"Nith! If you'll just listen to me..! Put me..!" In the midst of her demand, Davies realised that she was being hoisted from her captor's shoulder. "…down."

The ex-kiani had carried her to a place full of the sounds of women and children. He lowered her to a filthy mat.

"Wait!" Davies cried out as she thought she heard him begin to move away. "Nith! Please! You can't just leave me in this state! Have some pity."

Her guard hesitated, but after a moment he carefully removed the sack obscuring her vision.

Davies found herself in the corner of a ill-lit chamber. Kibrians peered at her from a safe distance. The small crowd was made up of mostly women, but there were a few children and men — most of whom looked sick or lame. The ones that wouldn't be able to run very fast, Davies decided

"You will be quite safe here," Nith assured her, beckoning one of the women forward.

Davies struggled up to a sitting position as the servant woman approached reluctantly. The Kibrian had dark skin and a ragged child clinging to the skirt of her robe.

"Sister Nula," Nith introduced her as politely as any Welshman at Sunday chapel. "This is Sister Day-Veez. She must stay here. If no one sends for her before Engineer Kahsheel's funeral, you women must take her with you when you go to the safe place. Do you understand?"

The dark-skinned woman frowned mightily and planted her hands against her broad hips. "No, Nith. I take no understanding why you give burden to me of this cursed Feddie mort when I have crying nammies to give sight to and two score toasted slags to give dosing of kvurr to before first moonsettime."

"We each have our responsibilities, Sister," the ex-kiani began placatingly.

"Nith," Davies interrupted, "untie me."

"Give no ear to that, Nith," Nula vetoed abruptly.

"She gave no ear when the curly red one put our Feddie in gold chains," a fresh voice added.

Davies rolled her eyes when she recognised her new accuser as Chekov's blue-skinned admirer. So much for the possibility of a sympathetic audience.

Nith held up a silencing hand. "Sisters, we have no time for this dissension…"

"What time is it?" Davies demanded.

"It wants but a few minutes of the first moonset and the commencement of the Meal in honour of the Kepir. Selrideen gave the kepir to the lady Kaloshen, so that she would accept his favours…"

"Yes, I'd love to hear all about that some other time, but I know that… that is to say, I've heard a rumour that someone was planning to blow up this station at first moonset." Davies watched the women exchange uneasy glances. "But you've been told to keep me here until Kahsheel's funeral."

"Normally the Meal would commence after first moonset. At that time, the servants would be gathered in the kitchen yards, waiting for the celebration to begin, while the children are entertained in the gardens by actors and puppets paid for by the kiani…"

Nith had a thorough, scholarly approach to imparting information that threatened to drive Davies to violence.

"But tonight isn't normal?"

"No. The Meal has been brought forward because of the need to prepare for the funeral feast. And similarly, the destruction has been put back because of the greater opportunities the funeral offers."

The ex-kiani seemed to experience uncharacteristic reticence when it came to spelling out exactly what those opportunities might be.

"So everyone is safe, for the moment?"

"Those who serve Selrideen are always in his care," Nith assured her obliquely.

'Apart from the lady Kaloshen,' Davies didn't point out. So, the kepir was either something highly desirable or something that would impair one's judgement. Perhaps she should be wary if anyone offered her anything today… anything at all. "Nith, you said.… You seemed to disagree with the way the kiani behave. Are you sure you think blowing up people is a good idea? Some innocent people are bound to get hurt." She had herself, Sulu and Johnson chiefly in mind, but it seemed tactless to say so.

Nith turned his eyes away from her. "What would you do if you were in my place? I think you would fight, wouldn't you, Sister?"

"Yes. I'm quite sure I would."

"The children are still safe… and the servants," Nith said, regaining his composure. You will be safe, if you remain here and do as you are told."

Davies formed the strong impression that Nith really was very uncomfortable with what he was doing. "I wouldn't presume to tell you what you should and shouldn't do on your own world, Nith, but please, couldn't you at least try to warn my friends… Lieutenant Sulu and Ensign Johnson. I don't even know where they are…"

Nith rose. "I must go now. The servants will be admitted to the dining hall at any moment. It will arouse comment if I am late."

"Wait!" Davies protested, but it was the blue-skinned woman's hand on his arm that stopped the ex-kiani.

"Nith," the slave asked urgently, "does our Feddie still take dead?"

"Yes!" Nula snorted contemptuously. "And good riddance!"

Nith, on the other hand, made no reply other than to attempt to pull free of the servant woman's grasp.

The blue-skinned Kibree held him fast. "They make talk that Mras took property of a kirrie that had the Feddie's form."

"I must go," the ex-kiani insisted, trying to peel those work-hardened fingers off his arm.

"Yes," Davies corroborated. "They put me in with him. He sounded like Chekov — I could have sworn he was Chekov — but he looked like a Kibree…

"The Feddie… alive?" Nula repeated incredulously.

"Who is Mras holding, Nith?

"What means he to do…?"

"Enough of this foolishness!" Nith cut them off in a commanding voice from his previous life. "Go back to your assignments, all of you. Time is short. Do as you are told and you will be safe."

This seemed to cow the majority of the bystanders. Nula shepherded her friends and offspring away from Davies' mat, pausing occasionally to cast a resentful glance over her shoulder. Only the blue woman stayed stubbornly in place.

"Help me secure these ropes, Sister," Nith ordered her. "Don't worry about Chekov," he said softly as the two of them knelt at Davies' ankles. "He's with Selrideen."

"In the afterlife?" the blue woman said.

"Look," Davies whispered back impatiently. "I don't want to knock your religion, but believing that doesn't promise much help for me."

When Nith looked up from her ankles, Davies sucked in a deep breath. Had she just thrown away any willingness the Kibree had to help her with this display of agnosticism?

He looked down his long nose at her. "Finding oneself a servant amongst one's former peers is enough to make anyone thirsty for revenge. You can believe that. But I do not think Chekov intends to let even you burn, mistress."

The title was a slap in the face that Davies didn't even register. "Are you saying he's alive or not?"

"I sent him to Selrideen," Nith replied firmly.

The blue woman's eyes flew open. "You murdered…?"

"No, no," Nith hushed her. "I sent word of the change in plan to Selrideen — to the dream peddler — by way of the alien. You must not speak of this to anyone."

"The Feddie has taken life again as a Kibbie?" the blue woman asked slowly.

When Nith rolled his eyes at this, Davies was ashamed to admit she had basically the same question. "Are you sure the person you sent was Chekov?" she asked nonetheless. "He was certified dead by our paramedic several hours ago and the man I saw definitely looked Kibrian."

Nith frowned at her as if he were puzzled that she could have made such an error. "Well… I imagine if one of the four of you was not genuinely human, you could immediately see through their disguise while no Kibrian would suspect anything, but… truly, he is not a very convincing Kibree."

"I… I see. But he was so ill…"

"Don't be concerned," Nith instructed, fussing with the ropes around her ankles. "It was just the peeva — or lack of peeva. Mras gave him a portion. He should be able to find his way back to his master — if that is where he wants to go."

"Yes. I think that is where he'd want to go." Davies frowned as she realised the Kibree actually was tightening her bonds. "Wait, Nith, you can't leave me here."

"Do as you're told and you will be perfectly safe," Nith assured her again as he checked the ropes around her wrists.

"You don't understand. I've got to get back to Sulu too — wherever he is. There's no guarantee Chekov can find him. I couldn't. You don't know what's going on up there. If Chekov isn't dead, there's a good chance he could wind up that way wandering around drugged…"

"Watch her carefully," Nith instructed the blue woman, then gave her homely face a reassuring pat. "And have faith in Selrideen, Sister. He will take care of your Feddie."

"Nith!"

The Kibree gave Davies no opportunity for further appeals. A wooden door exiting the low, vaulted chamber swung closed behind him with a resounding bang, leaving the ensign alone with her wardress in the yellow lamplight. The blue skinned woman sat back on her heels. She seemed thunderstruck by Nith's revelations. Davies could sympathise.

"The Feddie takes life again," the Kibrian said softly to herself. "As the old stories give telling… Then comes Selrideen."

"What?"

When the Kibree looked at her, Davies couldn't tell if the woman were happy or terrified.

"Soon comes Selrideen," she repeated simply.

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

The Alareen relay station was virtually the first unashamedly modern building Johnson had seen on Kibria. It seemed to be a product of the bizarre love affair with reinforced concrete that most emergent cultures went through at some stage. Rust coloured streaks draped its windowless facade and dusty succulents clung to a marginal existence in oversized tubs. The facility looked as though it could have been closed down for a few hours or a few centuries.

The main entrance was a tall door set flat into the wall. It was currently in shadow and Johnson shivered as he waited for his escort to retrieve the key from his voluminous robe.

"Ah, here we are." The Kibree withdrew the mace-like affair. "If you'd just stand over there while I deal with the lock…"

The door swung open smoothly into what Johnson's eyes momentarily interpreted as darkness. Once he arrived inside, his vision quickly adapted to the shadows.

"The subspace research unit is in the Albrikk wing." His guide put a friendly hand on his shoulder and turned him to the left.

Johnson froze when he also felt the cold touch of something metal press against his back.

"Yes, Mr. Johnson, I have a gun," his companion informed him pleasantly. "No heroics, please. We don't want to set off any alarms, do we? I don't think either one of us is here with the unconditional blessing of the authorities."

"Hold on a minute…"

"Forward, Mr. Johnson," his guide ordered, nudging him with the barrel of his weapon. "As I was saying, we are entering the Albrikk wing of the station. My family misguidedly financed its construction before we realised just what uncontrolled communication with the rest of the galaxy would mean for Kibria. Along there, please."

"What are you… I just want to send a message to my ship. We want to leave Kibria…"

"I dare say you do, Mr. Johnson. And you shall, but on my terms, not yours."

"But the…"

"The Medical Officer kindly arranged for you to come here to call for help. I know. Unfortunately, the associate he chose to accompany you was also an associate of mine.… And I pay more generously. I don't know where he managed to obtain keys to this Station — presumably in some medical capacity or other — but I've been waiting for an opportunity to get in here for some time. This place is much more thoroughly protected than the Selrideen Station. Success here will enable Kibrians to bypass the Federation's controls and make their own decisions about their future. Or, more to the point, it will allow the wrong Kibrians to make such decisions. And we can't allow that."

"You're in favour of the Prime Directive?" Johnson asked, deciding to risk appearing naive if it would get him some answers about the political realities here.

"Oh, well, no… But while you don't want anyone on Kibria getting hold of your technology, I am more selective. I just don't want everyone on Kibria getting it. I could go along with the Federation but… I think my power base would be whittled away eventually, don't you? Isn't that what you've been telling yourselves? 'We don't much like this, but they'll have to change? In the end?' In here, please."

The metal gates the Kibree now opened led into a large space containing an ungainly subspace generator. Its power source and the shielding to keep so much power under control by relatively primitive means dwarfed the transmitter itself.

"Not exactly elegant, is it?" the Kibrian conceded. "You wouldn't believe how much of my family's money has been poured into that thing… And all for nothing. Now this, Mr. Johnson, is what I think you call a phaser, isn't it?" The Kibree brandished the weapon — which Johnson now recognised as one of the low power models that he and Davies had been issued for this mission. "And I would imagine its use is identifiable, so that if I…"

"It's not powerful enough to destroy that generator, not with all that shielding in the way. It's primarily an antipersonnel weapon, designed to be used at stun, not repeatedly at a disintegration setting…"

There were, however, several easily identifiable weak spots where a well aimed blast would set off a chain reaction within the generator itself.

"Mister Johnson, you are an intelligent man, despite your handicaps…" The Kibree tapped meaningfully on the palm of his hand with the muzzle of the phaser. "If I understand the situation in the palace currently, your leader, Lieutenant Sulu, is missing. And if I am inclined to believe the likes of Driant, he may be dead. The woman, Davies, is in the hands of the servants who infest the station like so much vermin. And the other one — what was his name? Kahsheel's pretty plaything…"

Johnson felt the colour rising in his cheeks as he clamped his lips closed on a reply.

"An enchanting little spitfire, wasn't he?" The meteorologist had to look away from the Kibree's knowing smile. "Well, he's certainly dead… And that I do regret. I was sorely tempted to buy him myself, but I wasn't ready to cross Driant. If I had bought him, he'd at least be alive right now, so you needn't look so disapproving, Mr. Johnson."

Johnson swallowed his anger and concentrated on the barrel of the Kibrian's gun.

"Now, I am faced with a difficult choice." The Kibrian smiled. "And so are you. I can leave you here — with your phaser set to overload. That may not destroy the generator utterly. It may be salvageable with the resources currently available to the authorities. But your presence here, what remained of it, would at least make those authorities kick somewhat at what would be perceived as Federation interference in our legitimate attempts to break out of the straight jacket you impose.

"Or, I could permit you to contact your ship, allow you to assist me in the complete and casualty-free obliteration of the generator, and then put my considerable resources at your disposal for the location and subsequent protection of your surviving colleagues. Which is it to be?"

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

The elaborate furnishings of the dining hall had been replaced by ill-matched everyday chairs and tables from elsewhere. The crockery and metalware was plainly second best. Sulu thought the servants must find the charade an insulting mockery, but they filed in in seeming good humour and took the seats to which the waiting kiani directed them.

Normally there were at least as many servers as diners. That ratio wasn't being observed today. However the kiani were energetic in serving — suspiciously like they were anxious to get the meal over with. Although the servers had as many as three or four to attend to, full glasses fizzed at each place, dishes of meat appeared and were served, sauces and garnishes were distributed without delay.

For their part, the slaves accepted the service offered to them very politely. Sulu frowned. Of course they did. The taking of any liberties would be punished. Such a temporary reversal simply served to make everyone more aware of the proper order of things.

Sulu recognised several of the servants as he stood stationed between his two guards in an unobtrusive corner of the hall. There was Chekov's green friend… but not her blue companion. Naturally, there was no sign of Mras. Sulu tried to convince himself that the dwarf, having failed to wreck the station at the appointed time before the servants had all come into the main body of the building, had put his plan on hold. The lieutenant wished he was more sure.

Next to Sulu and his escorts, low castes were refilling glasses and dishes from larger containers. The clink and rattle of the operation nearly drowned the subdued conversation of the supposed guests. The low castes muttered and joked as they worked. The kiani, for the most part, remained stonily silent. Sulu leaned against the whitewashed wall and tried to tell himself that the wash of dizziness which threatened to engulf him was only the result of the heat, or hunger, or worry. Selrideen's poison wasn't so much slow acting as intermittent and unpredictable.

"We're short of servers. I don't know why so many of the kiani have failed to attend." Gebain glided into view, stately in a wheeled wicker chair. "You!" He gestured at the security men, Sulu among them. "Come on. This is taking far too long."

It seemed to the lieutenant that the diners were going to end up with indigestion at even the current speed of serving. Sulu stood his ground while one of his guards protested, "Sir, Manager Datvin's orders for us do not include waiting table."

Gebain fixed him with a cold stare. "Are you doing anything else useful?"

The guard was stumped. He could hardly say what he was doing without drawing attention to Sulu's presence. He shrugged unhappily.

"Then take those bowls to the tables, all three of you." The major domo spun his wheels and sailed off into the crush of people.

The guard looked at the three heavy trays of steaming dishes, then at Sulu. "Don't, please, draw attention to yourself, sir."

The sheer misery of the man, caught between Datvin and Gebain, pulled at Sulu's conscience. Also, it had to be reckoned that a refusal to obey Gebain's orders would draw attention to them as effectively as anything. Sulu let himself be handed one of the trays and set off to deliver it to the nearest end of the long central table.

As he set his burden down, he was able to look at the servants. Several of them had that air of idling in neutral — neither happy nor unhappy — that Chekov had displayed all too often the past few days. Many of the pairs of eyes fastened numbly on plates were red-veined. Their clothes reeked of sweetish smoke and oily sweat. Sulu could discern at least one good reason why the kiani weren't lingering over their tasks.

Out of the corner of his eye, the lieutenant noticed a servant woman near him covertly shaking red powder into a water glass. When she thought no one was looking, she placed the glass in the hand of a dull-eyed companion.

Kvurr, Sulu concluded, moving to the next table. It was easy to see that several of the guests had overindulged in this morning's entertainments and needed something to bring them around. However it seemed somehow sinister that this had to be done secretively.

Looking again at the faces of the diners, Sulu saw a lively resentment burning in the eyes of many, concealed only because the servants kept their heads down as they concentrated on making the most of the food the kiani laid before them.

"Sir…"

The lieutenant halted at this whispered summons. He found he was only a pace away from Chekov's green-skinned friend.

She caught at his arm and said loudly, in an obvious imitation of a kiani's manner, "This dish takes tough. Give it a good cutting."

There was a ripple of laughter from the surrounding servants. But it died prematurely as one or two of the kiani looked disapprovingly at the woman.

"Certainly, ma'am." Sulu laid the last of his dishes on the table beside her. He picked up a couple of implements and began to dismember the stuffed and sauce coated vegetable on the woman's plate. Its outer skin was quite tough and he had the odd impression it was trying to get away from him. He put this irrationality down to the double vision and clumsy numbness he was currently experiencing.

"Give a careful ear, Feddie," Dollu said softly as he bent near. "Some make speech that the curly red one's pyre will be Selrideen's palace."

Sulu paused in his task. The dizziness threatened to overwhelm him. As if she could sense this, the woman took hold of his arm and held it until the fit passed. "And some make speech that…"

"What do you think you're doing?" Datvin reappeared from nowhere. Both Sulu and the green-skinned woman started guiltily. The Station Manager snatched the cutlery from Sulu's hands and dropped them onto Dollu's plate. "Follow me!" he snapped brusquely.

Resisting the urge to apologise to the servant woman, the lieutenant obeyed. His escort left the work Gebain had set them to dog Sulu's footsteps again.

Datvin led his small procession to the Director who was serving a token dish of fruit to a servant obviously specially selected for cleanliness and a pleasant manner. Datvin motioned the guards to fall back a discrete distance and tapped the Director on her shoulder. "I must speak with you, Madame Director."

"What about, Datvin?" She turned. "Have you a new calamity to announce?"

"No, Madame. I seek to avert one."

Sulu could see panic creep into the Kibrian's face. Like a cornered animal, she glanced about. Her eyes fastened quickly on Sulu. Before she could raise her hand to summon the attention of one of her aides, Datvin clamped her wrist. Sulu had to admire the Manager's strategic positioning. With her back to the tables, there was no graceful way for the Director to alert her allies that anything out of the ordinary was taking place.

"Please listen to what I have to say," Datvin said quietly. "It is ultimately in your own interests."

"I wasn't aware that Lt. Sulu had joined the Security Forces." The Director delicately shook her hand free and crossed her arms. "That seems perilously close to interference to me."

"The lieutenant is here to serve as a witness to our conversation," Datvin replied humourlessly. "I felt I required a third party. One who is incorruptible…" The Director started an objection, but the Manager continued over her, "…as we both know from personal experience. As others will know, he represents no special interest group here on Kibria and has taken no one's part. Also, we both know, do we not, that his death or disappearance would bring questions and investigations at the highest level."

Sulu saw the Director's lips tighten at this and wondered if the orders for his kidnapping and assassination had come from her.

"The death of his servant may be reckoned unfortunate," Datvin continued. "Another such incident would not be so lightly dismissed."

The Director blew an impatient breath out her nostrils. "Say what you have to say."

"You are under pressure to secure the contract for the construction on Eenos for a particular party. You know they are corrupt and incompetent. It will do nothing for this station, or, ultimately, for your reputation if they are successful in getting what they desire. It is likely that the eventual failure of Eenos will be laid at their door and will in itself lead to the very revelations you wish to avoid."

The Director didn't even blink. "What revelations?"

"That your family has consistently for more than a generation engineered the results of the Vaytha in its own interests."

Sulu had to give the Kibree credit. She managed to look a great deal less stunned than the lieutenant himself felt at that moment.

"You have evidence to support this slander?"

The Manager smiled coldly. "Madame Director, the decline of this Station under your leadership speaks loud enough to those who will hear, but I also have medical records, reports of attainment, statistical analyses…"

"It seems to me that you intend to threaten me with exactly the same scandal you claim I fear from Ffa… from.."

"From Ffafner," Datvin finished for her, firmly crushing any hope that she might have had that her slip had gone unnoticed. "I do. You can, however, elegantly avoid either threat. Madame, I expect to receive tonight your resignation — on the ground s of ill health — which your Medical Officer will substantiate. I will, of course, step temporarily into the breach…"

"You forget yourself, Datvin."

"….Temporarily into the breach while a proper replacement is selected — probably with your experience and judgement being called upon. However…" The Kibrian's urbane tone chilled. "I assure you, I will be in control long enough to halt the putrefaction over which you and your family have too long presided."

The clink and clatter of the diners sounded inappropriately light in contrast to the deadly silence between the two Kibrians.

Datvin folded his hands calmly behind his back. "May I know what you intend to do, Madame Director?"

The Director turned a narrow eye on Sulu, as if the trap laid by the Manager was his responsibility. "And what have you to say about all this, Lieutenant?"

"Well…" Sulu began reluctantly. Thus far, his humble role in this drama had been completely acceptable. Star Fleet guidelines did not frown on officers acting as neutral third parties in intra-planetary disputes. He now had to be careful to say no thing that would violate that neutrality, though.

"Mister Sulu has nothing to say," Datvin intervened. "His duties and responsibilities preclude his playing any other part in this."

"Yes." A purely malicious look settled on the Director's face. "But isn't the lieutenant's first duty to the safety of his men?"

"If that statement is an attempt at blackmail, then it is an extremely poor and ill-timed one," Datvin replied disdainfully. "I remind you, Madame, that I command the Security forces. Mr. Johnson is no longer in your control and we are both fully aware that Ensign Davies is also well beyond your reach."

The Director kept her eyes on Sulu. "Look around this hall, Lieutenant," she invited him, "and weigh the consequences of your inaction."

The only thing that Sulu could see was that the Director didn't know what was going on behind her. Armed Security guards were stationed near each of the exits. There were several individuals casting nervous glances in their direction, but there was no sign that the Director's allies were preparing to rally.

"As the Manager has said, I'm here only as a witness, Madame Director," Sulu said. "It wouldn't be appropriate for me to act on the behalf of one side or the other in this dispute."

"And what of your report recommending Ffafner as the best candidate for the Eenos project?" she pressed. "I assume you are still prepared to sign it as we discussed?"

Sulu frowned. What did this woman think she had on him? Here the Director was, seemingly only seconds from being ignominiously removed from her post and yet the Kibrian was still looking at him as if she thought he was only one push away from complete capitulation. "I have not prepared any such report and do not intend to do so until I complete my review of all the proposals. It is my duty to weigh all the candidates in a fair and impartial manner. And that's what I'm going to do. Threats from either one of you are a waste of time and, from my understanding, very questionable under Kibrian law."

Datvin rewarded him with a brief frown for being included in that 'either one of you'. The Director's face seemed to pale somewhat.

"The Vaytha certificates for members of my family are all in order…" she said, turning her attention back to Datvin.

"Of course. I'm not saying they aren't genuine certificates, signed by the proper persons. But the results reported do not match the original results and subsequent test scores — all of which are recorded in the computer system — which is more difficult to tamper with, as you know."

Sulu again found himself the subject of the Director's most hostile glare.

"I should have thought, Lieutenant," she said icily, "that a sophisticated application of your Prime Directive would be understood to mean more than simply arriving in the midst of a culture and reacting like a block of stone to its customs and traditions. My family has been held in respect for generations. Our judgement, our duty to our world, best carried out by preserving our influence, has always been understood by people of intelligence and discrimination to be more significant than the mindless application of rules by lower caste bureaucrats. Of course, I can't expect Datvin to follow this argument, but with your wider experience…"

"I understand perfectly. You can't see beyond the maintenance of your own privileged position and you don't care that the system based on it is unjust and inefficient."

She closed her eyes for a moment. "Very well, Manager Datvin. The announcement will be made this evening after Kahsheel's funeral. You will excuse me now."

"No, Madame Director," he stopped her. "It will be made now."

"I must be allowed some time to compose my thoughts, and words…"

"Now," he commanded. "I have spoken and there is no turning back. You may not be prepared to address this assembly, but I am. Which do you prefer?"

As the Director turned to face the hall, Sulu was struck with another upsurge of dizziness.

"May I have your attention, please." The Director's suddenly raised voice thundered in Sulu's ears. He took a step away in self-defence. "I hesitate to announce more ill tidings on a day which has already seen misfortune enough. The tragedy of Engineer Kahsheel's untimely death, the result of the temptations to which our Federation visitors expose us, temptations we must all learn to withstand, weighs heavily on us all. Nonetheless, I have for some days been intending to tell you something, something which I cannot in fairness to the welfare of you all delay any longer. Ill health has been my constant companion for some time now. I have battled against it, putting the Selrideen Project and the new Eenos initiative before my own interests. But the battle has become too much for me. And now I must announce, with great regret, my decision to resign. Manager Datvin has kindly consented to take on the routine supervision of the Station until the magistrates and administrative council can appoint my successor. I hope that appointment will not be unreasonably delayed, and that you will give my successor the loyal support that you have given me. Thank you."

It was difficult not to interpret the silence that greeted this speech as incredulity or hostility, even though Sulu was well aware that the Kibree had no tradition of applause in any form.

With her dignity wrapping her like a cloak, the Director turned to leave.

"A moment, please…" Datvin's voice stopped her and the rustle of whispers that had quickly risen. "Madame Director, assembled kiani, and citizens, I am afraid there is yet another unpleasant matter that demands our immediate attention…"

At this signal, security guards began gathering stragglers into the dining hall and closing all the heavy wooden doors. The tension in the room rose a notch with each ominous thud. Servers as well as diners began to glance about nervously.

"Most of you, I'm sure," Datvin continued, "are unaware that a plot — masterminded by the late Engineer Kahsheel — to destroy this station has been uncovered and rendered void by our Security Officers. Due to the… coincidence of Madame Director' s much regretted departure, I feel I must speak now to ensure that no connection is made in anyone's mind between these two events. The plan, a murderous devising that paid no respect to any inhabitant of this station from kiani to the lowliest cook, would have come to its climax just as power was restored after the kepir hunt and this meal commenced. Our security force has not been able to trace the full extent of complicity in this treason, but I think we can say that those kiani who should be here and are not must at least explain their absence. My officers will now take a roll of everyone present. There may also be a few additional questions for certain individuals."

A low buzz of conversation quickly rose.

"We will proceed, of course," Datvin said over it, "according to caste. Those seated at the dining tables will remain seated until instructed to do otherwise. Kiani, please cooperate with security forces. It is in your own interests to do so. Any individual leaving this hall without having his or her identity verified by a security officer will automatically be treated as a suspect in this investigation."

The silence was once more replaced by the murmur of a hundred anxious voices.

"He means to keep the slags here," Sulu heard a slave near him whisper to his companion. "He means to take hostage of us until funeral hour is past…"

"Manager." At the far end of the hall, a kiani discarded his tray and stepped forward. "I must point out that the Federation officers are not here."

Datvin nodded gravely. "I am aware of that. I know it has been conjectured that they wish to hamper our development, however it is my belief that this is only ignorant speculation. Nonetheless, their part — if any — in this plot will be investigated fully and objectively. Now please, kiani, proceed to the exits so that we may complete this in a timely manner. Those of you who are eating, feel free to continue. It may be some time before you are dismissed. Thank you."

"Thank you," Sulu said with heavy irony as the Manager turned to him and took him by the arm.

"No, no, Lieutenant," Datvin said, leading him back to his two escorts. "Don't be concerned. The question was bound to be raised. I was, frankly, quite interested to see who would voice it first. It is now my sincere wish, as it must be yours, to conclude our joint project successfully. I will arrange for a small force of men to meet you in the corridor outside in fifteen minutes to assist you in your search for Ensign Davies. Beyond that, however…"

"Yes?"

"Nothing else has changed. The law is still the law. I absolutely require you to respect that."

Sulu blinked. Was the poison making him paranoid, or did everyone seem to know something he didn't? "Of course."

With a gesture, Datvin split the guard, taking one man with him as he walked to a portal where kiani were beginning to gather and leaving the other behind to shepherd the lieutenant.

Sulu blew out a long breath as he glanced around the hall, feeling awkward and foolish in his borrowed uniform. He wished could sit down somewhere. No. Probably best to remain on his feet as long as he could. He scanned the tables until he relocated Chekov's green friend. Would there be objections if he decided to find out what she'd been trying to tell him earlier?

The servant woman was watching someone further down the tables. Sulu followed the direction of her stare.

Across the room, the Director's entourage was gathering around her. It looked as though they were massing to exit. Despite Datvin's instructions, several servants were included in their number. Sulu's eyes were drawn to what looked like a disturbance in the making. Apparently one of the servants was not ready to go. A young male, probably no more than an adolescent to judge by his size, had his head lowered and was stubbornly clinging to the table while a low caste stood over him repeating the order to leave over and over.

When the low caste lost her patience and jerked his chair backwards, the slave pulled the tablecloth with him causing a great clatter of upset dishes. The water glass in front of the rebellious little Kibree, Sulu noted, stained the cloth red when it fell.

Kibrian justice was swift, however. The low caste pulled her uncooperative charge to his feet and boxed his ears soundly.

The sound the young slave made when he was hit was so like Chekov that it made Sulu's skin crawl to hear it.

'Oh, God,' Sulu thought fleetingly, 'Am I going to spend the rest of my life seeing and hearing Chekov wherever I go?'

"Run, Feddie!" someone screamed. Sulu glanced back to find it was the green-skinned woman. Strangely enough, she wasn't looking at him as she yelled, but rather in the direction of the Director's entourage. "Take running now!"

Sulu didn't run, but for a moment it seemed that he was the only person in the room not taking the servant woman's advice. There was a great screech of wood against tile as the majority of the servants broke and ran for an exit. The upper castes stood momentarily stunned as dishes smashed to the ground and several of the large windows shattered as heavy chairs were thrown through them.

Privileged Kibree screamed in terror as slaves armed with suddenly very dangerous looking eating utensils shoved past them in their dash for the doors. The security men, though armed, were greatly outnumbered. Before some of their weapons had cleared their holsters, a good number of them were overwhelmed by the sudden swarm of servants.

The low castes recovered their composure first and began to set on their former charges with fists and cutlery, but it was already too late. Slaves, mid-castes and kiani poured out the broken windows and the few doors that had been forced open.

Sulu's guard grabbed his arm and stepped in front of him. The Kibree's weapon was drawn, but he couldn't seem to sight a clear shot at a rioter that wasn't blocked by an upper caste. He fired his weapon into the air a few times, but seeing that wasn't doing anything to help restore order, he pulled Sulu away from the direction of the most intense fighting. "Come with me, sir. We have to get you out of here."

He hurried the lieutenant through a doorway that had been abandoned when those guarding it had rushed to aid their comrades. "This way, sir," he instructed, pushing Sulu in front of him into the corridor. "For your own protection, I'm going to have to take you to the Security holding area until I receive further instruction. Please don't resist."

The guard didn't give him much of a chance to do otherwise, keeping one hand on his shoulder and his weapon pressed against the lieutenant's back as they moved down the corridor. Screaming and shouting Kibree of all castes streamed past them from all directions. Many carried bundles of possessions or plunder.

Sulu stumbled as another wave of dizziness hit him. His escort took this as an escape attempt and jerked him forward.

'I've got to find Davies,' Sulu thought. 'With things this far out of hand, the slaves may decide a hostage is more of a burden than an asset.'

And where was Johnson? The lieutenant wasn't at all convinced that Datvin's idea of the meteorologist's being 'perfectly safe' was going to coincide with his own. Also, if the looting that seemed to be going on here became widespread, someone needed to make sure their equipment was secure.

Suddenly Sulu heard a thud followed by a groan behind him. When the guard's grip on his shoulder loosened, the lieutenant broke and ran for all he was worth. There was no question of looking back to see what had happened.

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

"Look…" Davies paused. "Uhm… what's your name?"

The blue-skinned woman was sitting with her arms wrapped around her bony legs. She rested her chin on her knees. She'd been brooding like that for what seemed like ages.

"I cop no name," she replied stonily.

Davies frowned and resolved that the first thing she was going to do when she got out of this mess was to reprogram the translator to compensate for the slave caste dialect's eccentric verb formations. "Listen to me, if you really want to help Chekov, you'll let me go."

The woman made no reply.

"Just untie me," Davies coaxed. "We can fix it so you won't get in trouble. You could say I needed to go to the bathroom and…." Davies paused, realising that a corner somewhere might be serving as the sanitary facilities. "Well, we can think of some reason…"

Suddenly there was the sound of pounding footsteps above them. Muffled shouts could be heard.

Nula's child began to cry. She quickly picked it up and put a hand over its mouth muffling the sound. The other women began to help the infirm to their feet and gather their meagre belongings. Their silence was as ominous as the increasingly loud pounding above them.

One of the doors burst open. "Make haste!" someone entered yelling. "Make haste to the safe place!"

At this signal, all hell broke loose. Slaves poured in from entrances Davies had no idea existed. Many of them were wounded and bleeding. In the mad scramble it was hard to follow where anyone was going or what anyone was doing.

"Sister! Sister!" a servant woman gasped as she ran towards them. Davies recognised her after a moment as the green-skinned woman who had come to Sulu's quarters before.

There was a huge bruise on her cheek and blood on her clothes. She stumbled into the blue woman's arms.

"Dollu, what comes past?" The blue woman asked her, helping her down to the floor near Davies.

"The Feddie… the Feddie," she panted, gripping her friend's arms.

"…Is with Selrideen," the blue woman finished eagerly.

"No! No!" Dollu shook her head. "Director herself has taken property of him. She's swagged him full measure with peeva and given him disguising as Kibbie so that she might make sport with him under the Kibbie-eyed one's very nostrils."

"The Director?" Davies repeated.

"It's a slidely disguising," Dollu said, ignoring her. "Kibbie-eye takes no knowledge…"

"…Or no care," the blue woman speculated unkindly.

"We passed the Feddie cup, but he wouldn't take the full drinking of it," Dollu reported mournfully.

Despite her distress, the blue woman smiled. "Our Feddie always took pickish about his food and drink."

Tears stood in the other servant's eyes as she shared her friend's smile. "Sister, you should have taken sight at Feddie's face when he took of the kvurr." She did a credible imitation of Chekov tasting something bitter. "I first took knowledge it was truly him at that sight."

"Untie me," Davies commanded, hoping they'd finally pay attention to her this time. "I've got to get to Sulu and tell him what's happened."

The two Kibrians looked at her unsympathetically.

"If the Director's got Chekov," Davies said, picking something she knew they'd agree with, "then he's in terrible danger. We have to organise a rescue for him."

The two women looked at each other.

"The funeral hour comes," the blue woman reminded her companion. "And Director is likely to have made swift with the Feddie to her hill place.… And we be but slags…"

Dollu weighed this for a moment, then sighed.

"You can't mean that you're not even going to try?" Davies said, outraged. "She may kill him."

"Oh, no." The green woman seemed very sure of this. "He may take tasting of her stick for his stubbornness and temper…"

"More like he'll take tasting of her kepir and say naught," her companion put in.

Dollu nodded. "It's for the Kibbie-eyed one to take claim of what is his by right."

Both women seemed bitter but resigned to the fact that — as far as Davies could tell — it looked like Chekov was going to end up a drugged sex slave of some sort. "Yes, but Mr. Sulu is going to need some help…"

The two women looked at her dubiously.

"You both know that Chekov would really prefer to be with Sulu than with the Director, don't you?" Davies said persuasively. "You both saw how fond he was of Sulu…"

"I saw the Feddie take hot with temper when he took raps at the Kibbie-eyed one's ordering," countered the blue-skinned woman, who seemed to have developed quite an argumentative streak. "And Dollu heard the Feddie fall to cold cursing after the Kibbie-eyed one made claim of him by giving kiss in front of all."

"He took temper…" her companion tried to dismiss the incidents.

"The Feddie took no temper when Curly Red claimed him so," the blue woman argued. "Perhaps he'll take none when Director…"

"Ladies…" Davies tried to interrupt over the green woman's objections and the blue woman's explicit projection of the Director's intentions. "Please, ladies… sisters…"

The women stared at her. "You call us 'sister'?"

"Yes." Davies looked back and forth between them. "Did I say something wrong?"

"You be the girl-Feddie," the blue woman reminded her. "A kiani."

"We 'Feddies' don't have kiani among ourselves," Davies informed her. "We believe all people are equal. No kiani and no servants. Just equals."

"But the Kibbie-eyed one made property…"

"That was just…" Davies had to cast about a moment for an explanation. She'd fallen far enough into the Kibrian way of thinking that it was hard to remember there was one. "That's temporary. That's only because of the laws here. Sulu had to claim Chekov to keep him from being sold permanently into slavery. Chekov will be free when we return to the Federation. It's our law that no one is a slave. All people are equal. All people are brothers and sisters."

"Then you take knowledge of Selrideen?" the blue woman broke in.

"I'm… I'm not sure of what you mean."

"Our stories give telling that when Selrideen makes his coming, all will be as brothers and sisters. Selrideen has made coming to you?"

"Yes," Davies agreed slowly, realising that the women must be talking about Selrideen the religious figure rather than the dream-peddler. "In a way, I suppose that's true."

Dollu leaned forward and began to pull loose the knots binding Davies' ankles. "Today Selrideen comes to us."

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

"Does the rope chafe your neck?" the Director asked the small servant she had tethered to a structural beam in the Data Retrieval room.

The servant made no reply. He continued to pull miserably at the knot at his throat with his bound hands.

The Director looked up from the portable generator she was trying to tie into one of the computer terminals. "I hope you're not thinking of trying to escape," she warned. "That would only irritate me."

The servant stared at the floor and pulled at the rope around his neck.

"I would think that you'd had enough of being punished for one day, hmm?" she said sternly. "Are you listening to me? I said, do you want to be punished?"

The servant slowly lowered his hands.

"That's better," the Director said, turning back to her work. "Besides, you won't have the necessary mental or physical co-ordination to make a proper attempt for several more hours."

From behind one of the grilles in the wall, Sulu frowned at the scene. Where was Johnson? After escaping from his guard, the lieutenant had managed to make his way back to his quarters and retrieve his tricorder. He'd decided to locate and liberate Johnson before braving the tunnels. Although he was afraid that the danger for Davies grew with every second he delayed, he knew it would be pointless to go down there alone and unarmed.

He'd picked up two human readings apart from him own. One was vague and indistinct — originating in the vicinity of the kitchens. Sulu assumed that the stronger reading that came from near the Control Room had to be Johnson. He thought this was confirmed by the presence of the armed Kibrians he'd spotted guarding the entrance. However, after torturously making his way here through the maintenance access ways, all he found was this puzzling scene.

The Director's aim wasn't hard to figure out. She was desperate to erase those damaging records of her family's test scores. Sulu had no idea why she'd gotten the idea that she could do it at this particular location, though. Even if she managed to activate one of these terminals, she'd never be able to access the files she was looking for. The relevant links were security locked for Federation access only. She'd never be able to fool the retina scanner.

It was harder to figure out why she'd brought the slave with her. It would have been more in character for a Kibrian to come alone to do something as patently illegal as this. No witness, no crime, advised one of their well-worn proverbs. And besides , slaves were never allowed in the Control Room. Sulu knew that these were exceptional circumstances, but the Kibrians were very tradition-bound people. Even amidst the anarchy reigning in the corridors, he'd witnessed several almost comic examples of Kibree continuing to observe customs and respect taboos despite the chaos.

"I see that you've stopped answering me," the Director commented over her shoulder to her captive. "I suppose that means you're ready for another dose of peeva?"

The slave made an inarticulate noise of dread, pleading and negation.

It was absolutely unnatural how much he sounded like Chekov.

"Don't whine, young man," the Director scolded as she flipped a row of switches. "It's unbecoming."

Sulu chewed his lip. The Director didn't even seem to like this particular servant. He was the one who'd clung to the table in the dining room. Despite his obviously drugged state, he still wasn't co-operating the way a typical servant would. Sulu had never noticed this servant before. It seemed like he would have stood out. For one thing, he looked remarkably like Chekov — for a Kibrian.

Sulu wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him. Was it the drug in his veins making him see resemblances that weren't really there? Was he only seeing and hearing echoes of his dead friend in this young Kibree because he so wanted to see Chekov?

Sulu wished he could find Johnson. The readings had definitely indicated that he was in this room. Perhaps he was unconscious and out of sight behind one of the consoles. Sulu was waiting for the Director to activate her portable generator. The noise from the unit would mask the sound of his tricorder and let him recheck the readings.

"And you should concentrate on being as becoming as possible," the Director was advising her prisoner as she connected a series of leads. "For I fear you may only have a short time to live. However, conduct yourself properly and you'll have all the peeva you want — well, perhaps somewhat more than that."

The servant made another heart-wrenchingly familiar sound of distress.

"I'll see you'll have some kepir, too." The Director smiled as the generator hummed to life. "You'll enjoy that won't you?"

Sulu wriggled around so that he could reach his tricorder as the Director crossed to her captive and loosened the rope tying him to the beam.

"I certainly intend to enjoy you," she promised jerking the slave's chin up. "I intend to enjoy you to the fullest before I send you to whatever gods await your sort in the afterlife."

Sulu pointed the tricorder into the room as the Director hooked her fingers under the rope around the slave's neck and pulled him over to the active computer terminal.

"The only thing that would increase my pleasure would be if somehow your master could know what I am going to do with you," the Director said, forcing the slave down into the chair in front of the terminal.

Sulu blinked at his readings in disbelief as the Kibree reached over the slave's shoulder to type something into the computer. The drug must be making him hallucinate. There were too many readings. Too many human readings.

"Identify," the Director ordered, holding the slave's head up and his eyes open.

"Chekov," the computer responded calmly. "Pavel A. Ensign, USS Enterprise."

"Che…" Sulu started to say when suddenly he felt a sharp tug at his ankles. Someone was trying to pull him backwards. "No!"

The lieutenant tried to pull himself free, but a sudden jerk from his attacker smashed his head into a conduit.

"Chekov…" he whispered as the world went black.

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

Johnson hesitantly parked the ground vehicle as close as he could to where he'd first encountered it. No one was paying any attention, at least. There were knots of agitated kiani standing around in the courtyard. Low castes, heavily burdened, flowed in and out of the great main doors to the station like ants whose nest had been disturbed.

Naturally, Johnson's mind went at first to the threat of destruction that had been hanging over the station. That hour was now past.

However, there was no smoke, no flames. Certainly the facade of the station was intact. The terraced wall behind which the great cistern hid was in one piece and the fuel tanks beneath the courtyard on which he'd just parked were clearly undamaged. Perhaps the panic was merely a reaction to the threat becoming public.

Whatever the situation, Johnson's duty was clear. He had to go back into the station and ensure that Sulu, Chekov and Davies were no longer inside, or get them out if they were. Armed with the phaser he'd reclaimed from Albrikk, he felt a little more confident than he had been earlier. He disliked violence. It seemed to him to be a failure of manners and strategy that, in his experience, rarely worked to his advantage. However the ease with which he'd overpowered the kiani in the relay station had stirred his blood. Now, he was determined to save Chekov and the others. Anything else that might happen was a by-product of the Kibrians' own shenanigans. They would have to deal with the consequences.

As he shut the door of the vehicle and walked — as nonchalantly as he could — to the Station, his heart was sinking within him. The mass of kiani were paying no attention to him, but a familiar figure was emerging from the building.

Datvin barked an angry dismissal at the low castes who clustered around him and rushed to meet the ensign, almost tripping on his robe in his haste. "Johnson, what are you doing here?"

Johnson swallowed, then decided to put the cat among the pigeons. The fact that Albrikk hadn't been able to get access to the relay station seemed to suggest that he didn't have anyone like Datvin on his side. "I was at the Alareen Relay Station, sending a message to the Enterprise."

"You should have submitted an official request for permission through the Director…" Datvin sputtered.

"Which, since I was officially in custody, would presumably have been turned down," Johnson pointed out icily.

"How did you get access? The Station is closed today…"

"I'm aware of that. Someone agreed to help me. Unfortunately, it turned out that the price for that help was my assistance in destroying the subspace generator."

Datvin paled. "It was the Director, wasn't it? That worthless… She means me to be remembered as the acting Director of two piles of smoking rubble. I'm finished."

"Calm down. The Relay Station is still in one piece."

Datvin's eyes hardened. He smoothed down his robe before turning a supercilious gaze back on the ensign. "Who was this 'someone'? How do I know you're not making all this up?"

"Why should I? Anyway, I don't know enough about the situation here to make up anything that would convince you I was telling the truth. Whoever he was, he didn't tell me his name, but he said that his family had financed the research on the generator . I think he said something about Albrikk…"

"Oh, great Kideo's rings, oceans and archipelagos!" Datvin looked as though he'd been pole-axed. "We're finished. We're all finished. This is the end of the Eenos initiative, Mr. Johnson. This is the end of my career. I'll be selling meat before the week is out."

"What's happening here?" Johnson interrupted stolidly.

"There is a threat to destroy this Station. I thought it was just an empty rumour, or a piece of wanton vandalism dreamed up by some disaffected servants. The lower orders panicked and ran from the kepir feast. Of course, many of us took that as a sign that the threat was imminent, but nothing has happened yet. Now, if Albrikk is behind it, we must take it very seriously. He has the resources to level this place. I need your sensor device, your tricorder, to make a search of the palace."

"You have my tricorder," Johnson pointed out.

"We must have your expertise to operate it." The Kibrian pulled him forward by the arm. "Can it detect explosives? Caches of weapons? A build-up of gas or oil?"

Johnson pulled away stubbornly. "You know the difficulty with your request…"

"Johnson." Datvin insisted, taking the tricorder out from within his robe and presenting it to the ensign. "Why did this Albrikk want you at the relay station? Did he need your help to destroy it?"

"Uh, probably not…"

"No, he could have had fifty workers with pallets of explosive from his quarries turn up and flatten it. But that would have clearly thrown suspicion on him, not you. I believe some method will be found to blame you for the destruction of the Selrideen Station also. We have not yet found Miss Davies. Lieutenant Sulu I lost track of in the initial confusion — despite the fact that I'd offered him men to help in his search for the others. Perhaps he decided he didn't want to find you. And Chekov…"

"Yes?" Johnson replied calmly. "I don't see how Chekov can be blamed for any of this. Death is a fairly conclusive alibi."

"Oh, come now, Mr. Johnson. We both know that Chekov isn't dead. What he is, is a useful bargaining tool for the Director. She has custody of him and may be planning to leave the Station with him."

Johnson hesitated as he assimilated this. Knowing Chekov was still in danger undermined his confidence. However he continued as smoothly as he could. "But how can she — at a moment of crisis like this?"

"Ah, of course. You don't know. The Director has resigned. The computers of this station contain evidence of corruption on her part that she preferred not to…"

"I know where she is," Johnson snapped. "And she'll have Chekov with her. The data retrieval room."

"Can she do anything from there?"

"I more or less told her she could," Johnson admitted heading for the main doors. "I just don't know if she believed me, or if she's desperate enough to try…"

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

As soon as he regained consciousness, Sulu pulled violently away from whomever it was that was half-dragging, half-carrying him down a corridor. Unfortunately his legs weren't as far along as his brain was and collapsed under his weight almost immediately .

"Come, come, Lieutenant," a familiar voice scolded. "Where can you be hurrying off to? Surely you don't believe these hysterical rumours the servants are putting about?"

Sulu looked up into the face of the Kibrian who was reaching a hand down to him. "Uyal?"

The kiani smiled. "You thought yourself well rid of me, didn't you? Fortunately I was operating with a friend. I considered simply letting myself be found so that I could add my testimony to the case against you, but when my colleague told me what had happened, I realised I wanted a more personal satisfaction."

"What had happened?" Sulu asked blearily.

Uyal dragged him to his feet. The lieutenant's limbs seemed to have the consistency of cotton wool. He didn't have the strength to pull away as he was half-led, half-carried to a nearby doorway.

"It means so little to you?" Uyal demanded contemptuously, depositing him on a couch in what appeared to be some sort of anteroom.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Sulu tried to wipe his blurred vision back into focus. "Think I've been poisoned. Can't think clearly."

Uyal grabbed Sulu's shoulders and shook him until the lieutenant's teeth rattled. "I'm talking about Engineer Kahsheel. She was murdered by your snivelling, cow-eyed concubine. Poisoned. Do you remember that?"

Sulu nodded groggily.

"So you've been poisoned." The kiani released him with a shove. "Slow poison, I hope?"

"That's what he said," Sulu admitted. "So you don't have to kill me."

"What makes you think I'm going to kill you?"

"Aren't you?" It almost seemed funny to the lieutenant. "I'm losing track of who is and who isn't."

"I'm not going to kill you," Uyal assured him. "But I am going to keep you here until after Kahsheel's funeral. By that time, it will be too late for you to prevent my revenge."

"Revenge?" Sulu echoed.

The kiani smiled. "Yes. I intend to find your little servant and bring him here. I shall use him as he used Kahsheel — in front of you. Then I shall bind and gag him and conceal him in the carriage that will deliver Kahsheel's remains into the fires. It's a Kibrian tradition. One that I shall enjoy honouring."

"He's dead," Sulu said — though somewhat less certainly that he would have a few hours before. "Kahsheel killed him."

Uyal began to laugh. There was a disturbing note of hysteria in his mirth. "And took poison herself because he didn't return her affections, I suppose? Lieutenant, you've read too much of our popular fiction. She was infatuated with him, I admit, but not to that degree. What did it matter whether he cared for her or not? She had him anyway. Everyone had him — including your own Ensign Davies, I hear."

Sulu tried to struggle up from the couch. "He's dead. It doesn't matter if he killed Kahsheel or she killed him, does it? They're both dead."

"No." Uyal shook his head, seemingly unwilling to believe that he couldn't put his nauseating plan into effect. "My associate told me that he was in custody…"

"He died in a cell in the Security Office," Sulu insisted, partly to the kiani and partly to reaffirm to himself the facts as he knew them to be before coming under the influence of the dream peddler's drug. "He survived that long because Kahsheel didn't give him enough poison. He was confused and frightened…" This suddenly mattered a great deal to Sulu. Alone and helpless as he felt now, Chekov had probably felt worse for longer.

Uyal twisted his face into a supercilious sneer. "You really care for him, don't you?"

The lieutenant closed his eyes and swallowed.

"He was confused and frightened because he was a stupid coward," the kiani said. "You can't blame Kahsheel for that. But I do blame you for your servant's actions. He killed Kahsheel. Traditionally, a murderer is immolated on the pyre of his victim. "

Uyal hesitated for effect. Sulu hesitated because he was trying to remember the salient facts that would disprove Uyal's accusation.

"According to tradition, a kiani should be bound with fine cord." Uyal picked up a length of rope. "I'm afraid you'll have to make do with the hemp I brought for your servant, Sulu."

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

Once freed, Davies first instinct had been to break free of her companions and make her way out of the tunnels. On the whole, she was glad she hadn't. She still didn't have the faintest idea where she was. From the muttered conversation of the servant women, she gathered that they were planning to take a devious route to the Director's quarters through those same tunnels, thus avoiding observation and questions. There they hoped to either find Chekov or some clue to his whereabouts — not that they seemed to have much doubt about his whereabouts. The purpose of the entire expedition seemed to be to humour Davies.

Davies was content to be humoured for a change. She was thoroughly tired of being a prisoner. Once, to test if this was still the case, she'd let a good bit of distance fall between herself and the servant women. They had unconcernedly turned a corner and vanished — along with all illumination. After that, Davies had kept close.

The women moved surely through the maze of tunnels, seeming to change direction at random. Their lamps smoked worryingly, as if on the verge of expiring. They kept their conversation to the minimum, in subdued tones.

'I'm going to spend the rest of my life in these infernal tunnels,' Davies thought glumly. 'Maybe this is a trick. I have no idea where they're taking me. Maybe they're leading me straight back to…'

As if to confirm this pessimistic line of thought, Dollu suddenly extinguished her lamp and seized Davies. She put a huge hand over the ensign's mouth and pushed her into a large crevice in the wall. The blue woman quickly doused her flame and joined them.

"Take most quiet, little Feddie sister," Dollu whispered as they crouched there. The servant woman kept her hand in place so that Davies didn't have much choice.

It was only a moment before Davies too could hear footsteps and see the pale glow of a steadily approaching light source. It was rather uncomfortable to kneel on jagged rock, wrapped in Dollu's long arms, but the ensign didn't dare struggle for fear of making a noise that would betray them to whoever it was.

As the light and footsteps drew steadily nearer, Davies strained to get a clear angle of vision into the corridor. The blue woman blocked most of the view, but by craning her neck, the ensign was able to see enough to recognise the first figure to pass .

'Now, what's he up to?' she puzzled.

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

"No sign of anyone, Madame Director," the low caste reported.

"I'm sure I heard something." The Director frowned as she unlocked the door to the data retrieval room. "No matter. Stay vigilant. I won't be long."

Chekov looked up as she entered — or tried to. His eyes would only go about as far as her knees. He pulled his hands to one side so that she wouldn't see that he'd managed to loosen his bonds.

This plan didn't work well at all. His captor strode immediately to the column where she'd re-tied him while she searched for intruders and jerked his wrists up.

"I see you've been busy while I was gone," she said pulling the ropes tight once more. "Didn't I tell you not to attempt anything of this sort?"

"Ow!" the ensign complained as the hemp bit into his wrists.

"Disobey me again and I'll have someone give you good reason to cry out," she threatened as she untethered him from the column. "You seem to be getting progressively more uncooperative. The peeva shouldn't be wearing off this fast, unless…" She pulled him forward by the rope around his neck and tilted his head up. "Unless someone managed to slip you a little kvurr at the banquet."

Chekov tried to pull away from her. The light was unbearable.

She shook him. "Is that what happened? Answer me."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied squeezing his eyes shut.

"Filthy servants," she swore. "Damn their ignorant, degenerate ways. Still, they didn't give you quite enough to do you much good, did they, young man?"

"No," Chekov admitted. His head felt like it was full of cotton wool. Painfully fuzzy. This situation was far too complex for him to grasp. He only knew that he wanted desperately to get away.

"Come then," she said, taking hold of the rope around his neck and leading him back to the computer that she'd hastily deactivated when she heard what had sounded like a scuffle very nearby. "We must begin again."

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

Sulu clamped his jaw hard shut on the gag in his mouth as another agonising cramp seized his left leg. The space under the platform that held Kahsheel's coffin was hot and airless, but the worst discomfort came from lying on his back with his hands bound securely behind him. He was sandwiched too tightly between the shelf on which he lay and the slats that supported the casque to get any leverage and move. His only hope, he'd decided very quickly, was to become allergic to the massed floral displays and sneeze very loudly and insistently. So far, that plan had not worked.

Annoyingly, the effects of the dream peddler's poison seemed to have diminished to a mere splitting headache and severe nausea, so Sulu couldn't even console himself with the thought he'd be dead before he entered the flames.

Perhaps Uyal didn't really mean to kill him. Although if he did, the method he'd chosen was certainly in character for a kiani — merely manoeuvring the victim into position and waiting for circumstances to do the rest. Maybe the engineer would relent. Maybe, when the funeral was over…

Something stirred in the lieutenant's memory. Something about when the funeral hour was over, or when the funeral hour was past… One of the slaves had talked about Datvin keeping them hostage until the funeral was over. Did that mean that Datvin expected something to happen at the funeral? Or that the slaves expected something? Was it the sort of something that would operate in Sulu's favour?

Reviewing his options, the lieutenant decided to give prayer a proper test run.

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

Johnson, Datvin, and the Manager's guards had made their way down the long corridors to the control complex largely unhindered. It seemed almost everyone was out of the building by now.

Datvin slid to an undignified halt at a turning and retreated. "She's posted guards."

"Does she really have Chekov?" Johnson demanded, unholstering his phaser. "Are you sure of that?"

"Yes. Someone has tried to disguise him as a Kibrian, but I saw her with him."

Johnson reminded himself that he was not worrying about the Prime Directive for the next hour or so. He leaned around the corner phaser in hand.

"Come on, then," he said, turning back to his companions after a few seconds. "I've taken care of them."

"Just like that? You killed them?" Datvin sounded more scandalised than distressed.

"No. I stunned them. And I'm probably going to be in quite enough trouble for just that. Could I have my tricorder, please?"

"Is there anyone in there?"

Johnson found the sensation of the Manager leaning over his shoulder most off-putting. "Yes. I get two readings… one Human."

"Is she armed?"

"What? I can't necessarily tell that. No phasers, but…"

Datvin turned his back impatiently. He addressed his guards. "Enter with caution."

"…clearance, level three," the computer was saying as they entered. "Confirm identity."

The Director had her back to them and didn't appear to have heard their entry. She was more intent on forcing Chekov's hand onto a scan plate to satisfy the computer's request.

"I will have you beaten within an inch of your miserable existence if you do not cease this stubbornness," she threatened the bound and struggling ensign.

Datvin held Johnson back as the computer dispassionately responded, "Confirmed."

"List all files coded to Johnson, Ensign, USS Enterprise," the Director commanded, then edged backwards as if she expected fireworks.

Chekov covered his eyes in anguish as the screen brightened with a seemingly endless catalogue of the files generated by the meteorologist.

"Delete all," the Director intoned.

"Kiriar." Datvin released his hold on Johnson and strode forward. "Kindly explain your presence here and your actions."

The Director turned away from the computer with deliberate dignity. A smile settled on her narrow red lips. "Mister Johnson. It appears that you lied to me. Your files are not coded at all."

Johnson ignored her and went straight to Chekov. He laid his tricorder on the desk and began to gently untie the awful rope from around his fellow officer's neck. "Are you okay, Pavel? What's she done to you? Did she give you more peeva?"

Chekov parted his eyelids, struggling against their burden of synthetic skin and giving up while his eyes were still narrow slits that seemed to be all pupil. "Johnson?"

The meteorologist threw the leash aside with a grunt of disgust. "Don't move. Let me check you out."

When Johnson started to untie Chekov's wrists, the ensign gripped him urgently. "Selrideen…" he said as if trying to compress paragraphs into that single word. "Must… find…"

"I must find Selrideen?" Johnson prompted, when it seemed that statement seemed to have used up Chekov's supply of initiative for the moment.

"Funeral…" the ensign continued with great difficulty. "…Station will… Kahsheel's funeral… Tell him…"

"What are you trying to tell me, Pavel?" Johnson said. "Try to concentrate."

"My head," the ensign groaned, putting his hands over his eyes. "Sulu… dead…"

"What?" Datvin strode over and dragged Chekov upright in the chair. "What do you mean by that? Is Mr. Sulu dead? Has the Director had him killed?"

"I most certainly have not," the Director contradicted forcefully. She was flanked by Datvin's guards, but one could hardly say they'd taken her into custody. "At the time I found this young man, I believed the lieutenant to be dead. That is why I took this servant into my custody."

"And you did not see fit to inform him otherwise when you saw that the lieutenant was quite alive?" Datvin asked.

"No," the Director replied brazenly. "He is difficult enough to control as it is."

"Tell us more about Selrideen," the Manager ordered, shaking Chekov for emphasis. "What about him? What about Kahsheel's funeral?"

"You'll need to give him more peeva if you want him to answer questions," the Director advised. "A more stubborn and contrary servant would be hard to imagine."

"Shut up!" Johnson snapped. "Both of you, shut up."

He pushed Datvin away and took Chekov's hands into his, carefully untying the ensign's abraded wrists. "Listen to me, Chekov. What about Selrideen? Do you want me to tell him something about Kahsheel's funeral?"

Chekov nodded. "Station… destroyed…"

"The station is to be destroyed during Kahsheel's funeral?" Johnson speculated, his pulse rate rising.

"During funeral…" the ensign confirmed. "Kahsheel's funeral…" Chekov looked up into Johnson's eyes piteously. "She's dead… Also dead."

"I'm afraid that Kahsheel is dead, but Lieutenant Sulu is not dead. Do you understand that, Pavel? The Director was just telling you that to trick you, to control you."

The ensign lowered his head mournfully. "My fault…"

"No, it wasn't… Look, never mind about that now," Johnson said impatiently. "What about the Station? How is it going to be destroyed?"

"Explosives… in the tunnels…"

"Where exactly?" Datvin demanded.

"In the tunnels," the ensign repeated. "Not sure…"

"Who or what is this Selrideen?" Datvin asked Johnson. "Is that a code name of some sort? Who is going by the name of Selrideen?"

"The dream peddler," one of the Manger's guards volunteered.

"Oh, him." Datvin seemed disappointed. "I don't think he's involved with this. He's just a mountebank of the worst sort."

"Selrideen," Chekov insisted, with dreamy determination, "…raises the dead…"

"You weren't ever dead, Chekov," Johnson said. "You told me that yourself. It was just a coma…"

"Not me." Chekov shook his head. "The birds… were dead.… I saw… Datvin, your office… the blood… the blood in my mouth…."

"I have no idea what you're babbling about," the Manager replied, his eyes narrowing. "Who is behind this plan, Chekov? Is it Mras? Who's manipulating him?"

The ensign lowered his head. "Don't know."

"You do know, young man," the Manager contradicted imperiously. "That much is abundantly clear. And I shall take steps to make certain that you tell us. Guards…"

"Now, hold on." Johnson stood up, putting himself protectively between the ensign and Datvin's men. "He's drugged. I'm sure that if he does know anything, and if it's appropriate that he tell you what he knows, he'll do so. I believe something called kvurr…"

"You're very knowledgeable about illegal Kibrian drugs, Mr. Johnson," Datvin sniffed.

"I didn't choose to be, sir."

-o- -o-o-o- -o-