached to the household of Mahtab, a kiani (highest caste) engineer. "But in two weeks I won't understand a word of the Kibree language again?"
"Depending on how much you use the language, you may retain a few words and phrases, but, yeah, in less than three hundred hours you'll turn back into a pumpkin, linguistically speaking… and remember because Kibrian days last forty hours, you really only have seven and a half days of linguistic competence, not two weeks."
The Kibree, if nothing else, were a colourful people. The thick, dark skin that protected them from the burning rays of their sun came in shades of burnt orange, brownish-green and bluish-black. They were a humanoid race, almost uniformly thin, with high cheekbones and small slanting eyes. Chekov felt rather pale and drab in their midst.
"That should be more than enough." He squinted at the sign being carried by a native down the street from them. Because he'd only had one learning session, Chekov wasn't completely literate yet. "What does that say?"
Sulu quickly grabbed his friend's extended finger.
"Don't point," he warned. Sulu had started his learning sessions as soon as he found out about his assignment to Kibria. He not only had an extensive knowledge of the language, but was completely literate and had a rudimentary understanding of the complex laws and social codes of the Kibree. "As offworlders, we have no caste. Pointing is the gesture of a superior caste member towards an inferior. You could cause a misunderstanding."
"Oh, sorry," Chekov said, partly to Sulu, and partly to the unknown Kibree he'd slighted. "They have too many rules."
Sulu breathed a quick sigh of relief as the vendor passed them without taking note. "You better believe it. And we've got to be careful not to break any of them. But learning the language is the first step in gaining an understanding and deep appreciation of a culture."
"I'm not sure if I want to appreciate this culture." Chekov frowned at the sight of a young kiani lecturing an old slave in front of a shop.
The main reason Kibria, despite its technical advances, was having difficulty becoming a full member of the Federation was their stubborn adherence to a strict caste system that included slavery as its lowest rung. Young Kibree underwent an extensive battery of tests when they were little more than toddlers. The results determined their assignment to a caste on the basis of their intellect, aptitudes and social skills. The Federation might have been able to swallow this if the social ranking system didn't judge a percentage of the population virtually worthless and assign them as the personal property of those evaluated as being more deserving. In addition, the Kibrian legal system decreed that individuals could permanently or temporarily fall into slavery as punishment for certain infractions of the law.
"It's really not that different from twentieth century Russian communism," Sulu pointed out.
Chekov shook his head firmly. "The object of the Russian Revolution was to free the serfs and ensure equal opportunity through shared social responsibility, not to perpetuate a permanent underclass with no legal rights."
Sulu grinned. "Can you say that in Kibrian?"
Chekov paused. It had been quite a mouthful in Standard. "If we don't find a place to eat soon, " he said instead, choosing to demonstrate his new-found mastery of the alien tongue with terms he was more sure of, "we're not going to have time to eat at all."
Sulu shook his head. "We've got to do something about your accent."
"What accent?"
A group of kiani, legal and medical experts from the design of their robes, emerged laughing and talking from the doorway of the eating establishment that Sulu and Chekov were passing. One of them, engaged in animated dialogue with one of his colleagues, bumped into a vendor of crockery. The vendor, with her wares balanced carefully on her head and shoulders, stumbled and a good portion of her load fell in the direction of the two Enterprise officers. Although Chekov was able to escape injury, Sulu was knocked sprawling into the general walkway. A seller of ornamental boxes tripped over him, in the process spilling his load and causing two other passers-by to collide and join them on the pavement.
The kiani who'd started it all rapped the head of the slave carrying his robe sharply. "See what you've done, you stupid, clumsy thing!"
"It wasn't her fault!" Chekov insisted, stepping between the kiani and his property.
A low-caste technician wearing the kiani's livery shoved Chekov in the chest. "Who are you to interfere with a kiani, alien trash?"
Chekov shoved him back. "Mind your own business!"
The low-caste, having the ill temperament that his society thought defined his social strata, took a swing at Chekov. Chekov dodged, and in deference to Kibria's strict codes of conduct pushed the technician into the crowd rather than giving him the gut punch Chekov felt he deserved.
"Here now!" The kiani pushed Chekov's shoulder, knocking him off balance and into another nearby high-caste. His colleague followed suit and shoved Chekov into the midsection of someone wearing a bright yellow robe.
Having regained his balance, and temporarily lost his regard for Kibrian gentility, Chekov gave the yellow robe the punch he'd withheld from the technician. In the midst of following up with an uppercut to the now doubled over yellow-robe's blue-black jaw, his newly gained knowledge of things Kibrian kicked in.
"No, Chekov!" a horrified Sulu warned desperately from underneath a tangle of irate pedestrians, broken pots and crushed ornamental boxes.
It was, however, too late for even Chekov to stop his fist from connecting with the chin of the person who, judging from his yellow robes, was a kiriar, in other words, a high magistrate.
Some unseen supporter of the kiriar gave Chekov a swift chop between his shoulders that momentarily robbed the ensign of his breath and dropped him to his knees. The kiriar's slaves then took over, quickly pinning Chekov face-down onto the ground before the enraged magistrate, whose face had gone an alarming shade of blue-black-purple.
"Chekov!" Sulu cried, struggling to free himself of the mass of Kibree and dry goods still entrapping him.
"Silence!" the kiriar roared. "I will have silence!"
Although complete silence was impossible in the midst of the crowded market place, the area around the yellow-robed official became remarkably quiet. Only the muffled sounds of Chekov trying to spit dirt out of his mouth while the kiriar's men continued to hold his head to the ground were audible while the magistrate balefully surveyed the crow
"Driant!" The kiriar turned to the kiani who'd made the original misstep. "You will pay a five-jewel fine for disturbing the peace. In addition you will compensate for the losses of these fine tradesmen."
Encouraged by this judgement, the crockery and box vendors suddenly seemed to regain their lost mobility. The box man even gave Sulu a cheerful hand up as the humbled kiani bowed his head and said, "Yes, kiriar, of course. My deepest apologies."
"And you, technician." The magistrate pointed at the low-caste who had attacked Chekov. "You will pay a 10 jewel fine and render 50 hours of community service for public brawling."
"Yes, sir." The Kibree didn't resist as legal technicians led him aside to be tagged for disciplinary work assignments. "Thank you for your generosity, kiriar."
"And this…" The magistrate placed one foot on Chekov's back, as if that, rather than the half-dozen servants restraining him, held the ensign down. "This ill-behaved piece of alien refuse will serve a term of three years servitude for having assaulted the person of a kiriar."
"Oh, my God!" Sulu exclaimed in Standard, shouldering his way through the crowd. "Kiriar, Kiriar!"
"Will you add him to your household, Magistrate?" one of the kiani asked, "or will the offworlder be available for open bid?"
"Magistrate," Sulu said, pushing his way to the front. "I apologise for my friend's behaviour. I assure you, he didn't know who you were. This has all been a terrible accident. We're both with the Federation detachment assigned to the Selrideen Environmental Station…"
"And as such, are subject to our laws," the kiriar pronounced, calmly stepping back as his minions secured Chekov's hands behind his back with a length of flexible metal. "This one goes to the highest bidder."
"Sulu!" Chekov protested, as he was hauled roughly to his feet. The magistrate's ever alert assistants quickly put an end to this potential bother by effectively gagging him with a sash from one of their costumes.
"I bid ten jewels," the kiani Chekov had been pushed into offered, then cannily added, "Although he is extremely ill-behaved."
"Fifteen," another countered, stepping in front of Sulu. "But I know he'll be impossible to train."
"Twenty," the kiani who'd started the brawl called out. "Despite the barbarous way he speaks our tongue."
Chekov's eyes went wide at what he perceived as insults rather than clever attempts to discourage other bidders. He struggled furiously in the implacable grip of the kiriar's servants, firmly cementing his lack of fitness for anything other than the slave caste into the consciousness of the Kibree.
"Magistrate!" Sulu called, as inspiration finally hit him. "May I at least be allowed to join the bidding?"
The kiriar shrugged magnanimously as Chekov's going price topped forty jewels. "If you have the cash in hand."
Other kiani drawn from the inside of the restaurant vigorously joined in the bidding. Sulu was pushed to the back of the crowd by the press of bystanders as he frantically searched his clothing and equipment for currency
"Sulu." A kiani that Sulu recognised as Uyal, an engineer from the environmental station, tapped him on the shoulder. "I didn't know Federation people were in the habit of buying each other."
"This is a special case." As the bidding reached one hundred jewels, Sulu looked helplessly at Chekov, realising that they had only a maximum of twenty jewels between them, and that Chekov had been carrying both their allotments.
"Indeed it is," Uyal said quite calmly. "Remarkable bad luck that your friend should have hit a kiriar. If I didn't know better, I'd say it had all been planned."
Sulu tore his eyes away from the bidders, who were now naming figures in excess of one hundred and fifty jewels. "What?"
"Of course, we both know it wasn't," the kiani continued, as if they were talking about the weather. "But there are several who have been eager to see one of you become available for purchase… especially his type."
Sulu frowned, reflecting that it was an incredible coincidence that he and Chekov should encounter such a large group of kiani this time of day. "What type's that?"
The engineer smiled and batted eyes that were more almond-shaped than Sulu's own. "The ones with round eyes. The women seem particularly drawn to them."
As the bids topped two hundred jewels, the crowd of prospective owners began to thin out.
"Listen, Uyal," Sulu began, knowing that engineers in particular were always pretty flush with cash. "I hate to impose on you, but could I possibly…"
"Borrow a few jewels?" The kiani shook his head. "That would be frowned upon by my colleagues."
Sulu's heart sank as the last competing kiani decided that two hundred and fifty jewels was too great a price to pay for an ill-mannered, untrainable alien, who couldn't speak the language properly.
"However," Uyal continued unexpectedly, "I would like to buy your boots for … oh, three hundred jewels?"
"Sold!" Sulu said, without pausing to consider. He then called out over the heads of the crowd, "I bid three hundred jewels!"
"Ridiculous!" Chekov's prospective owner exclaimed disgustedly. "I'll not pay such a foolish amount."
"You have this much with you?" the kiriar asked suspiciously.
Sulu pulled off his footgear and exchanged it for a heavy pouch of valuables from Uyal. "Yes!" he said, holding it up as he made his way back to the front of the throng.
The magistrate motioned to one of the legal technicians who came forward with a device that looked similar to the electronic clipboards they used on the Enterprise. "Then he's yours."
Chekov was in the midst of trying to breathe a sigh of relief through his gag, when the kiriar's men again laid hands on him. Three held him still while another placed a leash around his neck.
The legal technician took Sulu's money and held out the pad. "Sign here, please."
"Thank you for your generosity, Magistrate," Sulu said, ignoring Chekov's distress as he affixed his name to the document of sale and wondered how they were ever going to explain this to Captain Kirk.
"Now that he is your property, you will be held responsible for any antisocial actions he may commit," the kiriar warned.
"I assure you…" Sulu broke off at the sound of further struggle from Chekov's direction.
The kiriar's servants had loosened Chekov's right hand and held it out to the clerk, who pressed the back of the clipboard against it. The smell of chemicals and something burning filled the air as the clipboard made contact with Chekov's flesh. Despite the gag, the ensign was able to make a surprisingly loud noise that clearly read as pain.
"What are you do…" Sulu demanded, but as quickly as it had begun, the process was over. The legal technician pulled the clipboard away, revealing an enlarged version of Sulu's signature neatly burned into the skin of Chekov's right hand.
"It's completely safe. No chance of infection," one of the kiani assured Sulu, as Chekov stared in disbelief at the faint traces of smoke rising from the outlines of his friend's name that had suddenly become a part of his body.
The ensign was too stunned to resist when the kiriar's men retied his freshly imprinted hand and its unsigned mate in front of him and led him by the neck to Sulu.
"Offworlders!" the magistrate snorted contemptuously as Chekov's leash was handed to Sulu. Their business concluded, the kiriar and his entourage swept down the street, leaving the Enterprise officers in their dusty wake.
"Don't say anything yet," Sulu warned, scanning the thinning crowd for the new owner of his boots.
Chekov bit down on the gag that Sulu had apparently forgotten about.
"Uyal!" Sulu called, finally spotting his Kibrian ally.
The engineer was smiling happily as he approached. "That turned out well for everyone, didn't it?"
"Uh… yeah," Sulu said, looking at Chekov, who didn't look in any mood to agree with that at this point. "Thanks. You really saved us. About those boots, I'll buy them back from you as soon as we get back to the station."
"No, no," the Kibree refused politely.
"No, I've really got to do this," Sulu insisted, knowing that Starfleet didn't approve of its members selling their uniforms, no matter how noble the cause.
"I've already sold them."
"Sold them?"
"Yes, I got nearly six hundred for them." Uyal proudly shook a new, bulging money pouch. "There's quite a rage for Federation artefacts right now. They're so interesting, and so terribly hard to come by."
"Oh," was all Sulu could say as he scanned the marketplace, knowing his boots were by now carefully secreted away in some kiani's private chambers.
"Although you did pay a little too much, I think you got good value." Uyal gave Chekov the same kind of approving pat one might give to a fine piece of furniture. "After all, we both know he's much cleverer than they were giving him credit for, and from my observations of him, he's not that ill-behaved on the whole. I know it's a little strange to get used to owning servants at first, but once you get this one trained to your specifications, I'm sure you'll be quite happy. I'll see you at the station."
"Yeah, see you," Sulu said, giving Chekov a slight tug forward and away from Uyal. He could see from the murderous looks that the ensign was giving the Kibree that this was not a felicitous time to remove his gag. He quickly led his fellow officer down the street and around a corner that took them out of view of prying eyes. By the time he untied the gag from Chekov's mouth, the ensign's murderous looks were directed at him.
"Thank you, Master," were Chekov's first words. He spoke in Kibrian, and it was surprising that someone with such a shaky mastery of the language could manage to drip his words with so much sarcasm.
"Oh, come off it, Chekov," Sulu said, unwinding the flexible metal binding from around his wrists. "You're lucky I was able to come up with the money."
"I feel very lucky, Master." Chekov turned his hand so he could read it right side up. "I never realised you had such a lovely, and very, very large signature."
"Sorry about that." Sulu removed the leash from around Chekov's neck. "We've got to get back to the station as soon as possible."
"Oh, yes." Chekov gingerly traced the edges of the brand. "This is pretty deep. Using just the medikit we have at the station, it will take several hours to remove and heal over. I wish we could simply beam back up to the ship
"Yeah." Sulu bit his lip. He knew Chekov wasn't going to like what he was about to hear. Under the best circumstances, the ensign could have simply beamed up to the Enterprise and avoided Kibria for the next three years. However, since the Enterprise was currently occupied taking readings of the Herondian nebula, it looked as though they were simply going to have to make the best of the situation. "Uh… We can't take that off until you go back to the ship."
"Oh," was all Chekov said, but he was starting to get the same look on his face that he had while the Kibree were auctioning him off.
"C'mon." Sulu moved back into the street. "We've got to get back to the station."
It seemed to Chekov that every eye in the marketplace was on his right hand. He hastily clasped both his hands behind his back. "We could call the Enterprise."
"Yes." In deference to Chekov's discomfort, and his own bare feet, Sulu calculated the shortest and least stony path back to the station. "But they're about forty-eight hours away…"
"…Travelling at warp four to warp six in order to rendezvous on time with the Vulcan science vessel at the nebula," Chekov finished. "If they turned back at warp eight…"
"…Which they might not do," Sulu pointed out, picking a pathway through the vendors. "Your life's not in danger and there's no immediate threat of a diplomatic incident."
Chekov shook his head. "Even travelling at warp eight, the ship would still be several hours late to the rendezvous."
"The Vulcans might not be very happy, but they could probably live with it." Sulu was gaining more than an academic appreciation for how hot the ground got on a planet with twenty hour days. "It is an option."
Chekov mentally totalled the number of important and influential people he could seriously irritate by recalling the Enterprise. "No. I can just stay in the station. The Kibree there…"
"…Will treat you like you're my slave."
Chekov frowned. In addition to everything else, it was becoming difficult to walk as fast as Sulu with his hands clasped behind his back. "If I stay inside the station, couldn't we…?"
"No," said Sulu firmly. "That mark can't come off until we leave the planet. Like the kiriar said, we're bound to abide by their laws."
"Some of us are more bound than others," Chekov pointed out ruefully.
"You can confine yourself to quarters and work from the terminal there," Sulu suggested, as they rounded a corner and the station came into sight. "That's about the only way you could avoid the Kibree. We could switch and have you do some of the work Johnson is doing with the main computer."
Chekov winced at the thought of spending the next five days isolated with a computer terminal.
"It's an option," he said grudgingly. As they drew close to the main entrance, it also occurred to Chekov that no matter which of his poor options he chose, this was going to be an unmatched opportunity for the two other Enterprise officers assigned to the station, Ensigns Johnson and Davies, to get in some prime ribbing.
"It might not be that bad," Sulu said cheerfully, preceding him into the station's foyer.
-o- -o-o-o- -o-
They were met by Kahsheel, a kiani engineer, and two mid-caste assistants.
"Mister Sulu," she said with a smile. "It is so fortunate that you've returned. You're needed in the control room immediately."
"Sorry we're late, but we ran into a little…" Sulu was moving towards the door to the interior of the station when his path was blocked by one of the mid-castes.
"Could I see your right hand, please?" Kahsheel asked politely.
Sulu and Chekov exchanged a look.
"Only those above the rank of slave are allowed in the control room," she explained, then gave a gesture to one of the mid-castes, who produced a pair of Kibrian boots to replace the ones Sulu had bartered away.
"Bad news travels fast," Chekov said, holding his hand stubbornly behind him.
"Kahsheel," Sulu protested, "I am aware of your customs, but I really need…"
The kiani waved a silencing hand at his objections. "Believe me, we would all like to have our personal servants with us while we work. However, they are simply too unreliable and potentially disruptive. If we make an exception for you in this case, we'll have no rebuttal to others making similar requests. There's no point having a rule if you continually make exceptions to it."
Sulu sighed, recognising the last as a Kibrian axiom that they felt was irrefutable. "All right. Chekov, report to your quarters for now. After I deal with the problem in the control room, you and I will discuss…" Sulu paused under a disapproving look from the Kibree. "I mean, I'll inform you of your new assignments."
"All right," Chekov said grudgingly, then responding to Sulu's elbow in his ribs, "I mean, yes, sir, Lieutenant."
"I will personally escort him there," Kahsheel offered generously.
"I think I can find my own way to my quarters, miss," Chekov said indignantly.
"Ensign! You will not show disrespect to our Kibrian hosts!" Sulu barked in his best command voice, and led Chekov by the arm a little ways apart from the Kibree before their indignant looks turned into action. Then speaking softly in Standard to the ensign, he said, "If you refuse to go along with this, you're going to get both of us into a lot of trouble, mister."
"I'm not refusing," Chekov protested, in the same low tones. "But do I have to do the whole 'Yes, Master', 'No, Master', walking-three-steps-behind act?"
"Yes. And in this case it'll be walking four steps in front, not three behind. Don't make direct eye contact. Speak only when you're spoken to. Don't do anything until she tells you to," Sulu whispered urgently, then added at a volume the Kibree could understand, "Is that understood, mister?"
"Yes, sir!" Chekov replied loudly.
"Well, go on," Sulu prompted out of the side of his mouth.
"And do what?" Chekov whispered back.
"Go and stand four steps in front of her and wait for her to tell you to go."
Feeling a deep blush rising in his cheeks, Chekov moved to what he estimated to be the correct position and stood facing the corridor that led to his quarters with his back towards the group.
One final, "This is ridiculous!" burst uncontrollably from his lips.
"Starting now, Ensign!" Sulu reminded him sharply.
"Yes, sir!"
"Now you know what we have to go through," Kahsheel said to Sulu, with a superior nod towards Chekov's stiff back.
"Right." Sulu frowned as he pulled on the Kibrian boots. "I'll see what's wrong in the control room."
"All right, you," Kahsheel ordered Chekov, "move along."
Chekov started down the corridor, biting back the many rude things he wished to say. It was no wonder to him that the lower castes were thought to be ill-tempered, bad mannered, surly and rebellious. He could now see they had a good deal more reason for being that way than the upper castes.
Kahsheel's behaviour was a particular disappointment. Up to this point she'd been one of Chekov's favourites among the kiani engineers working at the station. She was quite attractive, even by human standards. Her skin was a creamy shade of umber and her upswept eyes were a clear green. Her hair fell in long golden-red curls halfway down her back. Chekov had even entertained the notion that she seemed to favour him, but that was before he'd become one of the untouchables. He sighed as they approached his quarters and automatically reached for the door release.
"No." Kahsheel's voice stopped his fingers inches from their destination. "I've not given you permission
"But…" The kiani's finger on his lips silenced his protest.
"I know that it's locked," Kahsheel said firmly, "and that only your fingerprint can open it. But you must wait for me to give you permission. Normally you'd not be allowed to touch electronic equipment at all."
Chekov glared at her, until he remembered Sulu's crash course in slave behaviour and directed his gaze more properly towards the floor.
"Much better." Chekov would have liked to strangle the smug satisfaction out of the kiani's voice. "Now you may open it."
Chekov pressed the release button and stepped inside his quarters, thankful that the ordeal was over for now. However, Kahsheel unexpectedly joined him. She walked to the middle of his room and surveyed the ample quarters that had been provided for him while Chekov wondered how best to politely tell her to get the hell out.
"You have a lot to learn about being a slave," she commented judiciously.
Chekov decided that this constituted having been spoken to, freeing him to speak. "Well, I haven't had much practice at it."
"I know." Kahsheel placed a patronising hand on his shoulder. "At least, not yet."
Chekov suddenly felt a sharp stabbing sensation. It seemed to come from beneath the kiani's hand, perhaps from one of the rings she wore. It felt as though a pin had been forced briefly beneath his skin. As he quickly pulled away, he felt the telltale warmth of some sort of drug invading his system. He lurched forward for the room's com unit but Kahsheel was in the way. He tried to push her aside, but suddenly seemed to have no strength. His knees gave way and he slid to the floor still holding onto her arms. The brown of her robe blended into the darkness gathering at the edges of his vision until finally only darkness remained.
-o- -o-o-o- -o-
Sulu quickened his pace as he neared Chekov's quarters. He thought he heard something out of place. The first thing he saw when he rounded the corner was a clump of machinery lying tangled on the floor. It was a security unit with a palm plate and keypad that until recently had been a part of the door to Chekov's quarters. The unfamiliar noise Sulu had heard was the sound of a Kibree workman affixing a large ornate lock on the heavy wooden door that now hung in the entrance.
"Ah, Mister Sulu." Datvin, the station's manager, greeted him warmly. "You've caught us before we're quite done."
Sulu could only manage a sickly smile in return, dreading Chekov's reaction to what the Kibree had insisted on as the bare minimum of modifications that had to be made to accommodate the ensign's new status. "I appreciate your letting me retain these quarters for my… for Chekov."
The manager's expression soured perceptibly, as if someone had slipped a slice of lemon into his dish of sweets. "The room is rather large for a servant, but it will be more convenient for you if he is nearby… Particularly if you intend to use him for some of the technical aspects of your work."
This, Sulu knew, was the sore point. Half the kiani objected to his request to use Chekov as a technical assistant because they felt it was socially inappropriate. The other half were jealous because they couldn't do the same with their slaves. Datvin looked as though he neatly combined the two views. "The kiani have been most indulgent with me," Sulu replied diplomatically.
"Yes," the manager agreed with a pointed smile.
The silent workman completed his task and handed the door's key to Datvin.
"This," the station manager said, as he presented it to Sulu, "is for you. I'm sure it's not necessary to remind you that it is inappropriate for those of slave caste to be in possession of keys of any sort."
"Of course." Sulu accepted it with all the graciousness he could muster and pushed the door open.
There were several workmen inside. Two were disconnecting the room's workstation in preparation for its being wheeled away. Another exited lugging what was once the room's food dispenser. Sulu immediately noticed that another vital element was missing from the room.
"Where's Chekov?" he asked, as calmly as he could.
The station manager pulled another long face. "You must give him immediate and firm instructions on holding his tongue in the presence of his betters. You are responsible for his behaviour now, you know."
A whole range of frightening scenarios flashed in Sulu's brain. "He didn't…?"
"He was questioning my workmen in a manner and tone that was completely inappropriate."
"Oh." Sulu knew that from one of Chekov's new status, a simple "What the hell do you think you're doing?" would be shockingly unbecoming. "I apologise, and will see that it doesn't happen again. What did you do with him?"
"Out of deference to you we didn't punish him," Datvin said, his graciousness clearly grudging. "I merely had my workmen confine him to one of the storage cabinets."
There did seem to be a faint rustling coming from one of the closets at the far end of the room.
"Funny." The manager crossed his arms regally. "I don't seem to be able to remember which one it was now."
At that there was a distinct but muffled thud that sounded suspiciously like the heel of a Star Fleet issued boot coming into contact with the inside of a closet door.
"I think I can find him," Sulu said politely as he held the door open for the manager and the remaining two workmen. "Again, I apologise, and thank you for all your efforts."
"We seek to accommodate our Federation guests," Datvin returned, exiting with a formal bow.
Sulu gratefully pushed the door closed behind them. "Oh, Chekov," he sighed, as he homed in on the storage cabinets. Opening the door to an empty walk-in closet, he found the Enterprise's navigator sitting cross-legged on the floor.
"Is this what it's going to take to keep you out of trouble?" he asked, giving his friend a hand up.
"Sanctimonious barbarians!" Chekov muttered hotly, but his hand in Sulu's was cold and shaking.
"Are you all right?" Sulu noted that Chekov seemed to need his help to rise a little more than he'd expected.
"No, gracious Master," Chekov said with black humour, rubbing his eyes as if he were dizzy. "Your humble property isn't at his best right now."
"What's the matter?" Sulu asked, then quickly amended, "Other than the obvious?"
"I'm not sure. I could use a drink."
They both looked at the hole in the wall where the ensign's food dispenser used to be.
"Maybe later," Sulu said. "What happened?"
"I don't know." Chekov walked over to his bed and sat down heavily. "When I woke, Kahsheel told me I'd fainted — probably from the heat, skipping lunch, over excitement, and uh…" he gestured reluctantly to the brand on his right hand. "…the obvious. A few minutes after she left the workmen arrived and began to restore my quarters to the proper decor for the dark ages."
"You passed out?"
"That's what she told me. I think I was drugged."
Sulu frowned. "Why would she want to do that?"
"I don't know."
Sulu shook his head. His instincts were telling him there was something less than random about the whole incident that had put Chekov in this predicament. There was something fishy going on with Chekov and the Kibree, but none of it made sense yet. "I've only been gone a little over an hour."
Chekov nodded. "I estimate I was unconscious for around twenty minutes."
"Twenty minutes, hmmm…" Sulu twisted the room key as he thought. "That's not long at all. What could she have done to you alone for twenty minutes?"
Both their imaginations kicked in simultaneously.
"No," Chekov insisted. "She wouldn't have…"
"Well, you always said she liked you," Sulu said, half-teasing now.
"I was unconscious!" Chekov protested.
Sulu shrugged. "Different strokes for different folks."
Chekov turned a little pink but shook his head adamantly.
"Johnson's got the medical scanner patched into one of his experiments," Sulu said, sobering. "I'll get him to disconnect it and we'll check and see if there's anything suspicious floating around in your bloodstream. It is possible you just fainted, isn't it?"
Perhaps." Chekov examined Sulu's upside-down signature on the back of his hand critically. "This was a shock to my system, to say the least. Although it seems that if I was going to faint at all, I would have done so immediately. I suppose there could have been delayed repercussions, a reaction to the difference in temperature between the market place and the station…"
The ensign didn't seem at all persuaded by any of the explanations he was laying out. However, there didn't appear to be anything either of them could do about it until they could get access to their medical equipment.
"Do you feel like doing some work now?" Sulu asked.
Chekov looked at the empty space where his computer used to be. "What can I do?"
"Come to my room," Sulu said, opening the door.
"Oh, I see," Chekov replied, following him out. "What did you have in mind, Master? A little light cleaning? Perhaps I could polish your boots."
"Don't say anything about boots," Sulu warned, pausing to lock the door to Chekov's quarters.
"Don't worry, Master," Chekov said cheerily as he preceded him properly down the corridor. "I'll have plenty of time to knit you a pair by the time the Enterprise gets back."
"Oh, God," Sulu groaned, beginning to dread the return of his ship as his list of things that were going to be difficult to explain grew. He was puzzled when Chekov came to an abrupt halt in front of the entrance to his quarters. "What is it?"
Chekov gestured to the electronic lock. "After you, Master."
"I thought you set these up so that any of us…"
"I did," Chekov agreed, "but Kibrian society, whose rules I am required to go along with in order to avoid both of us getting into a lot of trouble, is set up so that I can't use electronic equipment."
"Why did it have to be you?" Sulu asked as he triggered the door release. "Why couldn't I own Ensign Johnson instead?"
Chekov shrugged as he entered. "If Johnson suddenly became a slave, could you really tell the difference?"
"That's exactly my point." Sulu crossed to his terminal and activated it. "You know, Chekov, you aren't exactly a model of subordination most of the time."
"Who, me, Master?" the ensign asked innocently.
"I don't think there's anyone on the ship you're really afraid of," Sulu said as he entered the proper sequence of access codes, "except maybe the captain."
"I'm not afraid of Captain Kirk," Chekov said, pulling a chair up beside him.
"Wait until he gets here."
Chekov winced at what he was seeing on the screen. "Not the fluorcarbon ratios," he pleaded.
Sulu crossed his arms unsympathetically. "Listen, slave, you don't know how I had to kick and scream to get this much for you to do. As it is, the rest of us are going to be running overtime to keep up. We've had to cancel a few of Johnson's experiments entirely. Believe me, most of the people in this station would be a lot happier if I had you in here dusting. Which reminds me…"
Chekov picked up on his change of tone immediately. The younger man turned and gave him one of his brown-eyed lamb-to-the-slaughter looks.
Sulu cleared his throat guiltily. "In order to get them to agree to let me have you do this sort of thing, I had to make a few concessions…"
Chekov bit his lip. "Concessions?"
"To their way of thinking, it's very unfair for me to have my own servant and expect other people's staff to take care of me," Sulu explained, but somehow it didn't sound nearly as reasonable coming out of his mouth as it had from the kianis. "So, it looks like you won't be able to just stay in here or in your quarters all the time. You'll have to do things… like run errands."
"Errands?" Chekov repeated dubiously. "What sort of errands?"
"Oh, just anything that I or… or…" Sulu faltered, but knew it was no use delaying breaking it to him. "Anything that I or anyone else of higher caste asks you to do. If the kiani see you standing around, they'll feel they have every right to put you to work. So I'll try to keep you busy. Look, Pavel, there's no getting around it. You're going to have to act the part too. Remember Hisfal, one of the computer specialists? She's helping me put together a tape on proper behaviour for you."
"How kind of her," Chekov said unkindly. "Anything else?"
"Well, I did actually say you'd do any cleaning of my quarters that needed to be done — which I'll help you out with of course. Just don't be surprised if someone shows up with a mop and bucket for you."
"Very little would surprise me right now," the ensign assured him. "And?"
"And you'll have to wait on me in the main dining room. You've seen how that's done."
The food dispensers in their quarters were set up only to give them drinks. Courtesy and necessity forced the Enterprise officers to accept the hospitality of the kianis' dining hall. Chekov had been on the receiving end of the silent, self-effacing service that so added to the room's formal atmosphere.
"Of course. I should have anticipated that." Chekov looked a good deal less than enthusiastic. "When will I eat?"
"It's not so much a matter of when as it is of where," Sulu replied delicately. "You're to report to the kitchens an hour and a half before all mealtimes to help prepare and serve the food. They say they'll see you're fed then."
Chekov crossed his arms unhappily. "I feel like I'm being punished."
"Yeah. Exactly. See, to the Kibree what you did was criminal and they're pretty adamant that they see you pay for it. You're just lucky you only have to go through five days of this rather than three years." Sulu immediately regretted using the word "lucky" in connection with any of this. "Maybe that's the best way for you to deal with this situation. Just look at it as a form of disciplinary action."
"In addition to what I'll probably get when I get back to the ship," Chekov added glumly.
"Let's not dwell on that right now," Sulu said, thinking of his own culpability in the matter.
"No, that's my only consolation," Chekov insisted. "After this, being confined to quarters for the next three months will seem like heaven."
-o- -o-o-o- -o-
In the control room, a large, windowless apartment lined with computer consoles and gleaming white display boards, looking far more at ease than he did in the more ancient parts of the station, Ensign Johnson was patiently scrolling though their detailed mission specification. "I can take over the power calculations, and the manpower estimates that Chekov was scheduled to complete, sir. Once I've done that, the economic impact assessment is relatively straightforward. We're already…" He paused to check off a box that he'd forgotten to initial earlier. "…thirty seven percent through by my calculations, so even if Chekov does nothing…"
Sulu watched him, feeling mildly envious of the man's willingness to keep track of his own and everyone else's work so meticulously.
"What is he going to do?" Davies broke in dismissively. "Sitting around while the rest of us do his work doesn't sound like much of a sanction to me." The female member of the team was their computer specialist, charged with adapting Federation software for primitive Kibrian computers. "Are you sure he didn't do this deliberately, Sulu?"
"Chekov is far too responsible to do anything of the kind," Sulu said evenly.
Davies smiled to herself as if she knew better. "I suppose this means he'll be restricted to quarters when he's not working, too," she said. "Oh well, if the mountain won't come to Mohammed…"
She stopped, aware that both Sulu and Johnson were looking at her. "I mean, he'll get bored. Someone ought to keep him company."
"I don't think he's going to have that problem, Miss Davies. The Kibrians have a work schedule all laid out for him, as far as I can see," Sulu reassured her grimly.
Johnson nodded. "Yes, I've heard some complaints that no additional staff have been budgeted for our stay. Normally, visiting high caste Kibrians arrive with a household of servants and low castes to share in the domestic work."
"They're going to make him wash floors and do the dishes? Poor Chekov…" The laughter in Davies' voice belied her apparent sympathy.
"And wait at table, apparently," Sulu confirmed, moving back to the workstation he'd been using before he'd called his team together to assess their progress. "I think it would be helpful if we all tried to play down the situation as much as possible."
"Yes, sir," the two ensigns chorused obligingly, but Davies' eyes were bright with amusement while Johnson shook his head worriedly. "He's not going to like this, sir."
"The thought had occurred to me, Johnson. We'll handle it somehow." Sulu snapped his screen on and went back to work.
-o- -o-o-o- -o-