There was a long moment as the Station Manager weighed his options. "Very well," he finally relented with obvious reluctance. He motioned to one of his guards. "Fetch some kvurr and a jug of hot water. The Medical Officer will have some. Say it's on my authority."

"Yes, sir."

As the first guard hurried to obey his superior's command, Datvin's critical eye settled on the second officer. He glanced briefly at the former Director, then appeared to come to a decision. "You go too, Mazt. Ask for exact instructions on the dosage. Tell the Medical Officer the kvurr is for a Human — the one he so recently pronounced dead — if that's of any significance."

The guard looked uneasily over at the former Director.

"Go on," his superior ordered.

"Yes, sir."

As the second guard followed the first out the door, Chekov gripped the meteorologist's arm. "Something's going to happen," the Russian warned as coherently as he was capable. "Something… not good."

Johnson wasn't sure if the ensign was still talking about explosives in the station or was just as suspicious as he was of Datvin's decision to dismiss his guards. "Calm down, Chekov. Everything's going to be all right now. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you."

"Actually," the Director crossed her arms, "he belongs to me now, Mister Johnson. I will determine what does and does not happen to him."

"But Sulu isn't dead…" Johnson protested.

"That has yet to be demonstrated," the Director replied coolly. "Also, this one was discovered trying to conceal his mark of ownership…."

"Oh." Datvin nodded gravely as if this constituted an inarguable claim.

Chekov rubbed his gloved hand nervously. "Johnson?"

"I don't understand," the meteorologist said.

"Disguising, altering, or concealing a brand is a criminal act, Ensign," the Director informed him. "It is furthermore the act of a runaway slave. The state has the option of taking possession of runaways. I exercised my option as Director and added him to my household — hopefully to provide him with a more stable and structured working environment and thus prevent the sort of misbehaviour for which he has acquired a reputation."

"She's within her rights," Datvin confirmed.

"Wait, wait," Johnson objected, he head spinning with how easily the Kibrians had managed to outmanoeuvre him again. "How can she..? She's a criminal."

"That's slander, Mister Johnson," the Director said, sounding outraged.

"A premature conclusion, Johnson. The former director is a kiriar accused of misconduct," Datvin clarified. "The question of criminal culpability is for the magistrates to decide. Until the matter is brought before the proper authorities, it is improper to assume her guilt."

"Oh, I see," Johnson replied angrily. "So she and her family are free to commit mayhem on a planetary scale and walk around scot-free, while Chekov…"

"..Is a runaway slave," the Director countered, "suspected of at least one murder in addition to…"

"Please, please!" the Station Manager interrupted, holding his hands up impatiently. "Despite the strong emotions this young man seems to engender, we have more important matters to discuss than the disposition of one slave."

"But..!" Johnson began.

"I'm sure that when and if Lieutenant Sulu is found, he can successfully challenge the State's claim on Chekov," Datvin assured him. "In the meantime, we are all in a position of some delicacy. Each of us is faced with obstacles in obtaining our goals. I desire the continued safe operation of this station and the completion of the specifications for the Eenos project — including the appointment of a competent contractor for the construction phase."

Johnson forced himself to take a deep breath in through his nose. "The Director… I'm sorry, the ex-Director, wiped all my files" he replied, pulling out a chair for Chekov — at a pointed distance from both the Kibrians. "There's no way we can duplicate all our work in the time available…"

"Surely you had copies…"

"Yes, but they were coded to me too," Johnson answered as he guided the other ensign into the seat, hoping Chekov would have the presence — or absence — of mind not to contradict him. "She's wiped everything."

Datvin looked as if he didn't really believe this, but being an administrator rather than a computer expert, he abandoned that line of attack. "Much of your work here was setting up and refining our systems. That still stands, surely."

"Yes. I'm not saying we have to start from scratch…"

"Then how long…"

"Do either of you know where Lieutenant Sulu is?" Johnson asked pointedly.

Datvin crossed his arms with a self-righteous air and looked at the ex-Director who crossed her arms and gave him a similar look in reply.

"Or Ensign Davies?"

Again, neither Kibree seemed willing to admit to any knowledge in front of the other.

"If you were to find both of them, and if you were to allow me to use Chekov in a technical capacity rather than as a… a…" Johnson broke off and looked down at his fellow ensign. Chekov was sitting with his head bowed and his hands folded — his manner distressingly docile. "Well, with all four of us — and all the help we need from the station staff — we might just get things back together before we have to leave. If the Station is still standing at that point, of course…"

Datvin nodded approvingly. "Director…"

"Since I am no longer Director," she replied icily, "the problems of running this station are no longer any concern of mine…"

"The files you were trying to destroy are still in the computer," the Manager pointed out.

The Kibrian's eyes narrowed. "Datvin, you're a fool. Think this through. If word of this … situation gets out, it won't harm only me… Mine is not the only family that will suffer discredit. I warn you, the information stored here has the potential to generate a scandal of such proportion that it cannot fail to cause the government to fall. If the lower castes hear of it — and if they understand it — they will surely riot. Violently. Possibly with murderous intent. Think of the legal proceedings alone that it will set into motion…"

The last elicited a pained sigh from the Manager. "Of course, I do realise…"

"Do you?" she asked harshly. "Consider. There are controls and checks built into the Vaytha. Quotas. While there are those who passed who perhaps technically should have been placed in a lower caste, so equally there were others who were erroneously failed."

The look on Datvin's face made Johnson appreciate for the first time how difficult it must be to live under such a system. An individual's whole life depended on the results of one battery of tests. The very frightening thought that those tests were rigged could undermine a Kibrian's sense of reality. If one could no longer trust the testing process, one no longer knew who one was in relation to society.

Sensing weakness, the Director pressed her advantage. "Manipulation of results might not have been limited to members of my family. Who knows who was passed over and who was wrongfully pushed forward?

"Those who committed the deed," Datvin accused coldly.

"Yes." She smiled. "And the computer knows. Are you so sure of your worthiness and the worthiness of those close to you that you can harbour the illusion that your life will be unaffected by the information in this machine?"

The Kibree's face was unreadable.

"Imagine the upheaval," she continued, "the claims for compensation, the undermining of our entire social structure… We would be plunged into absolute anarchy… and at a time when we are seeking to convince the Federation that our system is stable and workable…"

"I think we'd be more impressed if it was equable and capable of evolving to meet changing needs."

Both Kibree turned to look at Johnson as if he were an annoying noise. The ensign realised with a sinking heart that the Director's rhetoric had worked. Through her dire predictions she had forged an alliance with the Manager.

"This can be settled to your advantage also," Datvin pointed out. "You will assist the Director in wiping the relevant files…"

"Now, hold on. How are you going to explain the loss of all the files?"

The Kibrians smiled like one organism.

"We will blame Chekov," Datvin told him as if this was a course of action that would have been obvious to an idiot child. "That will be confirmed by the computer log. Will it not?"

Johnson swallowed. They had a point there. It was going to be his word against theirs… and the computer's. The logs would contain only the commands distilled from what the Director had said, not a recording of her voice.

The Director smiled, quite pleasantly. "The folly of allowing a left… a servant to have access to the data processors will be recognised by all."

"Now, with the assistance of your tricorder, Mister Johnson," Datvin said, regaining his customary crisp and businesslike manner, "we will locate your colleagues and any explosives or weapons within the Station. Although I think it might be wiser to do that in the reverse order."

"I can't let you use Star Fleet equipment."

"Yes." Datvin nodded his head gravely. "Of course. I understand your problem. Well, the Station is evacuated. Apart from Lieutenant Sulu and Ensign Davies. Oh, and the three of us."

"Four," Johnson corrected, trying to ignore the implicit threat. "You're forgetting Chekov."

"And you're forgetting that Chekov belongs to me," the Director pointed out.

"Oh, yes," Datvin agreed. "You do have legal possession of the young man. I had almost forgotten. What do you intend to do with your servant, Madam?"

"Oh, I don't know." She shrugged. "I may leave him here. He's hardly worth saving."

At the sound of his name, the navigator had looked up. He remained silent, but his brown eyes had gone rather wide with apprehension.

"Mister Johnson?" Datvin prompted.

"Let me think," Johnson snapped.

"We may not have much time," Datvin pointed out mildly.

The various options were going round in the meteorologist's head like the tumblers in a fruit machine. After a moment they all lined up. "Do you still consider Chekov to be responsible for Kahsheel's death?"

When Kahsheel's name was spoken, Chekov bowed his head in a rather ill-timed demonstration of guilt.

Datvin paused. "Perhaps not. The method was traditional, the poison local. I hardly think he'd have had the opportunity to acquire it, or the knowledge to use it."

"Good. You'll make your security officers aware of your opinion, won't you?"

"That could be done."

"All right, I'll help you," Johnson began warily. "But only if the following four conditions are met. First, you give me Chekov."

Datvin sniffed noncommittally. "And the other conditions?"

"Once the Station is secure, Chekov remains either with me or in my room at all times and Station Security makes sure no one goes in my quarters without my permission."

"That would not be objectionable," Datvin agreed.

"And thirdly all our equipment is to be returned to us — that's four phasers and the tricorder — once the search is finished." When there was no overt objection to this condition, Johnson forged on. "And lastly, certain people are to be banned from the Station until we leave. Uyal, Gebain, Driant and Mras… Oh, and Selrideen."

The Director widened her narrow eyes. "Are those five supposed to be part of some conspiracy against you?"

"They've been less than helpful," Johnson told her stiffly. "Well, do we have a deal, Mister Datvin?"

The Manager turned expectantly to the former Director.

She took a moment to consider the matter, pursing her lips thoughtfully as she sized the Enterprise's navigator up, letting her eyes travel slowly from the top of his cropped head to the tips of his sandled toes.

"I hope the two of you appreciate the magnitude of the sacrifice I'm making here," she said lightly as she picked up a clerical recorder off the top of a row of cabinets. "You can have no idea how long it's been since I've owned an attractive little left-handed boy… Transfer of property: the servant known as Chekov is hereby transferred from my ownership to the ownership of… of Ensign Johnson of Star Fleet. The price is agreed…" She looked at Johnson as if evaluating the cut of his uniform. "The price is agreed at one turkana seed."

"What?" Johnson asked, not at all appreciative of the Kibrian's levity.

"A tradition, Mister Johnson," the Director said as she stepped over to her former servant and pulled off the glove that covered his right hand. "Effectively it means nothing is to be paid."

"A contract requires a price," Datvin explained.

The Director tilted Chekov's chin up and towards Johnson. "Your new master," she said, then added ironically, "Obey him as you have obeyed me."

"Johnson," Chekov said slowly, blinking in disbelief as dim comprehension dawned on him, "You've… you've… You've purchased me?"

"Well… I… I…" Johnson felt his cheeks go suddenly and violently red. Despite the fact he knew his motives were practical not personal, the meteorologist couldn't meet those questioning brown eyes. "It… It's a long story, Chekov… Oh, gosh, is this ever going to make into a weird log entry."

-o- -o- -o-

"Kiree!" Dollu's friend stepped forward out of the niche where Davies and her companions had hidden themselves.

Davies grabbed a handful of the blue woman's robe and lost it again in a sudden reversal of their roles.

Selrideen, at the head of a column of porters bearing wooden crates, stopped abruptly. There were stifled gasps as several of the line of slaves collided with those in front of them, but nothing was dropped. "Take ease, little sister," the dream peddler reassured the servant woman. He stepped forward and held out a hand to Davies. "And you too, Sister Day-Veez."

"We need your help," Davies blurted out. "If you're going to blow up the station…"

"Destroy the Station? My palace? No. That is not our intention. However, this palace will fall to make way for yet a greater one."

Davies suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at his predictably pseudo-religious mumbo-jumbo. "Well, whatever you're doing…"

"We must be on our way."

"Wait!" She grasped the dream-peddler's robe. "The Director has taken Chekov. I don't know what she intends to do to him…"

In the flickering torch light, it looked like Selrideen smiled. "Perhaps something comparable to what you intended to do him if he was to fall under your power?"

Davies closed her eyes and grimaced as she realised that: a) Yes, everyone on the whole damned planet was aware of what she'd said to Kahsheel and what she'd done that night in Kahsheel's quarters and that b) No, they were never going to let her live it down. "Okay, okay… Yes, something to that effect — or much worse. I'm still not convinced that she won't kill him."

"Never fear, sister. She is still in the building and her car has not left. Therefore, he is still here. I think she is too busy just now to devote her energies to harming a poor servant."

"Well, maybe not now…"

"I'm afraid this is not a matter I can assist in at any rate," the Kibrian interrupted. "I couldn't interfere."

"How would you be interfering?" Davies demanded angrily. "You live here."

"Yes. I live here. So I cannot interfere with you, who do not. No, we must live our own lives. We each have our own story to tell. Come, sisters." He beckoned the two servant women into his line.

"Wait a bloody minute," Davies said, as her eyes adjusted to the light and she was better able to make out the burdens carried by the long line of servants. "Some of them are carrying explosives! I thought you said you weren't going to blow up the Station."

"That's not my intent," Selrideen confirmed.

"Then where are you going with those?"

"To fulfil our destiny," he answered motioning the line forward.

"Hold on," she exclaimed, stepping in front of him. "I can't let you go without more of an explanation than that."

This time she could clearly make out the dream-peddler's smile. "You don't have the power to stop us."

Davies looked at the seemingly endless line of Kibrian faces behind him and realised how small and insignificant one lone unarmed Human must seem in comparison. "Well, you can't leave me down here alone."

"If you come with me, you come with me," the dream peddler said severely, as if that meant anything.

Davies cursed the translator. "I just want to get out of these tunnels."

"Of course," Selrideen agreed comfortingly. "We all want to get out of these tunnels. And there are many ways out but I cannot say which is the door you should go through."

"Can you for one moment stop talking in riddles?" she snapped.

"Very well." He pointed to his left. "That stair leads to the pantry beside the dining hall. And that…" pointing right "…leads to the anteroom to the Director's office. But it might be wiser if you were to go through the arch at the end of this passageway, straight ahead, turning neither sunways nor against the sun, then choose the fourth sunways passage and go up the narrow stair at its end."

"And where will that take me?" she asked, translating 'sunways, clockwise, turn right…' before she lost the thread of his directions.

"Into Lieutenant Sulu's quarters. But mind your head. Give her a lamp, someone."

"Take ease, sister Feddie," Dollu and her friend called, falling into the column.

"But… but where's he taking you?" she objected.

"To Selrideen," echoed back to her as the porters vanished into the blackness.

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

"Just a little more, Pavel," Johnson coaxed, holding a sour-smelling cup of red liquid to his fellow ensign's lips.

"It's bitter," Chekov complained.

"You don't want to give him much more, Johnson," the ex-Director said. She was standing next to Datvin as he spread a huge, slightly yellowed plan of the station on the desk in his office.

"Why not?"

"It might kill him," she informed him dispassionately. "He's already had at least one dose."

'Now's a great time to tell me that,' Johnson thought, closing his eyes in irritation. "Are you feeling any better, Chekov?"

The ensign scowled at him. "No!"

"Well, maybe you should lie down for awhile, okay?"

"No," the Russian repeated, as unreasoningly uncooperative as a two year old.

"Be firm with him, Mister Johnson," Datvin advised, weighing down the edges of his map with ornamental paper weights. "Or else he'll not respect you."

"Thank you, but I think I can…"

"Don't know what you're doing…" Chekov was saying, shaking his head from side to side. "Purchasing me… Don't know what you're doing…"

"Pavel," Johnson began, his patience beginning to wear thin, "will you..?"

"Where's Sulu?" the Russian asked accusingly.

"I don't know. Look, you need to…"

"No." The navigator shook his head adamantly. "Don't know what you're doing…"

"I just think you should…"

"No."

"Just…"

"No."

"Would you shut up for a minute?" Johnson snapped. That at least seemed to get his fellow ensign's attention.

"Yes, sir," Chekov mumbled automatically, lowering his eyes.

Johnson took a pillow from nearby and put it on the arm of the chair Chekov was seated in. "I want you to put your head down and try to sleep… Right now, Mister!"

He wasn't sure if it was Kibrian or Star Fleet discipline that took over as Chekov obediently leaned against the arm of the chair and closed his eyes, whispering a final, "Yes, sir."

The meteorologist cleared his throat before turning back to his Kibrian companions. "He's not fully recovered yet," he explained as he joined them at the Manager's ample desk. "He'll be more rational when he wakes up."

The Kibrians made no comment, but silently exchanged "I remember my first servant" type glances with each other. Johnson tried to ignore this along with the burning in his cheeks as he bent over the map. "Now what do we have here?"

The map made no attempt to chart the underground passages, although some exits and entrances were marked. The one Davis had escaped through, for example, was missing, if Johnson was interpreting the rather alien symbols correctly.

"This is an example of the material they are likely to be using, if their intention is one of murderous destruction." Datvin laid down a sample of the cheesy white explosive for Johnson to examine. "A theft of several containers has been reported from a local quarry. One might question whether it was made available, rather than stolen, of course."

The former Director cleared her throat. "I think the ensign should concentrate on finding the explosive for us. The investigation of its origins will be an internal matter."

Datvin frowned. "Will you be able to detect it from above ground?"

"I should," Johnson reported, holding his tricorder a few inches away from the sample, then at arm's length.

"Then my men can simply break through from above and remove it," the Manager decided. "That will be very much quicker and safer than attempting to search in the passages."

"You say safer, but we've no idea when the explosion is supposed to take place," Johnson pointed out. "Or how big it will be. How much explosive was stolen?"

The Manager shook his head. "How much is not precisely known. Enough to do considerable damage certainly. When is… well, it is predictable. Engineer Kahsheel was well connected. Her funeral will be more restrained than it might have been, in other circumstances…" He shot a disapproving look at Chekov on the other side of the room. "… but there will be representatives of government and many kiriar from important families. The funeral must be the target."

"And where will that happen?" Johnson asked, looking back at the plan.

"The main ceremony will take place here…" Datvin indicated a large hall that Johnson had never had reason to enter. "Her remains will be cremated in a chamber below the hall."

"When is the ceremony supposed to start?"

The Manager glanced at his timepiece. It consisted of a large screen which displayed a stylised picture of a traditional Kibrian water clock. "In a little more than an hour. But I must know within not more than half of that time whether the building is safe, or I shall be forced to cancel the ceremony."

"Perhaps it would be easier if you simply went ahead and cancelled it anyway."

"No!" Datvin coughed, as if to suggest that his outburst had been a mere nervous spasm. "To do so would be a virtual admission that disorder has taken hold."

Johnson picked up the tricorder. "I think I can perform an adequate sweep of the station in less than the time available, just. Provided there are no pockets of building materials that are impervious to sensor emissions. I hope, sir, that your forces of disorder aren't relying on you reacting in this way."

"Yes," Datvin agreed reluctantly. "Quite. Perhaps it would be advisable if you had this now, in case anyone attempts to obstruct you." The Manager crossed to an elaborate wrought-iron screen and unlocked it with one of the keys on his belt. From the space behind it he produced one of the team's phasers. "I've already arranged for a dozen security guards to accompany you."

Johnson accepted the weapon, remaining silent about the one he already had in his possession. He watched as Datvin relocked the safe. "Won't you be accompanying us, Manager?"

"No, I… I think not. I'll only slow you. I must organise the staff so that the Station can return to normal as speedily as possible once you've pronounced it safe."

Johnson frowned. If Datvin didn't think they had much hope of success and wanted to eliminate the only certain survivors from the Federation team, he was making all the right moves.

But on the other hand, if Datvin wanted him dead, there were surer ways of achieving that. The meteorologist nodded. "Okay. I think I'd better get started."

He folded the plan in such a way that he could easily refer to any part of it and turned to go. As he looked up he was suddenly confronted with the sight of Chekov curled up peacefully in Datvin's big chair.

"Oh, don't worry about him." When the Manager snapped his fingers, his two guards took positions either side of the sleeping ensign. "I'll see he's kept quiet while you're gone."

"I'm sure you would," Johnson agreed. He gently but firmly pushed one of the guards aside and shook the Russian's arm. "Come on, Pavel. Wake up. Here we go again."

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

There were only three passages turning right off the dead end corridor beyond the arch. Davies sat down, put her lamp on the ground beside her and bit her lip to stop herself screaming. "How could I have been so stupid? Why the hell didn't I just follow them? What could they have done about it?"

It was quite possible that none of the stairs the dream peddler had mentioned existed at all. Come to think of it, such a sudden abundance of ways out of the catacombs was far too good to be true.

Had Dollu and her friend known what Selrideen was up to? Had they cynically abandoned her, or were they, at least, acting in good faith?

"Bloody hypocritical canting mountebank," she said bitterly. "He goes on and on because I teased Chekov a bit. What the hell was he up to down here?"

"Sister?"

She knocked the lamp over, extinguishing it, and pulled herself into one of the three righthand passages, but whoever had spoken had a lamp of his own. As the Kibree came towards her, she was greatly relieved to recognise Nith.

"I thought you might get lost." He picked her lamp up, relit it carefully from his, then returned it to her. "We are underground. Therefore the sun moves in the opposite direction…"

"What?"

"Well, obviously, or how would it rise on the other side of the world the following morning?"

"I… uh, I see. Thank you." She reviewed her instructions yet again. If she'd reversed the course she'd taken that meant she now had to take the fourth passage on the left and… "You wouldn't come with me, would you?"

Nith paused only momentarily to look over his shoulder. "Of course."

"Do you know where Selrideen was taking the others?"

The Kibrian nodded. "To fulfil their destiny."

Davies had vainly hoped for a more prosaic answer. "And you've decided to give up fulfilling your destiny just to give me directions?"

"Not exactly," he said moving forward into the darkness. "I feel that my destiny lies elsewhere."

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

After the door closed behind Johnson, the Station Manager shook his head. "Should the Federation ever send representatives here again, I certainly hope they choose ones who have a little more experience in dealing with slaves."

"You should be thankful for their inexperience, Datvin," the ex-Director countered. "It is one of their few weaknesses we've been able to discover and successfully exploit."

The Kibree looked down his nose at his former superior. "Your car still waits for you, Madam. I'm sure you would prefer to leave the Station as soon as possible."

"Yes…" she answered slowly. "But I will need to return to my chambers briefly before I leave."

"Of course. I'll assign an escort to accompany you." He smiled humourlessly. "As a courtesy."

"Yes… Of course." She turned to leave, then paused in front of the massive door to the Manager's office. "Do you think Johnson knows more than he's saying?"

"About what?"

"About anything. What can Uyal, Driant, Gebain and… and the other two have in common?"

"Nothing at all that I can imagine," Datvin replied, sitting down his desk and taking out a writing tablet.

"But is there a clue there as to who is behind the plot to destroy this Station?"

"If there is such a plot, Madam. We are giving ear to the words of hysterical servants, a drugged alien and various kiani who may have their own reasons for doing almost anything," he replied dismissively, then added casually, "From what Johnson says, Gall Albrikk is behind much of this."

The former director paled. "What does he know of Albrikk?"

"That the kiriar attempted some sabotage at the Alareen relay station earlier. According to Johnson, no damage was done. But I have not had any opportunity to verify that."

The Director was silent for a moment. "When Johnson returns, you must let me know immediately," she said, turning again to leave. "I will need his assistance with the computers."

"I have been reconsidering that," Datvin informed her as he made a note to himself.

"But Datvin…"

"As you mentioned before, there is the potential here for various legal complications. I intend to take advice on whether such proceedings might be to my advantage. In the meantime, perhaps you should leave the computer alone." He affected not to notice her scowl of rage. "I have taken the precaution of posting guards."

"Manager, do you really expect to find yourself a kiriar after a lifetime spent demonstrating your incompetence as a kiani?"

Datvin didn't answer.

"Family is far more important than the Vaytha recognises," she continued hotly. "If anything, what my kin have done proves this. Kibree of integrity and insight, in positions of leadership… You cannot measure leadership in children who can barely wield a spoon."

"That is something the courts will decide." Datvin gestured her towards the door with his pen. "Now, if you will excuse me."

The door slammed hard enough behind the ex-Director to overturn a small decorative ornament on the Manager's desk.

"So obviously a low caste," he sniffed, righting it. "It's a wonder she was able to pass for otherwise as long as she did."

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

Davies let Nith lead the way but stayed close enough behind him that she had difficulty not bumping into him from time to time. The stairway was narrow, as Selrideen had said, and the hatch at its head would hardly open. It did, however, admit a welcome wash of warm air and pale daylight into the cramped space below. Nith extinguished his lamp and set it down on a ledge before squeezing through the gap.

Davies suddenly panicked that once outside he'd secure the hatch and leave her. She pushed forward, earning a kick in the face for her impatience.

"Sister, my apologies."

"Oh, it was my fault." She accepted his hand and let him pull her out from under what turned out to be Sulu's bed. "I can't believe I'm finally out of there."

She glanced around the room, trying to determine whether any of her companions had been here since Datvin had forced her to leave. The computer was working again. Obviously power had been restored. She crossed over to the desk and typed in the password that would bring up any messages left by her colleagues. There were none dated later than two days previously. Communicators were her next thought. The requirements of the Prime Directive had forced the team to keep them locked up except when in use. The little wall safe gaped open and empty. Only then did her thoughts turn to paper but no one had used that method of recording their presence either. Everything else was as shipshape as a cadet's cabin.

Nith watched her in silence. Looking at him, Davies realised that the Kibrian was one source of information she hadn't fully exploited yet… And he was apparently in the mood to be helpful.

"Nith, could you answer some questions for me?"

"Perhaps."

"Do you have any idea at all where Lieutenant Sulu or Ensign Johnson are?"

"No."

"That cell I was locked in, there was someone else in there. Do you know who that was?"

"It was Chekov."

"It didn't look like Chekov. And Johnson told us Chekov was dead."

"In Selrideen, all things are possible."

"Yes, well." She wondered fleetingly whether to abandon this question and answer session. "Dollu said that the Director had got hold of Chekov. Was that before or after I saw him in the tunnels?"

"After," Nith admitted. "I too saw him, at the kepir feast."

Davies breathed a small sigh of relief. At least Chekov was no longer in the cell, then, and there was no need for her to go back into the tunnels to retrieve him. "Good. Do you know where she took him after the feast?"

Nith looked most apologetic. "No. There was some confusion. One of the servants started a panic that the station was about to be destroyed and everyone tried to leave at once. I believe the Director took Chekov with her entourage, but I could not be certain."

Dollu had obviously come to the same conclusion. There seemed to be a high probability that Chekov was with the Kibrian. Which left the question of where she would have taken him, and for what purpose…

"Firebricks," Davies said, cutting short that train of speculation. "Mras was telling people to be careful in the tunnels because of firebricks. Did he mean explosives?"

Nith nodded agreement. "Certainly. But there is no danger. Selrideen watches over all in his care."

"He was removing the explosives when I met you in the tunnels just now?"

The former kiani blinked as if he was having difficulty following her. "Yes. The servants were carrying the explosives away."

"So there's no danger of the Station blowing up?"

"This is Selrideen's Palace. Therefore he will preserve it."

Davies thought she detected an additional capital H in there.

"…In some form," Nith amended after a moment.

"Look." Davies held up her hands as if they could shield her from any further outpouring of Kibrian mysticism. "Give me a yes or no answer — Were the slaves we saw collecting explosives to blow up this Station?"

"No," her companion answered with gratifying clarity.

"Then what are they going to do them?"

"They go to …"

"…Fulfil their destiny," Davies finished with him. "I shouldn't have pressed my luck.… All right, for the present, I'm not going to worry about Selrideen and his crew. Let's concentrate on people that are above ground. So, if I find the Director, I'll find Chekov… or if he's escaped from her, he'll have headed back to Sulu… or maybe Johnson. So I'd better concentrate on looking for Sulu. Sulu may still think Chekov is dead, so he'll be looking for me and Johnson. Johnson thinks Chekov is dead too, so he'll be looking for me and Sulu. Now, who's got the tricorder?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's a device that you can use to look for things that you can't see. If I had it, I could tell if there were any humans anywhere in the Station, and how many, and more or less in which room."

Nith frowned. "Since you believe everyone is looking for you, apart from Chekov, surely your best strategy is simply to position yourself where they can see you. Provided you choose a public enough location, you should also then be safe from anyone who wishes to do you harm…"

"Like who?"

"Excuse me?"

"Who wants to harm me?"

"I don't know."

"And anyway, if I'm standing in full view, then they'll have to show themselves to contact me and they may not want to do that. It's not that easy."

"But they will at least know where you are and that you are safe."

"I suppose so." After so long in the tunnels, Davies felt a rat-like reluctance to venture out into the open.

"What would you prefer to do?"

Davies sighed as she renewed her search for equipment. "Curl up in bed with a nice brandy and watch this mess sort itself out on the vid screen in my cabin."

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

"Come on, Chekov, stop sulking."

"I'm not sulking." Chekov folded the map while Johnson altered the scanning range on the tricorder for the next part of their search. The hallway they were searching was eerily empty despite the rather noisy presence of the compliment of armed guards accompanying them.

"Look, I'm sorry I told you to shut up," Johnson said, pointing his tricorder at the floor and taking a test reading. "And I admit what I'm doing is questionable, but didn't anyone ever tell you that the worst decision you can make is no decision? I know the reasoning behind the Prime Directive, I agree with it. But when people turn it on its head and use it against us, against each other even… Well, all the advantages are on the Kibrian side here. The only thing I'm prepared to worry about any longer is keeping us all alive."

"Then shouldn't we be looking for Sulu too?" Chekov pointed out in a tone that sounded a little peevish even to his own ears. He felt terrible. Every part of him ached. It wasn't helping matters that he'd awakened to find himself in the custody of his third owner in that many hours.

"No, I agree with Datvin there." The meteorologist looked up at a noise in front of them, but it was only a single Kibrian hurrying down the passageway trying to balance what looked like a large carpet on his shoulder. "The explosives are the first priority."

"You could set the tricorder to sweep for human readings on every tenth cycle…" Chekov argued, moving aside to allow the Kibrian a wide berth.

"No, Chekov. I'm not willing to take the chance. Imagine the repercussions…"

Johnson was interrupted when the man with the carpet stumbled into him.

"Oh, excuse me," The Kibree apologised quickly righting himself.

"No problem," Johnson said, brushing himself off. He turned to the guards and turned on his translator. "Hey, one of you help this man."

Chekov got a peculiar sensation of deja vu — as if he'd seen the scene happen before.

"Imagine the repercussions," Johnson continued, deactivating his translator once more. "if I pronounce the Station clear and ten minutes later it blows up — with or without a full complement of Kibrian VIPs on board. If I do this, I have to do it properly."

"Then let me go and look for him…"

"No. I'm not letting you out of my sight."

Chekov frowned mightily at this. "Mister Johnson, despite any sort of agreement you may think you have made with the Kibrians…"

"How do you feel?" Johnson interrupted. "Any dizziness? Headaches?"

"I'm fine," Chekov insisted despite the fact that he had a headache of truly epic proportions. "Despite.."

"Do you need one of these?" The meteorologist offered him a small container of blue pills.

Chekov closed his eyes and tried to ignore the way his mouth almost watered at the sight. "I'm… I'm… f-fi…"

"Take one now," Johnson said, popping one blue piece of heaven into his fellow ensign's mouth, then closing the container and tucking it inside the navigator's livery. "And keep the box with you."

"Johnson," Chekov fumed, although it was hard to feel angry while soothing waves of chemical balm spread through one's body, "Would you stop…"

He suddenly didn't know how to finish the sentence. Stop taking care of me? Stop being concerned about me? Stop acting like you own me? Yes, that last one was it.

"Look, Chekov," Johnson was already continuing. "You don't know what I had to go through to find you. I'm not splitting the team up again."

"Johnson, we're wasting time. I am armed…" The meteorologist had slipped Chekov the spare phaser once they were out of sight of Datvin and the Director. "…And since I don't remember Lieutenant Sulu appointing you second in command…"

"He didn't need to. The last time I saw him, we were both under the impression that you were dead. So I think we can assume that responsibility for this mission lies with me until we find him — or Ensign Davies, if you'd prefer to take orders from her?"

Johnson smiled at the scowl on his fellow officer's face.

"Okay then." The meteorologist turned on his translator and gestured to their escort. "We should turn right here."

The guardsmen executed the turn into another corridor. Johnson followed them, eyes glued to the tricorder.

Reduced to the status of reluctant map holder, Chekov brought up the rear. "Go to sleep. Wake up. Shut up. Take this pill," he muttered to himself. "As soon as my head clears a little…"

He turned at the sound of a noise behind him, but it was only the Kibree with the carpet returning in the direction he'd come.

'There's something familiar about that man,' the ensign thought. The carpet blocked the Kibrian's face, but the sound of the man's voice… While Chekov watched, the Kibrian abruptly altered his course to follow the party and dropped his burden.

His face was as immediately recognisable to the ensign as was the phaser in the Kibree's hand.

Chekov grabbed for his own weapon. "Joh..!" he managed to call out before the effects of the stun took him.

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

"Make sure there's no one in there," Davies whispered to Nith.

The Kibrian extinguished his lamp and carefully eased the door open.

A tapestry hung across the doorway. Standing close to it, the ensign was able to peer through into the Director's apartment. The room was occupied. The Director sat regally on a great wooden settle, very upright and formidable. The Kibree with her had his back to the tapestry, but he was instantly recognisable nonetheless.

"Mras," Davies breathed. "But no Chekov…"

"The Federation officers are searching the Station for explosives," the Director was saying. "I suspect you're lying, but if you aren't, it makes no difference. Your scheming is about to be uncovered."

"No interfering, she said. The Feddie uzhist…"

"Don't use that kitchen language in here," the Director interrupted sharply. "And I don't care if they lied to you about their intentions. Listen to me, our family is about to be disgraced. Our society is about to be turned on its head. I hope you're not stupid enough to think some Magistrate will decide you were improperly assessed…"

"I passed the Vaytha…"

"I know." Her voice softened. "I know, Mras. You were always the clever one. But…"

"And now you want to make use of my brains, sister."

"I've done what I could for you, Mras. You were lucky to have a home here in the Station. Most families…"

"Would have had me sent away and forgotten. I know. Instead you just ignored me. Until now…"

"That is the way it is. I cannot change the world…"

"And you wouldn't change it. Why should you?"

The Director stood. "I don't have time for this. I know that you are involved in a conspiracy…"

"I am not…"

"You have been named, along with others."

"Who named me? What others?"

"Driant, Uyal…"

"I took jewels from them. As I took jewels from you. But you all wanted the same thing so why shouldn't I?"

"Have you no loyalty?" she demanded.

"Only to me, sister."

"Then answer this, for the sake of your health. What do you know about Driant, Uyal, Gebain and the one who calls himself Selrideen?

"That whoever told you they were conspiring is mad — or drugged, perhaps. Was it Chekov?"

She shook her head sadly at the dwarf. "You think the Federation would help you, don't you?"

"They don't have slaves. All are equal…"

"And of those who are here, how many of them would have been slaves, if they had such?"

"Chekov and the pale one…"

"For their left handedness? That's a mark of Selrideen. I don't think it means anything to them. But not one of them is stupid, or deformed, or even displeasing to look at — for their species. What happens to all those, Mras?"

Davies suspected he was scowling, but she could only see that he fidgeted his feet. "I don't know."

"They kill them, little brother. Before they are even born. That's why they have no slaves. They prefer to have machines serve them. So easy, isn't it, to preach equality, when everyone simply is equal to start with? I don't agree with either them or the dream peddler, but I've more respect for him than for them."

"It makes no difference…"

"I know. They won't help you. You can't appeal to their compassion, their hearts, or their purses. We are less than dust to them, but you and I are family, Mras. I know I've neglected you, but now…"

"What do you want?"

"I believe Johnson will have finished his search by now. But knowing you, you wouldn't have committed all your resources to just one plan. You'll have kept some of the explosives back. You will position them under the main computer unit…"

"And if I won't…"

"I believe Gebain is looking for you…"

"I thought we were family…"

"And that's why I offer you an alternative. Do as I wish, ensure the computer is destroyed. During the cremation would be best. And be wary. Datvin has posted guards…" From her expression, Davies read that the two of them were not impressed with the effectiveness of the station's security officers. "But I don't want anyone killed needlessly. Then I will arrange for you to go to my summer residence in the hills. No one need know you're there.

Mras was shuffling his feet again. "You've broken promises before, sister."

She shrugged. "What other choice do you have?"

Davies stepped back into the darkness of the stairway and gently closed the door. "Why does she want the computer destroyed, Nith?"

He answered softly, "To conceal something, I imagine."

"You've no idea what?"

"No." Just when Davies was about to curse the Kibrian's brevity, he continued, "It's rather old, although powerful. The loss of the computer itself would merely mean a few days work lost while a replacement was installed. It might even be a good thing for the Station, looked at overall…"

Davies blinked at him for a moment. Despite the way he spoke the language, it was still a surprise to hear someone dressed like a servant speak like the kiani he had once been.

"Uyal and his group were also out to destroy the computer. He was trying to make it look as if we — the Federation officers, I mean — were to blame…"

"Yes. That makes sense then." Nith nodded. "Cracking two nuts in one hand. Uyal is in favour of investing in new data processing equipment. It irritates him that most people prefer to use our resources in other ways. It must be data that the Director wants to destroy."

"But surely there's security backups?" she whispered as they descended back into the tunnels.

"The main memory is triplicated. But no copies are held elsewhere. There's no provision for what she intends."

"She was being blackmailed…" Davies stopped. If Nith didn't know that, it was no business of hers to tell him. Still, the time had come to turn the tables. "I think I should make a copy of the information. When did she say Mras should try to blow up the computer?"

"During Kahsheel's cremation. All the kiani will be in the ceremonial hall gardens, attending the ceremony. The servants will…" He stopped. "She probably isn't overly concerned about the servants, but they'd have no reason to be near the computer installation. But how can you take a copy? You don't know which files are relevant."

"Shouldn't we warn the servants? If Mras is planning…"

"There will be very few servants in the Station, Miss Davies. Very few."

"Well…" She felt she should ask him why that was, but to start warning people about Mras was as wrong as anything else they'd done so far. "Okay. I'll copy the lot. Can you get me back to my room?"

"Of course, but each of the three archive units is the size of a… a bed. Do you plan to carry one away?"

Davies had retrieved her lamp from where she'd left it at the foot of the stairs. She held it up to light Nith's way down the uneven steps. "Don't worry about that. I think I can set up a parallel streaming link and download it into my diary."

There was a faint hiss as he relit his lamp using a primitive friction device. "She's right, isn't she?"

"Who?"

"The Director. We're so far beneath you… But Sulu let Chekov… He was prepared to let him die, rather than break our laws, or use your weapons against us. May I ask why?"

"I wouldn't read anything too significant into it, Nith," Davies replied wearily. "You'll just have decided that our being here is a divine revelation and Chekov will finally snap and start phasering every kiani in sight. I've been tempted myself…"

"But if he really did die…"

"He didn't. It was just the effect of all the drugs and Kahsheel's brand of poison," she explained firmly — as much to herself as to the Kibrian. That had to be the explanation. Despite how strange things were capable of getting on Kibria, natural laws still applied just as they did elsewhere in the galaxy. "How long until the cremation?"

Nith looked at her as if he was having difficulty making up his mind about something. "An hour, approximately. The ceremonies of remembrance will be brief, under the circumstances."

"Then we'd better hurry."

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

The first thing that Chekov became aware of was the almost overwhelming scent of flowers surrounding him. He groaned as he tried to open his eyes. He'd thought he'd had a headache before. The one he had now was surely destined one for the record books.

"Awake so soon?"

Chekov struggled to pry his heavy-lidded eyes open. He was lying on his back on some sort of table. His hands were tied securely behind him. A familiar face loomed above him. "Uyal…"

"So you do remember me after all." The Kibrian smiled. "I assume you also recognise this?"

The kiani pressed the muzzle of a phaser between the ensign's eyes.

"Yes, sir," Chekov answered carefully.

"You're a very naughty, naughty boy," the kiani scolded, tapping the bridge of the ensign's nose with the weapon to emphasise his words. "Don't you know servants are not allowed to have such things as this?"

At this range, Chekov could clearly read the phaser's power setting. It was set to kill. He swallowed. "Yes, sir."

"It's a very good thing I took the liberty of relieving Mister Johnson of his weapon before I came back for you, isn't it?" The phaser glinted in the single ray of afternoon sunlight falling into the dim room. "A marvellous weapon. It's a shame Mister Johnson was so careless with it. Don't you have such things as pickpockets in the Federation? I'd be quite suspicious if someone fell into me and took such a long time to recover his balance. Your Mister Johnson seemed to have other things on his mind, though, didn't he?"

"Yes, sir," the ensign responded numbly, wondering what fate had befallen the meteorologist.

"I must admit that I was a little surprised to find you with him," Uyal said, keeping the phaser against Chekov's forehead with one hand while he searched the pocket of his robe with the other. "Sulu told me you were dead. A mistake on his part, particularly since I've discovered his error too late to alter my plans. But I don't think I can let you off just because he's going to suffer a slight miscarriage of justice."

"Where is Mister Sulu?"

"Good servants don't ask questions, Chekov," the kiani reminded him. "They just do as they're told. Now open your mouth."

'Marvellous,' the ensign thought as he complied warily. 'More peeva. Just what I need.'

But what the kiani put in his mouth was a substance of an entirely different nature… Something much livelier…

'Kepir?' The ensign immediately tried to spit out the oily wriggling shoots.

"Now, now, none of that," Uyal said, holding the ensign's mouth shut. "You mustn't disdain our local delicacies, Chekov. Kepir is at its very best today. It doesn't keep well. The vital oils are so volatile. Within a few weeks, its potency is almost gone."

Uyal was right. Even since this morning, the intensity of the kepir's aroma had diminished. The coiling shoots that gave it its astonishing mobility seemed withered too, mere remnants of their former vigour. "I'm sure someone has given you a little taste of this today. Or on second thought, perhaps you didn't need the encouragement. You were always a ready little beast. Is that what Kahsheel liked about you?"

Chekov wished the kiani would move his hand a little so the ensign could bite it off.

"I wouldn't bother with giving it to you myself, but I was afraid that knowing you were going to have your throat slit after I was done with you might diminish your… enthusiasm, shall we say?"

The ensign tried to shake Uyal off, but the Kibrian kept his tight grip.

"I'm glad you've not too gone with peeva to appreciate the… unpleasant side of what I intend to do with you," he said, his voice taking on an almost purring tone. "You see we Kibrians have a traditional belief that a murdered soul cannot rest until the person responsible is punished… You do want dear Kahsheel's soul to rest, don't you?"

Uyal used his grip on Chekov's mouth to force the ensign to nod.

"Then we'd best get on with your punishment, shouldn't we?" The Kibrian pressed the phaser against his victim's throat. "Swallow the kepir, Chekov. Now."

Die quickly and cleanly now or slowly and horribly later — that didn't seem like much of a choice to the ensign. However, it didn't sound like Uyal had killed Sulu… at least not yet. He had to stay alive at least long enough to ascertain what had happened to the lieutenant. Also Uyal was obviously in a highly agitated state. Perhaps the kiani would make a mistake that would allow him the opportunity to escape.

'If I'll even want to escape,' Chekov thought, feeling a familiar warm sensation as the kepir started to disintegrate in his mouth. He steeled himself with the thought that it had been the combination of peeva and kepir that had affected him so greatly earlier. The kepir alone wouldn't be a problem… perhaps.

'Johnson,' Chekov thought as he swallowed the still weakly squirming shoots, 'Where are you?'

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

"Mister Johnson." Someone was gently slapping his face. "Johnson, wake up."

"Wha..?" The meteorologist opened his eyes to find the Station's Manager and Medical Officer looking down at him. "What happened?"

Datvin frowned. "We were hoping you could elucidate on that, Ensign."

Johnson groggily rose to his elbows. All around him were members of his Kibrian escort in various stages of recovery from the heavy stun they'd all been subjected to. All accounted for except… "Where's Chekov?"

"He seems to be missing," the Medical Officer said, handing him an analgesic.

"I sincerely hope, Mister Johnson," Datvin began severely, "that you weren't so foolish as to arm your servant?"

"He… he wouldn't have fired on us," Johnson replied, hoping he sounded more certain than he felt. "I heard him call out and then… somebody hit us with a wide range stun. It wasn't Chekov. He was trying to warn us."

The Manager didn't look convinced.

"I'll see to the others," the Medical Officer said, excusing himself.

"I want to question those standing nearest Mister Johnson's servant as soon as they're sufficiently recovered," Datvin ordered.

"Of course."

Johnson's hand went to an unexpectedly empty place at his side. "My tricorder… It's gone."

"Yes. Whoever attacked you knew how to use a phaser and a tricorder. That would seem to narrow the field of suspects quite a bit, wouldn't it?"

"I wouldn't say that, sir," Johnson replied, stubbornly resisting the mounting evidence of Chekov's guilt. "There's a lot of your people who would go to extraordinary lengths to get a hold of Federation technology. The normal operation of the two missing devices is not beyond the understanding or skill of the average kiani employed by this Station."

"Well," was the Manager's only grudging response. "I hope you completed a significant portion of your search for explosives before this unfortunate incident?"

Johnson dusted himself off. "I found no explosives of the kind you showed me in a 50 foot radius between here and your office."

"So the Station is safe?"

Johnson frowned. "I couldn't give a categorical answer to that question even if I'd finish my search. There may be explosives present that my instruments were not set to detect. And we did not reach the area where Kahsheel's funeral is supposed to take place."

"I still suspect that this threat of explosion was nothing more than servant gossip." The Manager consulted his timepiece. "And it is now too late to cancel the ceremony. People will have already begun to re-enter the building…"

"If we can't cancel the ceremony, is it possible that we could speed it up?"

The Kibrian looked at him as though he were suggesting a desecration.

"Begin and end the services ahead of schedule," Johnson clarified. "So we could re-evacuate the building."

"Begin ahead of schedule…?" It took a moment for this alien concept to sink in for the Kibrian. "Hmmm… I suppose… It would be difficult to organise…"

"Then we'd better get started now," Johnson said, rising. "I've got to find Chekov."

"Don't worry about that, Mister Johnson," Datvin said, joining him. "We'll all be looking for Chekov."

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

"You don't need to be any closer to the main computer?" Nith asked Davies.

The two of them were crouching in a service conduit off the main computer room. Neither had any way of knowing it was the same conduit Sulu had occupied recently.

"No." Davies checked the memory monitor on her tricorder as it downloaded. "This is close enough for me. I just hope we're out of here before Mras and his crew come to plant the bombs."

"It is possible that they will wish to use this access way," Nith agreed, uncomfortingly.

"I'll only be a few more moments." She patted the tricorder encouragingly. "Come on, dear. Chew through it all. Just a few more megabytes…"

"What will you do next?"

"Find Sulu and the rest of our party and get the hell out of here as quickly as possible," she informed him bluntly. "You're invited too, of course."

Nith looked at her intently. He seemed to be silently debating something.

"What is it?" Davies asked wearily. "What have I said now?"

"Lieutenant Sulu… Do you care for him?"

Davies' first impulse was to tell her guide to mind his own bloody Kibrian business, but something in Nith's expression stopped her. "Yes, I do care for him," she answered honestly instead.

"More than you do for Chekov?"

"Oh, yes. Definitely. Chekov and I have not exactly been getting on well since we've come to Kibria," she replied, then sat back and waited for her companion to make some comment about the incident with Kahsheel.

"And this must be Miss Davies."

The ensign stopped dead at the sound of her name. Nith also halted and seemed to shrink a couple of inches as he cast his gaze downward.

"Oh, hell. Not again," she sighed before turning to find herself under yet another Kibrian's weapon. When they'd gotten out of the access way to the main computer, Davies had thought she and her companion were in the clear. This did not seem to be the case. "And just who are you?"

"It's not important that you know." The strange kiani took the tricorder from over her shoulder. "Nith knows, don't you, Nith?"

"Sir," Nith replied deferentially, but Davies could see the muscles of his jaw tighten.

"I'm quite happy to run into you, old friend," the stranger said. "I have a filthy task that needs to be done."

"The house of Albrikk retains many servants," Nith replied in what was perilously close to being a rebellious tone for him.

"But none to whom I would entrust a task as delicate as this one," Albrikk said with a smile. "And none who has proved their loyalty to their family as you have, Nith."

When the servant made no response to this, Albrikk turned to Davies. "I suppose my cousin has told you the sad story of how he sacrificed his honour for the good of the family?"

"I was a systems analyst," Nith informed her. "I used my knowledge to collect privileged information about an organisation that posed a threat to the interests of the house of Albrikk."

"And was caught," Albrikk prompted.

"I was chosen to bear the consequences of the crime alone, thus concealing the greater conspiracy and sparing the family further dishonour," Nith said, none of his anger bleeding into his calm voice.

"Boo hoo," Albrikk said in mock sympathy. "Aren't you the brave one? You bungle the job then feel badly when you have to pay the price."

"What I did was wrong," Nith said, addressing his kinsman directly for the first time. "I have, as you say, paid the price and through doing so have learned other, better ways of living and working with my fellow man."

"Yes." Albrikk rolled his eyes. "I'd heard you'd gotten religion. Well, you're going to have to put all that aside for the moment. The family needs your services again. I'm afraid we're going to have to kill our old friend the Director. She was kind enough to see that I was freed from the Alareen Station after Ensign Johnson's shocking attack on my person…"

"Johnson?" Davies repeated disbelievingly. "The Ensign Johnson from Star Fleet?"

"But I've since found that she intends to destroy the main computer," the kiani continued, ignoring her.

"Why is that of any consequence to you?" Nith asked.

Albrikk frowned at him for a moment. "Oh, yes. That's right. We started blackmailing her after the little incident with you. You see, her family has been manipulating the results of the Vaytha in their favour. The only evidence of this is in the computer. If she is allowed to destroy that, we lose our hold over her family."

Nith shook his head. "The degeneracy of this generation of kiani is truly sickening."

"Yes, yes," Albrikk said impatiently, pulling an extra weapon out of his robe. "Save the sermon for later. Right now, get back in that access way. Shoot anyone that comes near the main computer. I'll watch over your little friend here until you get back."

Nith made no move to take the weapon.

"Come on now, cousin," Albrikk said, "You don't seriously expect me to believe you really want to spend the rest of your days serving gruel and having your backside beaten by low caste scum, do you? Do this and you'll be back sitting in front of a keyboard dressed in silk within the week."

Nith's face was unreadable as he looked down at the gun in his kinsman's hand.

"You know that the family has the power to restore your freedom." Albrikk's tone was persuasive. "We've intended to do it all along. It's just been necessary to ignore you for a while to deflect suspicion. Do this for me… for the family and you'll be everything you were before so quickly it will seem you were never gone."

"Yes," the ex-kiani agreed slowly, reaching for the weapon. "I think you are right."

"Of course I'm right." Albrikk smiled. "And as I said, I'll be watching your friend Miss Davies — just in case you should have any second thoughts."

"I won't, cousin," Nith assured him.

"Good." Albrikk turned to the ensign. "Now, Davies, if you'd be so good as to…"

He broke off suddenly as Nith clubbed him in the back of the head with the handle of his gun.

"Good show, Nith," Davies congratulated him, relieving the unconscious kiani of his weapon.

"Thank you, Miss Davies," the Kibrian said, handing her the tricorder, along with a small ceramic capsule.

"What…" she began to ask, but he shook his head. "That is not for you. It's for Lieutenant Sulu. Selrideen takes care of his own, you see. Now you must go to your friends — as quickly as possible — and leave this place with as much haste as you can make."

"What are you going to do?" she asked as he hooked his hands under the arms of his unconscious kinsman.

"Actively pursue my destiny!" he called as he dragged Albrikk into the access way.

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

A crowd was already gathering in the hall when Johnson entered. Kibrians in white ceremonial robes were practising a solemn gavotte of some sort on the side the room that opened onto a beautiful courtyard garden. A light meal was being laid out on tables near the doors. The ensign quickly made his way to Datvin.

"I couldn't find any tricorders in our quarters," he informed the Kibrian quietly. "Davies' should have been there, but it wasn't."

"Unfortunate," was the Manager's only comment.

"Very," the meteorologist agreed. "Look, I know what you're thinking, but just because it's possible that Chekov could have done all these things doesn't mean that he did. What motivation could he possible have?"

Datvin gave him a look that answered his question.

"Well, he wasn't thrilled about my… buying him the way I did," Johnson admitted. "And guess he kind of felt betrayed when…" The meteorologist forced himself to close his mouth on any further confession. Now was not the time or the place. "So, I assume your men haven't found him?"

"No."

"It's funny," Johnson said, watching low castes carry in trays of bread and fruit, "but there don't seem to be many servants around at all."

"Well, no…" It was now the Station Manager's turn to have a confessional note to enter his voice. "In fact, there are quite a few of them missing. I hate to repeat low caste gossip, but there is a rumour that they are making their way to the Old City."

"Old City?" Johnson repeated.

"The remains of an underground Kibree city. It's accessible through the tunnels that run underneath this Station… Or at least it once was," the Manager corrected himself. "The entrance was sealed off after a band of runaway servants tried to occupy the area in the last resurgence of the Dark Prince cult."

"The Dark Prince?" Johnson ran through his mental files on Kibrian mythology. "Isn't that the son of Selrideen who dies and returns to life after seven days?"

"Yes." The Kibrian's mouth twisted ironically. "Although you Federation people seem to have devised a more efficient method of resurrection…"

"Selrideen takes a select band of the downtrodden into his underground fortress," Johnson recalled, "while the Dark Prince brings about the destruction of a corrupt regime and a palace built on unsteady foundations…" The meteorologist's voice trailed off as he noticed the name of Ffafner carved into the magnificent archway leading to the garden.

"And then Selrideen presides over an age of peace and enlightenment," Datvin finished for him. "The legend tends to lend itself to some rather subversive interpretations. Seldom does a generation pass without some rabble-rouser trying to set themselves up as Selrideen or the Dark Prince. After the guard cleared the last band of hooligans out of the Old City, the entrance to the fortress was sealed off and the spring that feeds its underground lake was diverted. In order for anyone to clear the entrance and make the place habitable again they'd need nearly a ton of…" The Director broke off.

"…Explosives," Johnson finished. "Which they might now have."

"And the report is that the runaway servants are being led by that idiot chemist who calls himself Selrideen." The Manager closed his eyes and shook his head. "Johnson, it looks as though I've failed to notice the nose on my own face. If you'll excuse me…"

As he watched the Manager walk over and confer with one of his security officers, Johnson reflected that the relative size of the Kibrian nose made this an even stronger metaphor than it was for most Humans.

The ensign's attention was drawn by the group of white clad mourners who now were softly reciting some sort of unison chant. "Where's the coffin?" he asked Datvin when the Kibree returned.

"Just before the ceremony, it is withdrawn to a preparatory chamber above and to the right of this one." Datvin pointed to a flower-garnished ramp on the opposite end of the room. "The funeral service plays out the traditional Kibrian view of existence. The coffin is slowly conveyed down a passage from the preparatory room, representing the way our souls descend from the celestial regions. It travels the length of the room to the accompaniment songs and chants — symbolising our journey in corporeal form in the company of our families and co-workers. It halts briefly in front of that dais as a few words are said about the deceased — a very few in this case — and then descends to the cremation chambers below embodying our belief that our bodies become part of the matter that makes up the core of our planet after our death."

"Interesting." Johnson's eyes were drawn back to the entry ramp. "This preparation room that the coffin is in — who's up there with it? Servants?"

"At this point, no. A member of the family sits the last watch." Datvin stopped a Kibrian wearing a blue mourning sash around her neck. "Pardon, Zaso, but who sits saddonish for Kahsheel?"

"Her fiancé."

"Kahsheel didn't have a fiancé, did she?"

"Well, Uyal," the Kibrian answered, looking embarrassed. "He tried very hard to be her fiancé."

"Uyal?" Johnson repeated. "Oh, no! We've got to…"

His voice was drowned out by the tolling of a low bell.

"Never mind, Johnson," Datvin shouted in his ear. "The ceremony is already starting."

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

"No! No!" Chekov protested, doing his damnedest to wriggle out of the Kibrian's grip. The only result of his unsuccessful escape attempt was that instead of sitting on the edge of the coffin, Uyal now had him bent over the lid. "I don't want to do this anymore."

"Yes, I can see that." The Kibree momentarily abandoned his efforts to unlace the ties that fastened up the sides of the ensign's pants. He pushed his uncooperative captive's face back down against the surface. "You seem to have forgotten that you don't have a choice in any of this."

Chekov squeezed his eyes closed to avoid seeing Kahsheel's face below him. "Let me go! Let me go! Sulu, wake up!"

"He's not able to help you." Uyal held the ensign down with one hand and drew the phaser with the other. "Maybe you remember this." He held the weapon to the back of his captive's neck.

Chekov tried to pull away. "You're insane."

"Oh, just noticing that now, are you?" Uyal asked, wrestling him back into place. "Well, little beast, we're going to have to do something to recapture the very pliant mood you were in. Let me see, there's got to be some peeva somewhere near… I remember stashing a piece…"

The Kibrian was interrupted by the pealing of a deep-voiced bell nearby. To Chekov's astonishment, the coffin under him jolted forward.

"Gall's balls!" Uyal swore. "The ceremony's started. I must have dallied with you longer than I thought."

"What's going on?"

Instead of answering, the Kibrian pressed the phaser to Chekov's head and hissed in his ear, "If you move so much as an inch, I'll blast your precious lieutenant to atoms. Do you understand?"

Chekov didn't understand any of this — least of all why the coffin had begun to slowly roll across the room on the train tracks. "Yes," he answered nonetheless.

"Yes, sir," Uyal corrected, jabbing the barrel against his temple.

"Yes, sir."

"Don't think I won't do it," the Kibrian warned as he bent and awkwardly adjusted something underneath the flowers as the coffin continued its stately progress.

"What are you doing?" Chekov asked, feeling terribly foolish to be draped bound and half-naked over the lid of the coffin with his feet dangling at least a foot short of the floor.

"If I answered impertinent questions from slaves, I'd tell you that I'm setting the fuses on the explosives," Uyal replied irritably, stuffing the phaser back into his belt as he duck-walked along beside the coffin twisting controls. "But I don't answer questions from slaves. Now shut up before I take a stick to your impudent behind!"

Chekov rolled his eyes. 'He intends to rape me, slit my throat, then blow up my body and he thinks I'm going to lay here for fear of getting a paddling as well?'

The ensign watched and waited until the Kibrian came along side his left leg. He moved it gingerly away as if he were avoiding disturbing his captor. Chekov then aimed a kick straight to the Kibree's head.

Uyal was knocked backwards head over heels. Instead of being rendered unconscious, as the ensign hoped, the Kibrian was only temporarily stunned. He quickly recovered, the phaser in his hand and murder in his eyes.

Chekov swallowed hard and wished for a miracle.

And with gratifying swiftness, one occurred.

In an incredible stroke of bad luck, Uyal slipped on his own robe as he struggled to rise and fell forward onto the phaser which discharged on impact.

"Damn," Chekov said, sliding off the rolling coffin as the Kibrian vanished in a green glow. "There goes another piece of equipment."

He stepped forward to disarm the explosives… only to belatedly realise that his hands were still tied.

"Damned kepir!" Chekov shook his head to clear the last of the drug's clouding influence. He had to figure out what to do. The coffin was rolling ever closer to a steep ramp that led out of the room. With the side panel pushed aside, he could see Sulu laying motionless beneath Kahsheel's body in a bed of explosives.

No useful ideas came to the ensign. "I've got to…" he said aloud to help his benumbed cognitive faculties along.

Suddenly there was no time left to think. The coffin began its descent.

"Sulu!" Chekov cried, diving towards the opened bottom of the coffin.

The lieutenant grunted as his fellow officer landed on top of him. His eyes fluttered open. "Wha…Wh…?"

The coffin groaned under the extra weight as they descended into a dark tunnel. There was a terrible creaking sound as if it were trying to come loose from its moorings.

"Hold on," the ensign advised.

The lieutenant fortunately was not able to take this advice literally. Just being pressed so close to another living body was wrecking havoc with the last traces of kepir lingering in the ensign's veins.

"Chekov?" Sulu said slowly, as the metal bands governing the coffin's progress began to snap one by one. "You aren't dead?"

"Well…" The ensign laughed weakly as the last restraint broke loose and the coffin began to gain speed. "Not yet."

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